There is a particular kind of expectation that comes when a director revitalizes a dormant horror franchise with an absolute bloodbath. Following in the footsteps of Leigh Whannell’s recent, darker takes on the Universal Monsters catalog (The Invisible Man, Wolf Man), filmmaker Lee Cronin steps up to the plate. Let’s get one thing straight immediately: Lee Cronin’s The Mummy has absolutely zero connection to the beloved Brendan Fraser action-adventure universe. Instead, Cronin brings the wicked, toe-curling sensibilities he showcased in Evil Dead Rise to a much more somber, gothic nightmare that sinks its sandy claws in and refuses to let go.
The setup here is immediately isolating and trades the grandiose, CGI-heavy plagues of Egypt for an intimate family tragedy. Television correspondent Charlie (Jack Reynor) and his wife Larissa (Laia Costa) have their world shattered when their youngest daughter, Katie, disappears without a trace in Egypt. Fast-forward eight years: the grieving family has relocated to America when a miracle occurs. Katie is found—mummified inside a sarcophagus among the wreckage of a crashed plane, but inexplicably still alive.
The film initially swaps the punk-rock, relentless energy of Cronin’s previous work for a more patient exploration of a family navigating profound trauma. However, what should be a joyous reunion quickly devolves into a living nightmare. It’s here that the film hits its stride, utilising mummification not just as a monster trope, but as a vessel for an insidious, demonic home invasion.
If you loved the sheer, unrelenting terror of Cronin’s last outing, you’ll find plenty to squirm at here. While it might not reach the absolute zenith of Evil Dead Rise’s blood-soaked madness, the horror is incredibly effective. Cronin has a knack for trapping a fractured family in a claustrophobic scenario (this time utilising incredible production design across the Cannon family home and a creepy, dormant farm).
The body horror is top-notch and undeniably wince-inducing. There are tons of scenes with skin peeling, teeth chattering, bile retching, and some truly agonising moments involving toe-nail clippers and hooks. Cronin wears his Sam Raimi influences proudly on his sleeve, utilising off-putting, abrasive extreme close-ups of eyes and mouths that somehow feel more unsettling than the actual gore.
A horror film of this emotional weight requires actors who can ground the madness, and the cast delivers. Reynor and Costa bring a palpable, aching humanity to the grieving parents, making their desperation to connect with their returned daughter feel entirely authentic. But the real standout is Natalie Grace in her feature film debut. As the mummified, possessed Katie, she delivers a hellish performance, aided by immaculate, skin-crawling prosthetic work that makes the monster feel tactile and horrifyingly real.
Where Lee Cronin’s The Mummy falters—and what prevents it from being a flawless horror masterpiece—is its bloated 133-minute runtime. The narrative unfortunately branches off into an investigative side plot back in Egypt, following a detective (May Calamawy) trying to uncover the source of the demonic possession.
The problem isn’t that this subplot is poorly written, but rather that it’s entirely redundant. Charlie is simultaneously doing his own investigation into ancient Egyptian spirituality. This leaves the film juggling two identical story arcs, which drags the pacing to a crawl. Whenever the film pivots to these investigative tropes, it sheds its unique, terrifying identity and starts to feel like a much more generic possession thriller. We’ve seen these exposition dumps before, and they distract from the claustrophobic dread that Cronin builds so well.
When the eerie horror and technical marvels are front and centre, the film is fantastic. Lee Cronin’s The Mummy stumbles at times with its bloated runtime and repetitive side plots, but it easily recovers on the strength of its atmosphere, its visceral practical effects, and its unapologetically nasty tone. It’s a bold, creepy take on a classic monster that firmly establishes Cronin as a modern master of the macabre.
