The Crow’s crow can’t bring you back, but it can point you towards the way through

Alex Proyas’ adaptation of The Crow—James O’Barr’s long-running, deeply gothy, deeply personal revenge comic—is a movie about death that’s inexorably tied to death. Its lead, Brandon Lee—a rising star, by all accounts a damn solid guy, and the son of fellow action legend Bruce Lee—died from a shooting accident days before finishing filming. Lee’s death led to massive revisions in on-set firearm policies and left the folks who cared for him to grieve. 30 years on, O’Barr—who wrote the comic in part to work through his grief over his fiance’s death in a hit-and-run and befriended Lee during the film’s production—has made his peace with the work. Meanwhile, a succession of increasingly dire sequels—the last of which somehow manages to make a guy getting impaled dull—pillaged the concept while missing why The Crow flies.

And The Crow does fly. Its soundtrack and score are legendary. Its Detroit, animated by set designer Tim Eckel and cinematographer Dariusz Wolski (The Martian and Fly Me to the Moon) exists in the hyperreal space between the familiar—lived-in apartments, a well-loved hotdog stand—and the fantastic—a crumbling church adorned with spiked-up gargoyles and an evil lair whose vast emptiness reflects its owner’s hollow vacuousness—a cousin to and evolution of Anton Furst and Roger Pratt’s work on Batman. Its action works in a similar space—Lee’s resurrected rock guitarist turned supernatural avenger Eric Draven walks through storms of blades and bullets with a mystical healing factor and has a flair for the theatrical, but to fight back, he goes for ambushes, decisive blows—and on one occasion a glorious homage to Chow Yun-Fat and John Woo.

But where Proyas and company’s picture clicks for me is the players. Michael Wincott (Nope) takes his callous landlord, Top Dollar, to a zonked endpoint that makes complete sense. Top Dollar evicts tenants on a whim, seeks to rebuild Detroit as he pleases, and happily employs cadres of creeps to enforce his will. His inner circle is composed predominantly of his business partners—including an unruffled Tony Todd as his right hand. He also collects swords, implicitly practices incest with his sorceress sister Myca (Bai Ling, Southland Tales), and performs evil magic to secure his reign over the city. If you’re already down with forcing folks out of their homes for fun and profit, why not go all in on being a ghoul? So in Wincott goes. Top Dollar is marvelously despicable, a sneering warlock in wizard-shaped business casual, as likely to whine about money making opportunities going to waste as he is to cheerfully harvest a murdered woman’s eyes for use in a spell.

On the opposite end of The Crow’s bench, Ernie Hudson and Rochelle Davis are Albrecht—a cop demoted for prioritizing people above policing—and Sarah—a good-kid who’s armored her heart with tweenage snark who Eric and his fiance Shelly (Sofia Shinas) looked after in life. Albrecht’s trying to do right by the folks Top Dollar and his spare change have been brutalizing—including the one who’s risen from his grave as an avatar of retribution. Sarah’s unpacking the tangle of grief, hope, and confusion that her dear friend’s return and subsequent efforts to help her spark. Where Top Dollar exists, seeking one cruel pleasure after another to occupy his time, Albrecht and Sarah live amidst hurt, care, and the moments of wonder that come with being human.

And then there’s Brandon Lee. His Eric Draven is the axis on which his peers’ work turns, and he is the A-number one reason to check out The Crow. Heck, his work, in general, is well worth digging into—if you want a prime example of the 1990s action film done darn well, give Rapid Fire a go. 

As “Eric Draven, the Crow, Avenger,” Lee combines Eric’s knowledge of his invulnerability and his drive to pay back the callow viciousness of the goon squad who murdered Shelly and him with interest, building fun invincibility. No one short of Top Dollar and Myca can match Eric, but they aren’t just going to collapse immediately in his presence. He’s going to dominate, but he’s got to put the work in to do so, and putting in the work means creativity and style. For another example of fun invincibility in action heroes, see Michael Jai White’s turn in the great 2009 picture Blood and Bone.

As “Eric Draven, amiable rock guitarist, and all-around good guy back in the world of the living for a short while,” Lee builds an abiding warmth that grounds and bolsters The Crow’s more sentimental scenes and contrasts the relentlessness of his action. Brief flashbacks with Shinas show Eric as a loving, romantic partner, happy to be goofy if it makes Shelly laugh. With Hudson and Davis, Lee is wearier, acutely aware that he’s returned for vengeance, vengeance, and vengeance. Eric knows that he shouldn’t interact with Albrecht and Sarah any more than he has to. They’re alive. He isn’t. They have their tomorrows. He has a mission. But, while Eric cannot pick up where he left off, he does have some time. In his peaceful moments, Lee emphasizes that Eric Draven likes people. He can thank Albrecht for the compassion he showed Shelly and Sarah. He can give Sarah the goodbye that he and Shelly never got a chance to provide and pass on a precious memento. And for himself? Eric gets to make sure his and Shelly’s cat is okay and play a little more music.

Lee plays both sides of Draven well and uses the tension between the night-hunting avenger and the musician with the gentle smile who knows that it can’t rain all the time to strengthen both sides of his performance. Eric’s tenderness with Shelly, Sarah, and Albrecht sharpens his wrath against Top Dollar and his brute brigade. His merciless avenging, in turn, emphasizes what was lost when he and Shelly were murdered. Moreover, Lee highlights the transience of Eric's return by heightening Eric’s rage and emphasizing how much he cherishes the time he has with Sarah and Albrecht. The dead are the dead. Eric hasn’t been resurrected, he’s been raised. He will not live on. But his memory? Shelly’s memory? Those Sarah and Albrecht can carry forward. 

For a movie about supernatural revenge against a cadre of scumbags, The Crow is remarkably sweet-hearted. Combine that sweetness with Lee’s work, solid action, and an impeccable feel, look, and sound, and there’s a reason that Proyas and crew’s picture remains well-loved. Would that it was just one of many pictures in Lee’s filmography rather than a memorial.

If you enjoyed this article, please consider becoming a patron of Hyperreal Film Journal for as low as $3 a month!