ebooks for Everyone Lists

A passionate analysis of the ill-fated 1994 film starring the late Brandon Lee and its long-lasting influence on action movies, cinematic grief, and emotional masculinity

“A powerful reminder that the most powerful art reminds us how to feel.” — Anne T. Donahue, author of Nobody Cares

Released in 1994, The Crow first drew in audiences thanks to the well-publicized tragedy that loomed over the film: lead actor Brandon Lee had died on set due to a mishandled prop gun. But it soon became clear that The Crow was more than just an accumulation of its tragic parts. The celebrated critic Roger Ebert wrote that Lee’s performance was “more of a screen achievement than any of the films of his father, Bruce Lee.”

In It Can’t Rain All the Time, Alisha Mughal argues that The Crow has transcended Brandon Lee’s death by exposing the most challenging human emotions in all their dark, dramatic, and visceral glory, so much so that it has spawned three sequels, a remake, and an intense fandom. Eric, our back-from-the-dead, grieving protagonist, shows us that there is no solution to depression or loss, there is only our own internal, messy work. By the end of the movie, we realize that Eric has presented us with a vast range of emotions and that masculinity doesn’t need to be hard and impenetrable.

Through her memories of seeking solace in the film during her own grieving period, Alisha brilliantly shows that, for all its gothic sadness, The Crow is, surprisingly and touchingly, a movie about redemption and hope.

About the Pop Classics Series

Short books that pack a big punch, Pop Classics offer intelligent, fun, and accessible arguments about why a particular pop phenomenon matters.

In the 40 years since Labyrinth’s release, Jim Henson’s cult classic starring a menagerie of goblin puppets, the conversation about it has only grown louder. Fans are still holding viewing parties and masquerade balls, and creating memes inspired by David Bowie’s sardonic and sexy goblin king, numerous Etsy crafts, and even a Japanese video game. But what makes the film so enduring, beyond its technical mastery and clever script, is how it presents childhood as something dangerous, heroic, and even queer.

It’s Only Forever explores Labyrinth as an ’80s time capsule that both reflects and challenges its era, offering its young audience an alternative to conservatism and soulless economics, at a time when U.S. president Ronald Reagan ignored the HIV/AIDS crisis, pushing queerness further into the shadows. As Sarah, played by a teenaged Jennifer Connelly, faces down the king and his destructive whims, she exclaims, “You have no power over me,” and in that moment she is everyone who has ever felt marginalized, who has instead turned to the goblins over social and political toxicity every single time.

From the costuming to the twisting plot, this classic example of 1980s fantasy shows us that the magic and comfort of childhood never need to be discarded as we are forced to enter a world that may very well seek to destroy us. Instead, Labyrinth reveals a universal and beautiful truth: that our strength comes from what we have always known ourselves to be — beastly, loving, and wildly joyful.