The Crow

Judging by the glut of harsh reviews from critics I trust (including my old friend, AK Film Geek), I've opted to give The Man With The Iron Fists a theatrical pass. For this weeks entry, I'd prefer to indulge in a little nostalgia by briefly examining an Alex Proyas film from the 90's that had a profound impact on me.  The Crow is a film for which my fondness and nostalgia is so overwhelming, I'm entirely incapable of assessing it through an objective lens.  A dark, stylish film both ahead and completely of its time.  I was 16 when The Crow came out, so the romanticized ideal of its magically misanthropic loner lead appealed immensely to my immature worldview.

The film operates outward from a central nihilistic conceit of an unjust world where crime and corruption hold sway, with the only viable solution being a misunderstood male violently upending the status quo.  Not only does this simplistic set up seem quaint and narcissistic in the modern world of global technological connectivity and heightened social awareness, it strikes one as borderline irresponsible as we continue living through the unending mass shootings in Columbine's wake.   But hey, it was the 90's and one needed look no further than the multiplex to ascertain casual violence was king.  The reality of violence hadn't hit home for most of us in our suburban splendor, so it was something to revel in the coolness of, rather than contemplate its repercussions. 

So, it should be no surprise that a young white male such as myself, raised on the one-man-army mentality of classic Stallone and Schwarzenegger and then thick in the tumult of puberty, should find so much to love in The Crow.   I saw it on one of my first dates (I was a bit of a late bloomer romantically speaking) shortly after procuring my drivers license, inextricably and forever linking the film with freedom in my young mind.  Star Brandon Lee had been accidentally killed on-set during filming, so the release was shrouded in morose fatalism, an atmosphere us surly teens were emphatically drunk on for the entire decade.  It's a simple supernatural revenge story, but told with such verve and style as to be positively Shakespearean to its target audience.  The imagery coupled with the real-life tragedy that framed its creation, was chilling.  Every moment in the film was imbued with additional emotional weight and sadness thanks to the cruel hand of fate.  To a 16 year old cinephile taking his first awkward steps into the world of relationships, this heady stew was beyond intoxicating, burned into my brain and emotional nerve centers for all time.

The absolutely fucking fantastic soundtrack didn't hurt either.  To this day, I can think of no album of popular music so well tied into a film with the possible exceptions of Repo Man and Saturday Night Fever.  The songs by then popular grunge, alternative and metal bands are still listenable today (to me at least) and factor in so prominently to the films mood and themes, I can't imagine the picture being nearly as successful without them.  The music in The Crow is every bit as integral to its magnificence as the direction, the source material, the costume design, the lighting and the performances.  Speaking of the performances, the iconic and final work from Brandon Lee is like a raw nerve being repeatedly, remorselessly plucked.  His presence is unearthly, possessing fluidity, grace and lean, muscular menace all at once.  The Crow is also overstuffed with memorable supporting turns by colorful character actors.

Ernie Hudson is the island of affable stability amidst a swirling sea of malevolent chaos, providing much needed moral grounding and comic relief.  Tony Todd, Michael Wincott, Bai Ling and Jon Polito are all slimy putrescence as the upper echelon of criminal activity in the hellish sewer of a city the film takes place in.  But it's David Patrick Kelly as T-Bird and his speed freak gang of miscreants that tie the film together and give our tragic protagonist his awful purpose.   They can't help but be likable through sheer lunk-headed enthusiasm and barbaric camaraderie.  One can only hope they were reunited in hell after the events of the film, firing it up in service of the devil himself, demonic henchman in this life and the next.

The Crow is a film that hit me just right at exactly the perfect time in my life.  It surely will seem overblown, silly and outdated to those late to the party, but it was a pivotal moment in my adolescence.  A potent genre exercise with lasting impact, timely then and to me still timeless.  Trapped forever in the amber of exaggerated longing and righteous conviction so prevalent in youth.  The film is to me as lingering fumes of forgotten feelings whose aroma I was childishly certain would never fade.  When revisiting it or its soundtrack, synapses inexplicably fire off in my brain producing cloudy and welcome reminisces of years gone by and my generation swallowed by the onslaught of time and change.