The Raven: A poem about the film about the poem

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary
Over how bad The Raven could be, and if it would leave my eyes sore.
After renting it and watching, suddenly in my mind there came a tapping
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my brain door.
“This isn’t as bad as I expected” I muttered, “but it’s still a bit of a bore”
“Only this, and nothing more”

Ah, distinctly I remember it was James McTeigue who directed,
Danny Ruhlmann’s cinematography that cast lights, shadows on the floor.
Eagerly I wished the film would’ve been better, and not as hollow.
From John Cusack’s miscast role – he did good, but could’ve done more;
To the script that could’ve glowed, and could’ve soared,
But it was just there, nothing more.

Then a supporting cast that was solid, they delivered with their acting
By Luke Evans and Brendan Gleeson, although they could’ve done more
Though their roles were stuck and underdeveloped, I said at least it’s a haven
In a film that brought little thrill, could’ve been so much more
Tell me why with such a great source, it could’ve been easy to score
But The Raven? Nevermore.

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing,
On the climax and the ending, could’ve taken the film to the next shore;
On the killer’s motivations and identity, that could’ve used some more refining
On the resolution that the film tried to rest o’er,
But whose contrivances where so weak to look over
'Tis just a C and nothing more.