The original The Crow (1994) was a lightning-in-a-bottle masterpiece, combining poetic tragedy, raw emotionality, and an iconic aesthetic that cemented its place as a cult classic. In stark contrast, the 2024 remake feels like a soulless shadow, lacking any semblance of the mythos or gravitas that made its predecessor soar. Under Rupert Sanders’ direction, the film struggles to find its footing, opting for a bloated backstory and needless embellishments that ultimately dilute its essence.

At the heart of the issue is the misguided focus on Eric Draven (Bill Skarsgård) and Shelly’s (FKA Twigs) relationship. Rather than allowing their love to haunt the narrative as a poignant undercurrent, the remake drowns the story in flashbacks and overwrought melodrama. This obsession with fleshing out their past not only drags the pacing but also misses the point of the original’s mythic simplicity. In doing so, the remake becomes a pale, lifeless interpretation—an empty vessel devoid of the soul and pathos that defined its core.

The term for something that lacks mythos is anemic, and that word encapsulates Skarsgård’s portrayal of Eric Draven. While the actor has delivered magnetic performances elsewhere (It, Barbarian), here he’s saddled with a character stripped of depth or nuance. His Eric is all façade—a slick veneer of gothic aesthetics with nothing substantive beneath. Without material that allows him to explore Eric’s torment, grief, and vengeance, Skarsgård’s performance is reduced to a hollow pantomime of what Brandon Lee immortalised.

Visually, the film occasionally nods to the original’s atmospheric brilliance but never matches its haunting beauty. The action sequences feel stale, the villains cartoonish, and the film’s tonal identity shifts awkwardly between brooding melodrama and half-baked action thriller. By attempting to expand the lore and tinker with the narrative, Sanders inadvertently strips The Crow of its primal, mythic power, leaving an insipid rehash of what was once a deeply moving story of love, loss, and redemption.

The Prognosis:

This Crow doesn’t soar—it flaps clumsily and crashes, a sad reminder that not all stories demand a retelling.

• Saul Muerte