Film Review: "The Crow" (2024)
Bill Skarsgård helps to elevate an otherwise mostly unremarkable--if visually stylish--gothic superhero film.
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By this point it’s become pretty clear that The Crow, the reboot of the comic book series, is a bit of a misfire. It’s been savaged by critics (it currently sits at 22% on Rotten Tomatoes) and has taken a nosedive at the box office (having currently earned less than $20 million, despite having been in theaters for a couple of weeks). This is unfortunate because, while it’s hardly a great film, it is nevertheless an entertaining one that makes some interesting choices both aesthetically and narratively. While not all of these pay off or land quite as effectively as we in the audience might like, I still applaud the film for taking some creative risks.
Now, I have to say at the outset that, like many other viewers, I just didn’t buy the chemistry between FKA Twigs’ Shelly and Bill Skarsgård’s Eric. The two actors are quite good on their own, particularly Skarsgård (more on him in a moment), but their bond never really crackles the way that it should, particularly when Eric is supposed to be so driven by his love that he literally comes back from the dead to get revenge. What does work, however, is the enigma that is at the heart of Shelly’s character. Though it takes us a while to get there, the revelation about her and her past is a true revelation, and it was one of the most chilling aspects of the entire film.
Credit must also be given to two of the stronger presences in this film. One of these, obviously, is Bill Skarsgård. Of all of the Skarsgård siblings, I’d argue that Bill is the most daring and adventurous, the one most willing to play weird and bizarre (a close second would be Gustaf, but he’s never become quite as much of a success as his younger brother). There’s something soulful and haunting about the younger Skarsgård’s mien, and there’s a world of hurt in his slightly too-wide eyes and pouty lips. Of course, the film also wants us to pay attention to this ripped, tattooed physique, and the actor’s obviously beautiful physique is part of his haunted mystique. I don’t think it would be overstating the case to say that he looks like he could be drawn from one of the sad-boy stories so beloved of the Romantics (to whom this film, as Matt Zoller Seitz astutely points out in one of the few moderately positive reviews of The Crow).
The other great thing about this film is, surprisingly enough, Danny Huston’s Vincent Roeg. I have mixed feelings about most of Huston’s performances, since he always seems to be very aware that he’s acting (his sister Anjelica pulls off this overly-ornate style much more convincingly, IMHO). Here, though, he goes full-on menacing, giving us a person so corrupted that he’s willing to destroy any innocent soul that crosses his path if it means that he will be able to cling to his ill-gotten immortality. Huston infuses this villain with a gravel-voiced intensity that is terrifying, that gets under your skin and settles there. If anything, I would have liked some more time with this character, in order to understand who he is, where he comes from, and why he has the power to send innocent souls to Hell. Moreover, it would also have been helpful to know just why it is that Hell seeks out such souls, and why Roeg clings to his immortality with such tenacity. I mean look, I know that an audience doesn’t have to know everything about a villain, but it would help to get at least a bit more insight, particularly since the scenes in which he whispers menacingly into the ears of his enemies–drawing out their inner corruption in order to force them to commit heinous acts, including suicide–are so effective and frightening.
Aesthetically, I found myself quite captivated by The Crow’s aesthetic, which takes the sort of balletic violence on display in films like John Wick and dials it up to eleven. There’s bloodshed and to spare, particularly once Eric fully leans into his identity as the Crow and goes on a killing spree, determined to destroy all of those who were responsible for his beloved’s death. While these scenes might offend those with more delicate sensibilities, they were some of the most evocative in the entirety of The Crow, and they go a long way toward making up for the lack of character interiority (other than a disturbing scene at the beginning of the film involving a horse wounded by barbed wire, we don’t really get to see much of what makes Eric tick as a character).
It’s hard to shake the feeling that this iteration of the film was doomed from the start. The 1994 film version casts a very long shadow, and not just because Brandon Lee tragically lost his life during filming (though that does go a long way toward explaining why the film has proven so enduring). No new version of this story was ever going to blow people away, and it certainly doesn’t help that we’re drowning in a sea of mediocre superhero films and reboots (see also: Madame Web, Shazam! Fury of the Gods, and Aquaman 2).
It also doesn’t help that the film dispatches almost all of its characters of color in particularly brutal fashion. To be fair, most of the characters are done away with extreme prejudice but, for some reason, these death scenes seem to hit much harder than the others.
In the end, though, I tend to align with Seitz, who persuasively argues that there’s something endearing about the film’s commitment to its own bit. In an age in which, as Seitz also points out, any kind of sincerity is often viewed with either skepticism or outright derision, it’s really quite remarkable to see a film take itself so seriously. It fits nicely next to Lisa Frankenstein, I think, though it lacks that film’s sense of humor. Along with Seitz, I do hope that this film gets the love it deserves among future generations. After all, there are worse things than becoming a cult classic.