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| Art by James O'Barr |
I know pain at the molecular level. It pulls at my atoms and sings to me in an alphabet of fear.
James O'Barr's The Crow is a beautiful and tragic piece of art. A work that is an act of self-harm, each page slashing into the reader's emotions like a razor blade opening up a fresh cut on your inner arm. Early in his young adult life, O'Barr's fiancé was killed by a drunk driver, and in his pain and grief, he created the world of The Crow to deal with it, perhaps thinking if he poured his feelings onto the paper, they would stay there, trapped in the ink. It is a tale strictly about revenge and one in which the protagonist has no journey to speak of, just a mission to complete: death to all who murdered his love.
A ghost couple resides at the center of the story, Eric and Shelly, who are deliriously in love with each other. They will be married soon, but their romance is cut short one evening when their car breaks down on the side of the road. As Eric tries to fix it, a group of thugs drives by high on drugs and malevolence. They stop and start harassing Eric, eventually shooting him in the back of the head, paralyzing him. He can only lie on the ground, frozen in horror, as they sexually assault and eventually kill Shelly. Eric makes it to the hospital, but he is brain-dead and dies on the operating table shortly afterward. All is lost, and evil wins. However, Eric comes back. He is not the man he was; he is now the walking dead.
The comic book version of The Crow is vicious and unrelenting toward his enemies, but he has a soft spot for those who have been downtrodden in life and stepped upon by those who are stronger. O'Barr depicts Eric as a poet in his heart and as a dancer in his actions, often having him strike artful poses when he is idle or more expressive ones when he is emotional. When the view turns towards the romanticized past, he eschews his thick, dark linework for a softer, more dreamlike aesthetic, which is a nice break for the reader, a breather from all the violence.
The Crow serves as a template for all the films that followed, establishing tropes that would be repeated over and over again: a wrongful death, a loving relationship torn asunder by violence, and reliance on flashbacks as a narrative device. As much as they tried, however, none of the films could completely capture the personal anguish conveyed by O'Barr in his work or the unending sadness and regret.
The Crow (1994)
Director Alex Proyas took the first stab at adapting The Crow, and O'Barr had the most hands-on influence out of all the films, overseeing and collaborating on various versions of the screenplay. The setting is still located in Detroit, but the events are changed up a bit. Eric Draven (Brandon Lee) and Shelly (Sofia Shinas) are attacked in their loft apartment by thugs, and in the scuffle, Eric is tossed out of the window, falling to his death. Shelly somehow initially lives through the ordeal but passes away from her injuries later at the hospital. A year later Eric is reborn as The Crow, as the titular bird lands on his gravestone.
The atmosphere in this version is morose and blue-tinged, depicting Detroit as a rainy and decrepit city comprised entirely of dark alleys. Although the events are switched around from the comic, the gothic trappings and poetic interludes are thoughtfully captured. Eric was a musician in his former life. He takes a break from his bloody revenge mission to play a mournful wailing guitar solo on the roof of his apartment building, preserving the original story's theatrical aspects. Music plays a big part in this film, with the soundtrack boasting bands such as The Cure, Nine Inch Nails, and Rage Against the Machine. On top of that, the composer Graeme Revell added a haunting string-heavy leitmotif that was also used in some of the later sequels.
In the comic, Eric establishes a friendship with a young girl named Sherri, the neglected daughter of a drug addict. In the film, this younger character is called Sarah (Rochell Davis), and she has a much larger part in the story. More connective tissue was added to the film to tie together the various characters, as the comic was mostly a straightforward parade of brutality as The Crow went down his list, taking down everyone who wronged him. Overall, the film is less intense, more superhero-tinged, and perhaps even hopeful.
Unfortunately, during filming, Brandon Lee was accidentally killed by a malfunctioning gun (ironically, during the scene where his character is murdered at the beginning of the film), though they had enough footage to finish the movie. Lee's death hangs over the film like a specter, adding real-life gravitas to the emotional impact. In the 2011 special edition of the comic, O'Barr said, “At the time, the same guilt and self-hatred swelled again in my soul threatening to drown me, suffocate me. It was the help and compassion of Brandon’s fiancé, the beautiful Eliza Hutton, that guided me to shore.” Very few works have melded together death on and off camera, thematically playing off of each other, and it cemented Lee permanently as the ultimate version of The Crow.
