magnus_nilsson99
Joined Oct 2006
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magnus_nilsson99's rating
I had high hopes for Netflix's Devil May Cry. The trailer looked amazing-stylish, fast-paced, with that classic Dante flair. But the show completely misses the mark. Instead of focusing on Dante, we get a bland angry swearing girlboss as the lead and modern politics as a red thread in a very thin and quite boring story , and Dante is sidelined and even has to be detained. Seriously? I'm not even a hardcore fan of the games, but I still expected the series to actually be about Devil May Cry. Episode 6 completely lost me. The pacing is off, the story is confusing, and the characters lack charm or depth. Netflix had an easy win here, and they somehow fumbled it hard. So sad !
In 1994, we had movies like The Crow that truly stood out-visually, thematically, and emotionally. Today, many feel we're bombarded by generic blockbusters, seemingly churned out by studios with more focus on marketability than creativity. Let's explore the contrast between The Crow and modern-day films.
The Crow was a movie rooted in tragedy, with the accidental death of its lead actor, Brandon Lee, during filming. This only deepened its emotional core, as the story of a man returning from the grave to avenge his death became hauntingly symbolic. Directed by Alex Proyas, the film's rain-soaked, gritty atmosphere echoed Blade Runner but created a distinct identity of its own. The mix of dark vengeance, love lost, and a hellish cityscape made it more than just a comic-book adaptation-it became a reflection on grief, justice, and redemption.
Contrast that with many modern blockbusters, which are often over-reliant on CGI and formulaic plots. Despite advances in technology, it's as though we've lost some of the imaginative spirit that defined films of the 90s. Consider the meticulous world-building in The Crow-from the scorched city streets to the eerie flying crow symbolizing death and resurrection. Today, this might be reduced to just another superhero film where emotional depth is sacrificed for action set-pieces.
Proyas crafted a movie that, while linear in narrative, delivered a world that felt alive. Every shadow and drop of rain had a purpose, thanks to brilliant technical work from production designer Alex McDowell and cinematographer Dariusz Wolski. Yet, it wasn't just about style-Brandon Lee's performance was unforgettable, and The Crow as a whole left a lasting cultural impact. It wasn't simply a revenge fantasy; it was a meditation on loss, with Lee's untimely death adding layers of meaning to his character's journey.
In contrast, many films today, despite massive budgets, lack that same level of soul. There's an increasing focus on franchises and cinematic universes that feel more like products than art. Sequels and remakes abound, but few reach the emotional depth or originality of films like The Crow. Even though The Crow was followed by sequels, they were unable to recapture the magic of the original without Lee's presence.
So, why do we keep returning to the past when discussing films like The Crow? It's because they remind us of the balance between creativity and commercial appeal. The Crow succeeded at the box office, but it was also daring, artistic, and heartfelt. It wasn't just another action movie-it had substance, atmosphere, and an unforgettable performance at its heart.
In a time where many of today's films feel overly manufactured, The Crow reminds us of a moment in cinema when risks were taken and rewards were reaped. Whether through its haunting visuals or the tragic real-life circumstances surrounding its creation, it remains a powerful reminder of what can be achieved when art and commerce meet in the right way.
The Crow was a movie rooted in tragedy, with the accidental death of its lead actor, Brandon Lee, during filming. This only deepened its emotional core, as the story of a man returning from the grave to avenge his death became hauntingly symbolic. Directed by Alex Proyas, the film's rain-soaked, gritty atmosphere echoed Blade Runner but created a distinct identity of its own. The mix of dark vengeance, love lost, and a hellish cityscape made it more than just a comic-book adaptation-it became a reflection on grief, justice, and redemption.
Contrast that with many modern blockbusters, which are often over-reliant on CGI and formulaic plots. Despite advances in technology, it's as though we've lost some of the imaginative spirit that defined films of the 90s. Consider the meticulous world-building in The Crow-from the scorched city streets to the eerie flying crow symbolizing death and resurrection. Today, this might be reduced to just another superhero film where emotional depth is sacrificed for action set-pieces.
Proyas crafted a movie that, while linear in narrative, delivered a world that felt alive. Every shadow and drop of rain had a purpose, thanks to brilliant technical work from production designer Alex McDowell and cinematographer Dariusz Wolski. Yet, it wasn't just about style-Brandon Lee's performance was unforgettable, and The Crow as a whole left a lasting cultural impact. It wasn't simply a revenge fantasy; it was a meditation on loss, with Lee's untimely death adding layers of meaning to his character's journey.
In contrast, many films today, despite massive budgets, lack that same level of soul. There's an increasing focus on franchises and cinematic universes that feel more like products than art. Sequels and remakes abound, but few reach the emotional depth or originality of films like The Crow. Even though The Crow was followed by sequels, they were unable to recapture the magic of the original without Lee's presence.
So, why do we keep returning to the past when discussing films like The Crow? It's because they remind us of the balance between creativity and commercial appeal. The Crow succeeded at the box office, but it was also daring, artistic, and heartfelt. It wasn't just another action movie-it had substance, atmosphere, and an unforgettable performance at its heart.
In a time where many of today's films feel overly manufactured, The Crow reminds us of a moment in cinema when risks were taken and rewards were reaped. Whether through its haunting visuals or the tragic real-life circumstances surrounding its creation, it remains a powerful reminder of what can be achieved when art and commerce meet in the right way.