The Raven | Film review

John Cusack and Luke Evans in The Raven

To this day, no one knows who or what was responsible for the untimely demise of Edgar Allan Poe. The Raven offers one possible (albeit far-fetched) explanation, but the real mystery here is who in his right mind would cast John Cusack, sardonic poster boy of eternal hangdog adolescence, as the famously troubled author. Storming a local saloon, begging for drinks and admonishing hecklers, a goateed Cusack bellows, “I am Poe, not poor, mouth-breather!” with hambone relish. It’s a (mis)casting coup so brazen it almost works, especially when you consider that this ludicrous historical-fiction thriller has more in common with Guy Ritchie’s Sherlock Holmes than the ghoulish writings of its subject.

The title, in fact, is a complete misnomer. Instead of talking crows we get a ruthless serial murderer who’s using Poe’s macabre short stories as inspiration. “The killer’s taunting us,” exclaims Luke Evans’s Baltimore police detective as he uncovers a trail of clues so fiendishly intricate you wonder if John Doe from Seven might be the time-traveling culprit. Meanwhile, Cusack’s dashing eccentric feeds human hearts to his pet raccoon and romances a blond beauty (Alice Eve); in a convenient historical omission, it goes unmentioned that Poe’s deceased ex-wife was also his 13-year-old first cousin. Excepting one grisly set piece—a pit and a pendulum may be involved—The Raven feels about as dangerous as Shakespeare in Love. And how sick are we of the whole monologuing-villain routine? Nevermore, please.