A title like “Lee Cronin’s The Mummy” invites multiple questions. For one, who is Lee Cronin? Why is his name attached to the film? How, if at all, is this installment related to “The Mummy” starring Tom Cruise, “The Mummy” starring Brendan Fraser or any of the other multitudinous bandage-wrapped, Egyptian-themed entries which bear the name?
The new horror movie, written and directed by — you guessed it — Lee Cronin is almost certainly titled as such simply to distinguish itself from prior films. The filmmaker is basically known for one film, “Evil Dead Rise,” and hardly has the audience appeal of an acclaimed auteur like Wes Craven or Tim Burton. Press coverage has dubbed the movie a “reimagining” of Universal’s classic franchise, but that descriptor doesn’t quite capture how divorced it is from any “Mummy” lore to date. In fact, it’s basically a self-contained riff on the possessed-child template popularized by “The Exorcist” with a perfunctory coat of sand-colored paint.
Our lead characters are stupid and unlikeable, major plot questions are simply glossed over and on the whole, very little actually happens. Gushers of projectile vomit and congealed overgrown toenails are certainly disgusting but never inspire real fear.
The film follows American reporter Charlie Cannon (Jack Reynor), who lives in Egypt with his wife, Larissa (Laia Costa) and their two young children. Their daughter, Katie, is abducted by a mysterious stranger and presumed dead. Eight years later, the Cannons have relocated to Albuquerque, N.M., where they live with their son and a younger daughter.
The family is shocked to learn that Katie, played by Natalie Grace, has been discovered entombed in a sarcophagus: catatonic, grey and visibly decaying, yet somehow still alive. In spite of the bizarre circumstances — and after conspicuously little medical consultation — the family decides to bring her home. Katie exhibits bizarre and increasingly sinister behavior before, unsurprisingly, terror ensues.
There’s very little plot-wise that hasn’t been done before and better. Where the film stands out is in its grotesque body horror and occasional flourishes in camerawork. Cronin seems endlessly fascinated by spit, bile, blood and flayed skin, which he occasionally frames with extreme closeups and split diopter shots.
This visual language speaks to a tension in the film’s tone. Cronin clearly has an appetite for wild camera moves and over-the-top violence, but he never commits hard enough to the movie’s inherent absurdity to make it land as either deliriously scary or deliriously funny. Where a film like “Weapons” reveled in comic terror, “The Mummy” mostly settles for being unpleasant. Its nastiest set pieces — especially those involving children and the elderly — feel less gleefully unhinged than mean-spirited, and the film’s attempts to wring pathos from its paper-thin characters only make the cruelty feel more hollow. The result is a movie that is sometimes amusing, but rarely in ways that seem intentional.
For instance, in a second-act argument with Charlie, Larissa indignantly accuses him of thinking she cannot care for her own daughter. When that daughter is a zombified gremlin crawling inside the walls, eating bugs and shedding skin, the answer would seem to be obvious: No, she clearly cannot. It’s a moment that could play as darkly funny commentary on the parents’ delusion and denial, but Cronin instead treats it as compelling interpersonal drama.
This evasiveness extends beyond the family drama. Some of the film’s craziest moments are simply dropped, with scenes transitioning away before anyone has to grapple with what has actually happened. Effective horror films like “Hereditary” spotlight their characters’ futile efforts to make sense of their nightmarish experiences and the rifts in family relationships that result. Charlie’s token attempts at investigation — a couple hackneyed visits to an archaeology professor to decode ancient writing — lead nowhere and feel included only to give the impression of a forward-moving plot.
Back in Egypt, Cairo detective Zaki (May Calamawy) works to uncover the circumstances of Katie’s initial abduction. This subplot contains some of the film’s most intriguing material and might have made for a stronger central premise. Part of the problem is that the family melodrama is not only bland but also largely divorced from the mummy of it all. The Cannons’ move back to the U.S. only deepens the sense that as is, this could just as easily have been an “Evil Dead” or “Conjuring” spinoff.
To give credit where it’s due, “The Mummy” is mostly competent in moving things along and about as vile as they come. Horror fans looking for a tropey, visceral gross-out session will surely be sated by its squishy thrills. But making audiences squirm isn’t the same as making them scared, despite what Cronin seems to think. For a film that’s over two hours long and supposedly draws on a decades-old franchise, “Lee Cronin’s The Mummy” feels strangely anonymous. Beyond its queasy excess, there is little here that is distinctive, memorable or especially fun — just a generic possession movie wrapped in old branding and fresh slime.
