'Lee Cronin's The Mummy' Review: A Horror Film Wrapped in Memories of 'The Exorcist'

The idea of taking classic Universal Studios monster movies and giving them a modern spin by tying them to contemporary concerns is, on paper at least, pretty brilliant. And Blumhouse Productions, the upscale horror movie factory that gave us Get Out, is the right company to do it. But the results have been steadily declining in quality. Leigh Whannell’s The Invisible Man was an ingenious tale of domestic abuse, while his 2025 follow-up, Wolf Man, was a de-fanged look at the perils of fatherhood and the horrors of generational trauma. Lee Cronin’s The Mummy, directed by the obviously immodest Lee Cronin, is even worse because one has to dig deeper than six feet under to excavate the larger points buried beneath the viscera, which, in the fleeting moments when it cares to acknowledge them, seem to be parental guilt and the limits of maternal devotion. But let’s face it: Cronin, who breathed icky, hair-raising life into Evil Dead Rise, is really in this for the last half-hour, when the slow-moving parade of horror movie tropes gives way to an enjoyably unhinged, if nonsensical, climax.

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