The Crow: City of Angels (1996)
The Crow was a hit with critics and audiences, so the sequel train left the station. This time around, Tim Pope was chosen to direct, with David S. Goyer as the writer. Pope was well known for directing music videos for bands such as The Cure (one of O'Barr's inspirations for the look of The Crow), Soft Cell, and David Bowie. Just on credentials alone, he seemed to be the perfect choice to helm a film about The Crow. Unfortunately, there was a lot of behind-the-scenes meddling from Bob and Harvey Weinstein, and the final cut was taken away from Pope, resulting in a work that often feels too similar to the previous film.
The location has moved from Detroit to Los Angeles and features a grown-up version of Sarah (Mia Kirshner), who now works as a tattoo artist. Her previous interactions with Eric haunts her day and night, prompting her to paint visions of death at night in her apartment. When she isn't working, she roams the streets of LA, helping those who can't help themselves. Across the city, another tragedy takes place: Ashe Corven (Vincent Perez) and his eight-year-old son Danny (Eric Acosta) are murdered and dumped into the river by Judah Earl (Richard Brooks), a local drug kingpin. Ashe is reborn as The Crow and seeks vengeance for his dead son.
Sarah serves as a guide of sorts to Ashe, helping him come to terms with the fact that he passed away and then was resurrected. Unlike all of the other films in the franchise, Ashe isn't mourning the loss of a lover; he is dealing with the loss of a child, which is a completely different kind of pain and anguish. In a touching moment, Sarah uses his son's leftover paints to apply the iconic makeup to his face, a lasting reminder of the parental bond he lost.
Visually, City of Angels contrasts sharply with the 1994 iteration, where the original was cool and blue-toned; this film is awash in golden hues. Los Angeles is post-apocalyptic and shattered, full of lost souls and the ones who prey on them. Jean-Yves Escoffier's gorgeous cinematography and framing lend the film an artful flair, with judicious use of close-ups and interesting angles. Pope's background with music videos lends the editing a lyrical feeling, and the soundtrack is a tour of the burdening grunge scene.
Vincent Perez's Crow is softer and less intimidating than Brandon Lee's performance, but he handles the elegiac dialogue well and moves gracefully. Due to all the Weinstein interference and recuts, the story beats hit too close to the '94 film, and it doesn't have enough of its own voice to carry itself completely as a different work. The ending is silly and tonally out of place. Despite these negatives, it's still the best executed of the sequel films.
The Crow: Salvation (2000)
As The Crow franchise made its way into the aughts, it entered a new era of film. Leaving behind the more fanciful '90s, it was thrust into an age where realism and being grounded were preferred. Gone are the heavily stylized and gothic qualities, and The Crow in this version even has a shorter, more sensible haircut. This is the turning point in the sequels where the quality starts to go sharply downhill.
To be fair, the storyline in Salvation is a bit different: Alex Corvis (Eric Mabius) has been framed for the murder of his girlfriend Lauren (Jodi Lyn O'Keefe) and has been sentenced to death in the electric chair. Alex swears he didn't commit the murder, but with no other leads, he remains the main suspect. He dies a terrible death in the electric chair while desperately proclaiming his innocence. The mystical crow revives Alex, and with his newfound powers, he needs to find his girlfriend's real killer.
While it is intriguing that director Bharat Nalluri decided to take a different approach to the story, this time employing a police procedural narrative, it never fully gels together or feels compelling. Mabius doesn't have enough charisma or mystery to completely embody the character of The Crow, and he spends much of the film interacting with his former girlfriend's sister, played by a disinterested Kirsten Dunst. Their scenes together are flat and lifeless and don't do much to propel the story forward. While this film isn't egregiously terrible, it is bland and boring, foreshadowing the mess of the franchise's fourth entry.
The Crow: Wicked Prayer (2005)
This is the most tragically terrible of The Crow franchise, a trashterpiece that gets almost every aspect of the story, themes, subtext, and aesthetic wrong. Even more strange, it's a misfire from Lance Mungia, who directed the fun, quirky film Six String Samurai (1998). Based on a 2000 novel by Norman Partridge, Wicked Prayer follows Jimmy Cuervo (a very miscast Edward Furlong), a felon who lives on an Aztec reservation in Arizona. Jimmy is dating Lily, but her indigenous family doesn't approve of the union. On the sidelines of the romance is a satanic biker gang led by Luc Crash (David Boreanaz) and his girlfriend Lola Byrne (Tara Reid), who together are known as Crash and Burn (ugh). The Satanists need devil powers and so they kill Jimmy and Lily to gain favor with Lucifer. However, Crash doesn't anticipate that Jimmy will be resurrected as The Crow to avenge their deaths.
