All good movies have some degree of integrity. The not-so-good ones can have it too, though. One fantastic example is “The Crow”. A film about a man who loses his life alongside the love of his life but later gets resurrected, then needs to get revenge for her death. I think this film is one vivid embodiment of the principle we’re discussing here. Also from my point of view, “The Crow” has too many problems to count including but not limited to symbolism overload with flashbacks detailing childhood trauma which led to Eric Draven spending time in a mental ward.Strong central love stories typically elevate films simply because they need them to work and the actors are endearing enough to sell it. Zach Baylin and William Schneider’s script certainly fits that mold as well. It goes on and on trying to prove to us how awful this core event is before everything else can unfold, so brutal it gave rise to a superhero archetype like The Crow, an unshaven,worn-out mate in painted white skin who sports faint hints of Joker vibes while self-adorning scars at the climactic stages of his transformation into something that resembles an angel of death.

And there are a lot of other problems/issues that I’ll get to in due course.

The film has its own ways of revealing the plot through an entire metaphysics-backing system that is surprisingly persuasive, if not captivating. The focus here is on being true to one’s self, much like reality show contestants often say ‘not here to make friends,’ and I commend this film on taking a path unwavering in resolve, all the way to uncovering Keats’, Poe’s and most importantly O’Barr’s unspeakably violent vision of the graphic novel ending which was brutally beautiful. Call me old fashioned, but I find beauty in violence – competitive genres like revenge thrillers claim their polarization bluntly as they orbit around bloodshed. However, this movie places it next level by embracing flamboyant art/grind approaches taken by “Drive” or “Only God Forgives”. Almost as if daring a so-called unshakable audience to take a deep breath and embrace getting shocked for once.The supernatural change Bill looks like Eric Draven in, which is played by Skarsgard, to big-eyed sad-sack version was really sad and unsettling. The duration that Shelly has been given in the film does help towards the end as we see her coming off as somewhat more than just a neglected lover. A side character Shelly seems to gain depth beyond being simply involved with Draven and that development serves to deepen the impact of their backstory. The glimpses we are shown suggest her life is steeped in secrets which makes it even more intriguingly captivating.

In the interest of not ruining too much of this rocky turn for audiences unfamiliar with the film, l will not teel into detail. The shift focuses on a romantic essence after she dies – so capital R Romantic that drawing recasts froms a mourning feel of “Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard.” In my opinion, especially when all forms of sincerity described plaster essays embraced on anger calling it ‘cringe,’ any rosy concept deserves credit for leaving room for hope. The splash zone can be applauded when this idea leans deeply into melodramatic despair welcomed viewers’ read on melancholy rather opt toward smiley faces close while cozy scenes fill up frames pulling at heartstrings off camera instead portraying love sparklers without pointing out all flaws.

There is no scenario in which this can be called a great movie, or even a commercially viable one. While sparsely enjoyable, Twigs delivers an unremarkable performance that barely qualifies as acting, and gets no help from the equally uninterested Skarsgård, even with their complete investment into the romance. It would assist (not totally help) if the characters weren’t comatose out of drugs half the time. Sanders (“Snow White and the Huntsman,” live action “Ghost in the Shell”) leans on cliche lover’s montages like “kissing through sheer curtains” willing to be laden with symbolism (Eric kisses Shelly through a sheer white curtain that suggests a burial shroud. After her death we get “Titanic”-ed where she sinks murky harbor bound while extending arms). Argue those could be swapped for genuine sequences and I’d agree they could stand to pass where the couple interacted like people. The excessive gore and downer conclusion justify why “The Crow” is being ignored by its studio Lionsgate who is dumping it without any press screenings or advertisingyan marketing at all.

This still feels like an error because in spite of its failures and disappointments, such as the absence of original compositions or some lackluster nighttime photography, the film has something—a uniqueness, an aura—or purpose that tries to protect it from being labeled as a mere cash-grab remake. A showbiz hustle option movie like this version of “The Crow,” which has a 19th century definition of love—wearing black while kneeling by tombs— would be solely financially motivated. And it managed to create detailed justifications for character’s reasoning in order to let the film build up to make a statement that is more complex than bad guys kill hero’s girl, hero comes back to kill bad guys. That’s pretty much what Alex Proyas (“Dark City”) did when he first adapted James O’Barr’s source comic thirty years ago.

Roeg, the villain in this specific movie, is labeled as “a vile and powerful creature.” He is described as a being having the power to corrupt mortals. This character was played by Danny Huston who, along with many other fabulously attacking actors, fits the role extremely well. I believe he got his name Roeg because it reflects the Guy ne Roeg’s name which now needs no introduction. Unlike all other adaptations of The Crow legends that are superficial and lack depth beyond giving a protagonist life after death for another chance at existence, this French version incorporates profound elements concerning the supernatural.

As depicted in satanic films about stolen spirits and souls where evil is illustrated as an entity capable of being carried around like a weapon or power, “Crow” metaphorically displays ‘the in-between’. By comprising such features, this film resembles the famous fairy tale relating Orpheus trying to rescue his wife from Hades’ realm.

Proyas’ take was always intended as an example where style takes precedence over substance (the characterizations were flat/iconic, and the look was modeled on contemporary music videos, album covers, and comic book art), and it certainly had to embrace that aesthetic much more after its star Brandon Lee was killed by a prop gun during filming. The production team used silhouetted body doubles and crude compositing to piece together something finishable. The outcome was a deeply unsettling film for multiple reasons. I hope ample time has passed since then so now I can say that while the outcome still exceeded expectations, it received undue praise because of the circumstances surrounding its creation. To put my opinion out there, I did love Proyas’s “The Crow” when it premiered and enjoyed the soundtrack on cassette until it got worn out.

This new version is not as driven or dynamic as the ‘94 film. Instead it is more of a slow paced nostalgic lament reminiscent to Northern European horror films and folklore. It is notably filled with rain as well; it’s a neo-noir big-bad-city movie drowning in heavy rainfall.

The hulking and muscular Skarsgård does not possess Lee’s dancer-like grace, nor does he attempt to mimic it. If Lee’s Eric Draven was a trickster imp, Skarsgård’s is more of a brooding clay golem, conjured to destroy the wicked.

And that’s perfectly fine. It is a different take and, in this case, has an impact—somehow the film works emotionally almost despite itself. This “Crow” seems to most deeply understand itself when it shows us how Eric is retooling himself into a killing machine for what he believes is redemption and justice. In the name of love—and then empties himself of the love that had transformed him for the better when Shelly was alive. The on-screen effect evokes an Edgar Allan Poe line, “Years of love have been forgot, In the hatred of a minute.” Every scene in the second half feels like they are receiving instructions from some covert creative terminal which only these filmmakers can access and no other mainstream film this year has reached. Even when the movie wasn’t quite “working” in any conventional way, there were moments that gave me chills.

In the film, there is a scene where Shelly, while jokingly talking about jumping off a bridge with Eric, envisions a double-jump ending in their deaths. She goes on to say that via imagining it, teens would idolize her and Eric for doing so. I think teens will do the same – put their own spin and make shrines for this movie. If you watched it at 14 and loved it that much you’d watch it over a dozen more times like many.
You would want so badly to go visit libraries to read books and even memorize poems long after watching the movie.