LEE CRONIN'S THE MUMMY

Along with the Werewolf, the Mummy stands as the Universal classic monster of non-literary origin that has spawned the most films outside of traditional saga frameworks. While Karl Freund's 1932 masterpiece was followed by four sequels of sorts, the myth of an Egyptian priest resurrected after millennia has taken countless other cinematic forms. From Hammer Films' reimagining with Christopher Lee in the title role, to the ill-fated 2017 Tom Cruise action vehicle, through the iconic adventure saga with Brendan Fraser and Don Coscarelli's cult classic Bubba Ho-Tep with Bruce Campbell. To this growing list of films centering on the dusty yet lethal creature, Lee Cronin's The Mummy now adds another chapter to Blumhouse's project of revitalizing classic monster icons, created in collaboration with James Wan's Atomic Monster. Following The Invisible Man (2020) and Wolf Man (2025), Jason Blum's production house tackles another monster ripe for modernization and reinvention, because just as with those two Leigh Whannell-directed films, the title alone is the real connection to tradition—everything else is a complete reimagining of the myth. American journalist Charlie Cannon has been living in Cairo with his family for several months working as a correspondent for a television news program. One day, however, his life and that of his loved ones is shattered when his nine-year-old daughter Katie is kidnapped and vanishes without a trace. Eight years later, the Cannon family, now back in New Mexico, receives a call from Egyptian authorities: Katie has been found locked in a sarcophagus, still alive but in critical physical condition. The girl bears the appearance of someone who hasn't seen sunlight or moved a muscle in years. Charlie and his wife Larissa decide to care for Katie at home, but they soon realize their daughter doesn't just look disturbing—her behavior makes them doubt whether the motionless figure in the bed is actually Katie at all. At the helm of The Mummy is Irish filmmaker Lee Cronin, a true auteur who writes every film he directs and is rightfully making a name for himself in the genre. After his impressive 2019 debut with Hole, Cronin caught the attention of Sam Raimi and was hired to direct the stunning Evil Dead Rise (2023). Both films share a subtle thread: a family devastated by an external event that forever changes how they perceive their loved ones. The Mummy fits perfectly into this pattern, deeply exploring the progressive erosion of trust within a family unit. As in Hole, the child who "returns" brings something malevolent that has fundamentally changed them. Katie is no longer the sweet nine-year-old aspiring scout. The memory that sustained her parents' affection and hope comes to a jarring halt when reality confronts them in the form of a grotesque creature—helpless and deeply unsettling. Cronin seems to weave a subtext about families dealing with a severely disabled child, giving grotesque form—exaggerated, of course—to that frustration and sense of surrender parents experience when facing such a demanding situation. What unfolds in the film's first half is an incredibly dramatic and painful scenario, and Cronin's writing skill lies in his ability to make viewers genuinely empathize with the protagonists, especially Charlie, played by Jack Reynor. While the first section already contains several deeply disturbing moments that seem to follow the impeccable structure of Friedkin's The Exorcist (with perhaps some unintentional echoes of Lucio Fulci's Manhattan Baby), it's in the second half that The Mummy explodes into a concentrated dose of terror truly capable of testing the viewer's nerves. We're not talking about jump scares and splatter effects alone (though these are plentiful and well above average), but a pervasive sense of unease, decay, and authentic repulsion that the director and his makeup and effects team infuse into everything filling the film's second hour. Body-horror combines with a series of deliberately excessive choices that spare no one, particularly children, who are subjected to scenes of cruelty and disgust that could genuinely disturb more "sensitive" viewers. There's also a suffocating, oppressive atmosphere charged with tension, heightened by excellent work on makeup and set design, that barely lets the viewer breathe until the final climax, which allows for some spectacle. The "second ending" could have been avoided—narratively feels somewhat tacked on—though it's appreciated for the desire to leave no storyline unresolved. In short, Lee Cronin's The Mummy is a nightmarish roller-coaster ride of terror the likes of which we haven't seen in quite some time. It's genuine horror that takes itself seriously and doesn't worry about pleasing everyone—quite the opposite. It takes risks and delivers moments of cruelty and visual shock we wouldn't have anticipated. And Katie, the "mummy" played by the magnificent Natalie Grace, has an iconic look distinctive enough to haunt viewers' memories and nightmares for years to come.