The Crow
The Crow
I cannot definitely declare without proof that the star-crossed lovers in the recent The Crow are somehow inspired by Machine Gun Kelly and Megan Fox. Once I considered the likeness in this fashion, it was hard to let go of the comparison because there is perhaps only one thing that better explains the film’s sweaty attempt at contemporary storytelling towards the latter half of the film – a ‘villain’ who fights to stay relevant.
The character of Eric Draven, played by Bill Skarsgard, cut the profile of a Soundcloud scarecrow with a Bushwick mullet and covered with smattering of tattoos, includimg cursive “Lullaby” on one of the brows which screamed “Poor life choices” or “Emotional rebellion, I’m a bad girl” as well as “piano sonata”.
In the meantime, Shelly (FKA Twigs) comes off as a princess looking completely demure and dark as well with all the elf locks and sheer layers of slip dresses typical of a wealthy girl trained as a pianist but resorts to party due to bad parenting.
The Eric of the 1989 comic by James O’Barr practically wears Iggy Pop or Peter Murphy from Bauhaus. It’s very cool to put an emo-rap here because this is the movie that has been very strongly promoted as being a… not a remake or a reboot but a re-imagining of the original source.
The Crow is far from being sacred — it has been twisted into far too many continuations and even a brief television follow up. As a matter of fact there are real tragedies tied to O’Barr’s work and the film adaptation directed by Alex Proyas — the fatal accident with drunk driving that took life of O’Barr’s fiancée and the on-set accident that killed Brandon Lee — that added weight to the tormented images of a man driven by grief after being raised from the dead and seeking vengeance for his loss.
This new Crow Leigh Whannell directed by Ghost in the Shell’s Rupert Sanders and written by Zach Baylin and William Schneider seems almost charming because it is weak compared to its and the resentment which the audience has built up for two parter over the years. Its lovely morons go to the same rehabilitation center, get dressed in shameful pinksport clothes and fall in love as they go through some boring group therapy exercises.
Eric would picture Shelly naked, hoping to catch her gaze as he stamps rough drafts all over the walls while Shelly feels the urge to sit by Eric, who to her seems, quite brilliantly broken, self claims. Skarsgård does not gel with Twigs at all, and although she is good at what is probably a still a dead wife part, he is awfully still for someone who plays psychotic hot women.
The film would argue that what Eric and Shelly share is a magnanimous love story and whatever the case so what, what it offers us is a lifetime burnout detainment boyfriend/rebel cheerleadergirlfriend dynamic that feels like it would hardly even make it through the stretch of a long weekend. Appropriately, Eric who after being buried along with Shelly at the hands of Vincent Roeg’s henchmen, who played Danny Huston, finds himself a little off the mark at perusing his “undead” wrath for revenge.
The problem, however, is not that he has questionable fighting skills, this is irrelevant especially when your body gets healed through its future abilities stemmed from a Crow of the afterlife. It was more annoying how long it took him to adjust to what had been done to him, how by shear luck he resolved the mess that Shelly was caught up in and how unfashionable it was for him to wear a trench coat until the end of the film.
That Eric tries to get even the scores he has so foolishly forgiven in every sense bar none, constitutes an almost crazy humorous moment for the film – one scenes involves Eric being knocked down by a truck – but The Crow refuses to eat any funny food throughout for the most part. Instead, he made up for the hero’s clumsiness at the outset by increasing the level of violence towards the end.
It’s quite a task in itself, to live up to one of the pillars of the subculture. However, given that it is a new Crow, I would say it is aimed to cater for the Incompetent Goths – the IncompeGoths who get a stick and poke tattoo on their cheekbone but do not appreciate such a silly thing, or wear a single chain earring and do not care how silly they look, or bear the hopelessness of returning to the time when there were mother-like beings from whom they were scolded isn’t inventive enough to seek that out.
But this is not that cohesive to do so. Vincent, the bad guy, is a form of an eternal art collector who sold himself to the devil and now wants to escape with a cell-phone recording because it might land him in trouble.
It is set in what seems to be an American city where almost all the inhabitants speak in a different international accent. This time around, Shelly has a strong, deep-seated fear from one man who has incredible ability, reach, and demonic connections, and so the first thing she and Eric do after they get out of rehab is return to her padded luxury apartment and drink themselves senseless with her.
Listen, not everyone is keen on profound contemplation as well as strong feelings, and I quite enjoy the enjoyable and somewhat empty scene where Shelly poses with a book during an outdoor picnic with some random children and tells Eric that she is currently reading Rimbaud. Such a shame that if The Crow were a bit more self-parodying it could achieve cult status on its own, well, not the kind of cult which its creators ever intended to create of course.
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