Jay Rohr
The Crow attempts to be everything except entertaining. From a lackluster soundtrack that seems to come courtesy of the cheapest Craigslist D.J. to a narrative that feels written the day of each shoot, the film is a mess of missed opportunities. The only real upside to this utter failure is that it continues The Crow tradition of terrible films.
The movie opens with Shelly (FKA Twigs) receiving a phone call warning her that bad people from her past are coming. Running out into the night, she literally bumps into cops who immediately arrest her for drug possession. Conveniently, a court-ordered rehab program puts her in contact with brooding cutie Eric (Bill Skarsgård). The two bond, break out, and, during a club and drug-filled bender, get murdered. Of the two tragically killed, only Eric seems irked enough to return from the dead to exact revenge. As such, he goes on a derivative killing spree to find the monster behind their demise…which was already revealed at the start of the movie.
The Crow is a lot like Columbo. The audience is aware of every twist and potential surprise from the very beginning. The fun is supposedly how we get to the end. However, left with little to do filmmaker Rupert Sanders (Ghost in the Shell, Snow White and the Huntsman) does nothing. What could have been a meditative film full of interesting, poetic visuals is a boring slog through a dull dark city. Even when Eric paints it red with blood this sanguine coat fails to resurrect any interest.
The overall narrative is a mess of neo-noir, occult thriller, and action smackdown components. Often, the story comes across as if written haphazardly. Quick flashbacks—sometimes blink and miss it—seem like they came from rushed reshoots to add backstory the film never properly introduced. The Crow wants to establish an eerie reality full of fleshed-out characters yet despite a lengthy opening act it fails to do so.
What’s worse is that it makes its characters less interesting in the process. Eric and Shelly’s romance seems more like a drug-fueled summer fling for trust fund club kids than a deep-rooted emotional connection between wounded souls. The main villain Vincent Roeg played by Danny Huston (The Proposition) is an overall generic crime lord with supernatural powers, because why not? The one consistent flaw in every film of this franchise has been a need to explain The Crow through occult antagonists. That’s to say, the supernatural never has any mystery.
At times, one could almost make the argument there are attempts to pay homage to various Crow incarnations throughout the franchise. The ethereal, overgrown railroad station that serves as a connection to the afterlife feels reminiscent of The Crow: Stairway to Heaven. The makeup for this variant reminds one of Eric Mabius in The Crow: Salvation. Bill Skarsgård’s weak guttural growl harkens back to Edward Furlong’s shrill yelps in The Crow: Wicked Prayer. And the supernaturally inclined crime boss is an obvious takeaway from The Crow: City of Angels from 1996.
So much of the movie reminds a viewer of other films and not in a good way — Deadpool in Requiem for a Dream featuring Wolverine. The Crow is like an amateurish hodgepodge of better flicks. The composition of which is closer to derivative than homage. And that’s when visuals are trying to say something. Too often the onscreen imagery feels pointless. Watching Skarsgård and Twigs dance around in their underwear may have a certain shallow appeal for some moviegoers, but it doesn’t convey a romance that would bring someone back from the dead. Nor does Eric’s time as the titular revenger result in any iconic moments. This obvious inability to compose compelling visuals is at the heart of the film’s failure.
Director Rubert Sanders is unable to evoke any tension or mystery. Every opportunity for thrills is ignored for simple gratuitous violence. Shelly and Eric’s romance is more of a bad music video than a love story. The city isn’t a character as it was in previous installments, specifically 1994’s The Crow and City of Angels. What he does is take pieces of a puzzle that could have been put together into something epic then ham-fistedly hammers jigsaws until they bond into the boring mess onscreen.
Bill Skarsgård (It) is certainly not the worst version of this character. That dubious distinction still belongs to Furlong. However, despite his acting talent, he’s never given material to help enrich the character outside of brooding or glaring. Fortunately, he and FKA Twigs (Honey Boy) have some chemistry which sells the relationship more than the movie does. Though this isn’t the first role for the British singer, songwriter, she does have a captivating presence when given something to do. That said, wistfully staring at things seems like a common skill for most people who routinely star in music videos.
Danny Huston is always a reliable performer, but he’s portrayed more frightening villains in the past. Unlike 30 Days of Night or The Proposition, this role never gives him the chance to let darkness saturate a scene. His underlings are generic hench-people forgotten as quickly as they are shot, while his right-hand, Marion, played by Laura Birn (Void) is never explained.
It’s a solid cast given no colorful characters to portray. Any vibrance seems reserved for the crimson-coated action sequences which redefine gratuitous. Unable to choreograph interesting combat, Sanders settles for gruesome spectacle which could be enjoyable if it weren’t such a gruelingly boring slog to the bloodbaths. The less said about the annoying, ethereal electronic soundtrack the better. Goth John Wick, this is not.
The Crow is a master class in wasted potential. What could have been a substantial spectacle full of horror show violence and poetic imagery is reduced to a reminder why the dead should remain buried. Weak writing gives nothing for a solid cast to perform while an unimaginative director can’t capture a single interesting image. The Crow is a flightless bird that won’t take audiences anywhere except Dullsville.
