I’ve heard of this certain technique Hollywood usually uses as a means of pulling a fast sequel; it’s by taking a script with a similar concept to an already established IP and turning it in to a sequel. “The Crow” feels a lot like that. It feels like a simultaneous cash grab, exploitation of the art of James O’Barr, and downright lazy attempt to maintain the license for “The Crow.” At thirty minutes in, I wondered if at any point anyone on this movie were even trying. At all. This is a non-move. It’s a movie without a presence, or any kind of a soul, or any kind of self awareness. “The Crow’s” only purpose is to gentrify what should have and could have been a touching, eerie, and heartbreaking movie.
It not only completely misses the point of James O’Barr’s original graphic novel, but it dodges the point at every second. It almost seems embarrassed with its own premise and is hellbent on delivering a goulash of nu metal, rock pop garbage. Soulmates Eric Draven and Shelly Webster are brutally murdered when the demons of her dark past catch up with them. Given the chance to save his true love by sacrificing himself, Draven returns to seek bloody revenge against the killers, traversing the worlds of the living and the dead to put the wrong things right. What still strikes a chord about “The Crow” that many forget is that James O’Barr’s original narrative was about the senselessness of violence.
The way that violence can creep up and wipe people off of the face of the Earth. It’s also about how our souls can be consumed by a thirst to give some semblance of coherence to a world that’s teeming with pointless cruelty. With 2024’s “The Crow,” a reboot that’s been in development hell since the late 1990’s, Rupert Sanders completely ignores all of the pop beats and the beating pulse of the source material in exchange of a void of nothing. I want to call “The Crow” stupid, but it’s too straight faced to be laughed at, and too lazy even poke fun at. Sanders and Lionsgate obviously just watched “John Wick” for the thirtieth time and said “fuck it.” What if John Wick, but he’s now some whiny undead guy? For all intents and purposes Bill Skarsgard is great and able to act through his Die Antwoord raver get up, but he really comes to life when he’s donning the Crow make up.
Ironically Skarsgard looks like a deranged mime when actually in his face paint, but the director opts out of that allusion. Everything about crows and face paint mysticism takes a shocking back seat, with only passing hints at the crow bringing Eric Draven back. Everything important about the story from the horror elements, Halloween motif, grueling murders, and subtle social commentary is completely side stepped. All the while director Sanders is much more fascinated with music video flourishes, stock aristocratic super villains, and so much of a movie built to taps in to a specific algorithm rather than reach a fan base at any point.
Sanders can argue he’s doing his own version of “The Crow” but there’s no accounting for the lack of style, the absolutely lackluster storyline, as well as the utterly hideous performance by FKA Twigs as Shelley. Webster is a crucial role in this series, and Twigs does nothing with it, offering a wooden, often ridiculous turn. She’s barely able to keep up with Skarsgard. “The Crow” is an infuriating movie. Lionsgate still has no idea what to do with it; it’s a story that would speak waves, especially in today’s social climate.