Those who champion Crash as another David Cronenberg cult classic at least have an understandable reason: it’s arguably the last of his original format. Sexual psychology abounds, draped in darkness and colored with Cronenberg’s body horror tastes in a mangled orgasmic car Crash. What’s missing is his ability to contextualize this psychology through human beings instead of meaninglessly vague generalizations. Once the metaphor is finishes construction halfway through, Crash has nowhere to go. Why should we care about what we’re seeing?