If this plot sounds ridiculous, that's because it is. At no point is any of this taken seriously; for example, after the bike gang gets their devil powers, they celebrate by eating devil's food cake, deviled eggs, and deviled ham sandwiches. Get it?! Crash discovers that he has gained favor with the lord of darkness because "666" appears all over his abs, which he lifts his shirt to show people occasionally unprompted.
Tara Reid seems like she is unaware she is shooting a film and looks perpetually confused the entire time. Furlong gives it his best, but his silly makeup and childish features steal any intimidation he could have. Dennis Hopper wanders into the film in the third act as a cane-sporting pimp spouting lines like "You ain't my shorty no more!". At one point, The Crow says, "Quoth the raven nevermore, motherfucker!" The elegant poetry of the original material is long gone, only leaving a farce in its wake.
The film was panned by critics and audiences alike and was doomed to direct-to-video hell after one week in theaters. Like most franchises, it's fascinating and sad to watch a beautiful concept get slowly diluted over time as the lust for money outpaces the love for art.
The Crow (2024)
Rupert Sanders is now the fifth director who has tried to capture the dark and anguished feel of the original comic. Although his film doesn't hit the rock bottom dreck levels like The Crow: Wicked Prayer (2005), it doesn't do anything interesting or exciting with the material either.
We are again introduced to the star-crossed lovers Eric (Bill Skarsgård) and Shelly (FKA Twigs). Eric had a troubled childhood with an alcoholic mother, and that has influenced his young adult life; he has no purpose in life and wanders around the streets, getting into trouble. Shelly is similarly unmoored, drifting from sex work to hanging out with unsavory types, eventually catching the attention of a crime lord named Roeg (Danny Huston). To escape from his notice, Shelly hides out in a rehabilitation center, and while staying there, she meets Eric, with whom she has an instant connection.
One way that this iteration of The Crow differs from the previous films is the decision to have the romance play out in real-time rather than relegate it to flashbacks. On paper, this is an excellent idea because the theme of loss and revenge would hit all the harder if the audience is emotionally invested in the couple, but unfortunately, Skarsgård and FKA Twigs have zero chemistry with each other. It goes through the motions, with stilted and dull conversations swiftly transitioning to sweaty floor sex and a hillside picnic thrown in for good measure, but it never feels entirely like there is a connection between their characters. Neither one is fleshed out thoroughly, and there is a half-hearted attempt to paint Shelly as a musician, mirroring FKA Twigs' real-life career, but it's all surface-level. Ironically, even though they spend more screen time on the courtship than in previous films, it feels more shallow.
Eric and Shelly's demise is now pushed to the halfway point of the narrative, and the pacing drags quite a bit up to this point. Once Eric takes up the mantel of The Crow, it improves somewhat, kicking the film into a higher gear. Whenever Eric gets hurt, he feels the immense pain of his wounds, and he is in agony when his flesh stitches itself back together, leaving a ragged scar. In a way, it's an exploration of the body horror inherent in becoming the walking dead and the way that tragedy can scar the body as well as the soul. Overall, this adaptation is way more gory than any of the previous films and channels the visceral brutality of the comic. Skarsgård's performance lacks the depth and elegance needed to portray The Crow, and he comes off more like a nu-goth edgelord than a deeply tortured soul. Although there is a rousing action sequence set in an opera house in the third act, the point of this story has never been cool action scenes in a superhero sense; it is about the futility of revenge and that more violence will never bring back a dead loved one (a subtext that is completely ignored in this film to tack on a happier ending).
Roeg is ill-defined as a villain, and his motivations are never explained outside of an ambiguous supernatural demon connection. In the comic, one of the most heart-wrenching aspects is that there was no reason for Eric and Shelly's deaths; it was pure random chaos. This film tries to shoehorn an overly complicated side plot, which takes away from the singular theme of the narrative: revenge. Somehow, this film manages to do too much and not enough simultaneously, and it feels unfocused like there is missing connective tissue. Supposedly, The Crow takes place in Detroit, but there are no visual indicators that define the city, like the Art Deco buildings and the neo-classical and neo-gothic architecture. Detroit has the perfect aesthetic for a tale like this, and the city's character is not represented well; it's just a generic and bland urban setting.
While Sanders' vision for The Crow is serviceable and attempts to change up a few things, it needs more panache and artistic flair. It comes off as a mediocre attempt to reintroduce The Crow to a new generation but it lacks the soul of the original work that has endured over the past thirty-five years.
--Michelle Kisner