It is highly unusual for a director to receive an "ownership credit" in a film's title—such as "John Carpenter's *The Thing*"—unless they possess extraordinary prestige. John Carpenter earned this type of credit on several of his films; Lee Daniels secured it for *The Butler*, and Luca Guadagnino did the same for *Challengers*. It is likely that Lee Cronin's *The Mummy* includes such a credit not because the *Evil Dead Rise* director suffers from an inflated ego, but rather to distinguish it from the original 1932 *The Mummy*, the 1999 box-office hit starring Brendan Fraser, and the 2017 commercial flop featuring Tom Cruise. Furthermore, Universal holds the rights to the title "The Mummy," whereas this film is a New Line Cinema release.
Cronin offers a unique take on this premise. TV reporter Charlie Cannon (Jack Reynor) and his wife, Larissa (Laia Costa), suffer the abduction of their young daughter, Katie, while living in Egypt. Eight years later, the girl is found alive. Katie (Natalie Grace) returns home in a deeply disturbing state—the result of having been held captive inside a sarcophagus for a prolonged period. Her physical appearance has become grotesquely deformed, and her temperament has turned explosive. Larissa firmly believes she can heal her daughter through love; Charlie, conversely, disagrees, convinced that they need to uncover exactly what happened to her. To find those answers, he decides to collaborate with Egyptian detective Dalia Zaki (May Calamawy).
Director: Lee Cronin
Writer: Lee Cronin
Stars: Jack Reynor, Laia Costa, May Calamawy
The film's plot feels, at times, somewhat implausible; however, it compensates for this weakness with a genuine capacity to generate unease and horror. Cronin spares no effort in crafting macabre and twisted imagery designed to shock the viewer; the sight of rotting flesh sloughing off the body is a recurring motif throughout the film. There is a scene in which Larissa attempts to trim Katie’s toenails that will undoubtedly haunt my dreams for a long time to come. Several sequences evoked the same sense of repulsion I experienced when I first watched *The Exorcist* and *The Omen*. While those films are works of higher caliber, the sensation of witnessing a child character terrorizing adults feels remarkably similar in both instances. The film’s climax goes all out, culminating in an explosion of blood, guts, and carnage.
Pushing the boundaries of the "R" (Restricted) rating to their absolute limit will undoubtedly please fans of the most disturbing horror cinema. However, the film offers much more than mere gruesome scenes; its screenplay explores the theme of parental guilt with both depth and insight. Larissa tacitly blames Charlie for Katie’s disappearance, given that he was at home with the girl at the moment she vanished. He blames himself just as much. That tension—compounded by their disagreement over the best way to handle Katie’s bizarre behavior—threatens to take a heavy toll on their marriage. Reynor and Costa infuse their roles with compelling emotional resonance. One particularly harrowing moment depicts the couple watching a videotape that reveals Katie’s fate; the anguish the actors convey is heartbreaking.
These strengths help to offset some of the film’s weaknesses. The movie doles out clues regarding the circumstances surrounding Katie’s disappearance in measured doses, and to say that the viewer will need to suspend their disbelief would be an understatement. Nor are we offered a convincing explanation as to how the girl manages to exert influence over her older brother, Sebastian (Shylo Molina), and her younger sister, Maud (Billie Roy). Furthermore, the 133-minute runtime feels somewhat excessive.
I am willing to overlook these minor flaws, however, as the film delivers its moments of horror in a highly satisfying manner. Cronin imbues the visuals with a powerful atmosphere, including a spectacular use of the split diopter in key shots. First-rate gore effects and impeccable editing maximize the intensity of the horror. Lee Cronin’s *The Mummy* aims high.
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