A Murder of Crow's

Scott Hardie | August 25, 2024
So there's another Crow movie in theaters this weekend, the latest in a surprisingly long-running series of attempts to recapture the financial success of the first film 30 years ago.

I don't want to yuck on anybody's yum. If that's your thing, go have fun. I enjoyed the first movie, too.

But I can't help but see the franchise through different eyes at 46 than I did at 16, and in 2024 than I did in 1994. It's disturbing for at least two major reasons, and I'm a little unsettled by how many of my friends are quoting it on Facebook and pumping themselves up to go see the latest installment.

First, it reinforces the self-imprisoning idea among men that the only acceptable emotional display is one of violence and anger. The character of the Crow has suffered trauma, but instead of pursuing some measure of healing that would require expression of sadness and acceptance of grief, he chooses rage instead, going on a killing spree against the criminals who wronged him. He seems incapable of loving his dead girlfriend as a human being; instead objectifying her as a thing to be avenged, a token symbol of how he has been lowered in status (by her murder!) and how he must regain his higher status by asserting violent dominance over his tormentors. Don't be fooled by the goth makeup and emo posturing that make him seem at a glance to stand out from more stoic forebears like Marvel's Punisher or Death Wish's Paul Kersey; the surface gloss is a misdirection, because genuine sadness would require processing his feelings instead of rejecting them.

Second and more distressingly, the film gives permission to acts of mass violence. It isn't that the experience of being murdered and reanimated causes the Crow to become violent and retributive. (Does the mystical crow that carries his soul back from the afterlife also teach him martial arts and tactical weapons skills?) No, he chooses this violent response to his pain, and in that way, the victimizing experience that "creates" him is merely a permission slip to engage in mass violence. The Crow, and by extension his audience, wants to shoot up a room full of people and look badass while doing it, but that would be socially unacceptable. Avenging himself and his dead girlfriend are the fig leaf that allows us to pretend that his act of mass murder is righteous, not merely acceptable but in fact heroic. How many mass shootings have to happen in America, with the killers leaving behind tortured justifications for their moral reasoning, before we condemn this kind of violence in any form?

I get it. Violence dazzles and excites and sells tickets. Nobody wants to order a plate of kale salad when a sizzling steak is on the menu. But just as we have encouraged entertainment companies to sell us an endless regurgitation of our childhoods rather than more sophisticated art for grown-ups, we have also allowed them to sell us these sort of violent fantasies without questioning their implications or their teachings, and we have stunted our own ability to recognize the danger of these myths.

Am I wrong? Is there more value in the Crow series than I give it credit for, or is it at least harmless fun?

Lori Lancaster | August 30, 2024
I agree and disagree with you.

I remember the night I went to go see this at the Arcada I believe. I was with Eric, and a couple of Phringers or so. All dressed in black. I had been watching Brandon Lee flicks since the 80s. I remember crying when the news reports came out about the tragic death on set. I was going not only because of my love of comic books, and Brandon Lee, but also to pay respects so to speak to the last film he was in. I feel that this was meant to be as part of an overall arc. Starting first with the anger and vengeance and probably following thru to show his growth as a person. Unfortunately we only saw the first stage of his journey as his life was cut short. Who knows how they would have shown his progression.

I did see the second movie but didn’t enjoy it enough to retain it like I can still see parts of the original movie in my mind if I close my eyes.

In the first film, I think he’s not only charged with avenging himself, and his girl, but also the countless people that have had their lives cut short by these monsters as well as the unborn children him and his bride would have had. Not only are those victims affected but all those around them too -including the cop, the girl who’s virtually adopted by them, the people who followed the band and their music, the hospital workers and their families by senseless brutality… everyone.

The crow brings back his spirit. He can’t rest until the retribution he has been charged to carry out is fulfilled. It does seem like Hate, Love, and Sadness are what fueled him. As he starts delivering people to Hades, he also seems to get glimpses of all the atrocities they have committed and it fills him with more rage.

The first movie has never felt like “torture pron” (intentionally misspelled) or violence for the sake of violence. It was the righteous fury of an avenging angel.

I have not read the comics and am going solely based on the live action property and fuzzy memories of the 90s. We saw tons of movies back then as a group, didn’t we Scott :) I’m also looking at this thru the lense of hero journeys, Greek mythology, and other cinematic tales of redemption.

I wish they weren’t remaking the original because that is where Brandon died and it feels like it disturbs his memory a bit. I will however give the new film a chance to see how it tackles the familiar story. I do feel the original had a fantastic soundtrack that may perhaps not be matched by today’s artists. Burn by the Cure and Thrill Kill Kult’s song is just epic level for me with the energy and imagery in the film.

Scott Hardie | September 14, 2024
I appreciate the thoughtful answer, Lori.

We really did see quite a few movies back then. Plenty of happy memories. :-)

I have read the original comic book (albeit long ago) and I remember it feeling more authentic about the sadness, at least in the early going, which makes sense because of the book's origin in James O'Barr's real grief. But even he said that the experience of writing it was unhealthy, because it forced him to draw upon such feelings of rage that he felt worse and worse the longer it went on. Anger is a normal response to grief, but homicidal rampages are not, and when they're part of a narrative, they require ever-escalating evildoing by the antagonists to remain justified. It's a very unhealthy mindset, and the fact that we don't see the problem when we consume it as entertainment is what concerns me. Lately, I've been watching a lot of pre-#MeToo works that depict the mistreatment of women as a punchline or as a romantic overture, and while things are still far from perfect today, it does feel like a lot more people now have their eyes open about that sort of material not being funny or romantic. Perhaps revenge porn like The Crow will someday be perceived for what it is.

I didn't see the sequels, but does anybody remember them? They're all so different that they basically have no narrative connection, right? I don't know why this new film is being called a remake when it could just as easily be another sequel; there appears to be no difference between the two in this franchise but for the characters' names.