‘The Crow’: Review

Dir: Rupert Sanders. US. 2024. 111mins

It has been 30 years since The Crow opened in theatres, its release inextricably linked in viewers’ minds to the death of its star, Brandon Lee, during production. Thankfully, no such tragedy befell the making of this new version, an unremarkably violent action-thriller weighed down by its self-consciously dour tone. Bill Skarsgard gives a glum performance as a troubled young man given the opportunity to avenge his and his girlfriend’s murder, leading to bloody, derivative set pieces that do little to tap into the story’s theme of the power of love to conquer all — even death itself.

Bill Skarsgard gives a glum performance, leading to bloody, derivative set pieces 

Opening on August 23 in the UK and US through Lionsgate, the film should reap only modest theatrical grosses. The producers have emphasised that this is not a remake of the Lee film but, rather, a reimagining of James O’Barr’s original 1989 graphic novel. Nonetheless, a fair amount of viewers will be intrigued by The Crow’s connection to the earlier film, with Skarsgard also helping to lure in audiences because of his role as the killer clown in the It series. The Crow had three sequels, but this is the first direct return to the source. Expect negative reviews and lukewarm word of mouth to send this to streaming purgatory soon enough.

Skarsgard plays the tattooed, tortured Eric, resident in a drug-rehab facility when he first meets Shelly (FKA Twigs). She’s there to avoid a frightening, mysterious individual named Vincent (Danny Huston). Eric quickly falls for her, and they begin a torrid love affair before they are murdered by Vincent’s goons. Eric is shocked to discover, though, that he is not dead — instead, he resides in a supernatural middle ground in which he can return to the land of the living to make amends for their wrongful murders. Eric vows to kill Vincent. and to find out about the man’s past connection to Shelly.

Directing his first feature since 2017’s Ghost In The Shell, Snow White And The Huntsman filmmaker Rupert Sanders drapes the frame in bleak greys and blacks. But The Crow never conjures up a potent sense of foreboding, instead stealing from teh gritty asethetic of other pictures. David Fincher is the most obvious inspiration, starting with The Crow’s aping of his creepy opening credits from The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, but the film’s dull goth trappings seem indebted to any number of sources — including the Brendan Lee original. The cinematic kleptomania does not stop there, with one of the climactic action sequences being the umpteenth example of a director cutting between an operatic fight scene and an actual opera that is simultaneously taking place. Clearly, Eric is not the only thing that The Crow is trying to bring back from the dead. 

As the doomed lovers, Skarsgard and Twigs engage in several hot-and-heavy romantic scenes, and yet there is scant chemistry between the leads, which is especially problematic considering that Eric’s post-murder immortality is said to be derived from his pure love for Shelly. But The Crow never feels like a tale of haunted soulmates torn asunder by the cruel winds of fate — to the contrary, the central relationship is so superficial and posturing that it is impossible to invest in its outcome.

Whereas Lee brought a mocking, swaggering confidence to the role — as if his Eric was reborn thanks to having died — Skarsgard intentionally plays this antihero as a relentless brooder. The actor’s approach reflects this new film’s commitment to utter seriousness, leaving no room for camp or dark comedy. If the script, written by Zach Baylin and William Schneider, were more compelling, that approach might have been gripping. But because The Crow has nothing fresh to say about addiction, grief, sacrifice or commitment, the story’s monotonal solemnity proves oppressive. Skarsgard strains to make this tormented individual commanding, even when Eric is decked out in ghostly makeup and a leather trench coat.

In its later reels, The Crow ratchets up the kills and gore, arming Eric with a sword to dispatch anonymous baddies in increasingly graphic ways. Obviously, such gruesome scenes are meant to be over-the-top fun, but Sanders demonstrates no inventiveness here, with the aforementioned opera house set piece especially silly. (Nobody watching the performance hears the carnage happening right outside?) The Crow longs to be edgy and sobering, but the shallow, melodramatic treatment constantly calls to mind an insecure adolescent male who is trying to prove how dark and deep he is by dressing all in black and talking ponderously about death. Brandon Lee’s original was hard to shake because of his untimely demise. This forgettable new version doesn’t just fail to honour his memory — it never justifies its existence on its own merits.