Key Takeaways
- Lee Cronin’s The Mummy is a gross‑out horror film that leans heavily on practical effects and over‑the‑top bodily horror rather than a tight narrative.
- The story follows the Cannon family after their daughter Katie is abducted in Egypt, returns years later as a grotesque, possessed version of herself, and unleashes increasingly disgusting manifestations in their isolated New Mexico home.
- Cronin’s direction shines in set‑piece moments of vomit, slime, and contortion, borrowing cues from The Exorcist and Sam Raimi’s style, but the film suffers from a convoluted plot, excessive runtime (134 minutes), and thin character development.
- While the performances are serviceable, the practical‑FX crew earns the most praise for creating memorably repulsive imagery.
- The reviewer ultimately recommends the film for viewers who enjoy extreme, splatter‑laden horror and can laugh at its excesses, rather than those seeking a coherent or thematically rich story.
Lee Cronin’s The Mummy (now streaming on VOD platforms such as Amazon Prime Video) opens with a puzzling cold‑open that merely plants a pyramid and sarcophagus for later reference before shifting focus to the Cannon family. Charlie (Jack Raynor), a TV news reporter, his nurse wife Larissa (Laia Costa), and their children Seb (Dean Allen Williams) and Katie (Emily Mitchell) live in Cairo. One day a mysterious woman lures Katie with candy, forces a beetle‑laden tangerine into her mouth, and kidnaps her. Charlie’s pursuit is thwarted by a sandstorm, and after an eight‑year gap—signaled by a subtitle—the story resumes.
The Cannons have relocated to an isolated desert home near Albuquerque, where Larissa’s mother Carmen (Veronica Falcon) also resides. Seb is now played by Shylo Molina, and the couple’s newborn daughter Maud (Billie Roy) rounds out the household. Meanwhile, back in Egypt, a salvage crew recovers the same sarcophagus from the opening scene; inside lies a teenage Katie (Natalie Grace) inexplicably alive but markedly altered. Her skin is leathery, her gaze vacant and malevolent, and her physical state is… problematic (the review hints at grotesque toenail details).
Eager to reunite with their daughter, Larissa and Charlie bring Katie home despite doctors’ assurances that she merely needs rest. Almost immediately, Katie head‑butts Grandma and contorts her body in a “crackity‑bones” display, prompting Larissa to administer an epi‑pen tranquilizer. The family’s house contains ample hidden cavities behind the walls, allowing them to hear thumping noises and chase Katie through dim, cobweb‑strewn corridors. During one such pursuit Katie swallows a large scorpion whole—a moment that foreshadows even more repulsive set‑pieces later in the film.
The review notes that Cronin’s debt to The Exorcist and other demonic‑possession movies is evident, with occasional nods to Sam Raimi’s kinetic style from his earlier film Evil Dead Rise. The practical‑effects team receives special commendation for conjuring the film’s signature “squick”: torrents of vomit, glistening pus, bile, and other viscera that linger on screen. Notable sequences include a projectile‑puke homage to The Exorcist and a tumbling‑down‑the‑steps POV shot that turns grotesque imagery into inadvertent comedy.
Performance‑wise, the cast is described as “fine” but not outstanding; the real star is the crew responsible for the physical effects. The film deliberately avoids any sexual or romantic subplots, focusing instead on bodily horror. Despite a narrative that feels overcomplicated—detours involving Detective Dalia (May Calamawy), an old VHS tape, and a consultation with an Egyptology professor—the reviewer argues that Cronin’s intent is not to deliver a tight, logical story but to maximize disgust and splatter. The movie’s 134‑minute runtime feels excessive given the thin plot, yet the relentless series of repulsive moments elicits both cringing and laughter.
Cronin’s tone blends grim seriousness with a twinkle‑in‑the‑eye sadistic humor, a mixture that sometimes works and sometimes falls flat. While there are fleeting glimpses of thematic material—such as the strain on a marriage when a child is consumed from within by an ancient evil—the reviewer contends that audiences are primarily drawn to the film’s “necro‑aesthetic,” gravity‑defying spewage, and the sheer inventiveness of its gross‑out set pieces. Anyone expecting a more traditional mummy tale (think Boris Karloff or Brendan Fraser) will be disappointed; the film is best approached as a deliberate, over‑the‑top exercise in visceral horror.
In conclusion, the reviewer advises that The Mummy can be criticized for its myriad flaws—logic gaps, excessive length, underdeveloped characters—but also enjoyed for how hard it pushes the boundaries of disgust. The final verdict: if you can laugh at the blecch, stream it; otherwise, look elsewhere for a more restrained horror experience.
John Serba, freelance film critic from Grand Rapids, Michigan, offers this take, noting a memorable encounter with Werner Herzog.