The Mummy fails to resurrect a lifeless franchise

Universal have spawned a new franchise baby, under the deeply concerning moniker Dark Universe. And if The Mummy is any indicator of what that franchise promises, it may be best to simply cancel the whole endeavour outright.

Nick Morton (Tom Cruise) and Chris Vail (Jake Johnson) are soldiers of fortune, abandoning their military duties to sideline as tomb raiders. When Nick, in his greed, accidentally releases the spirit of Ahmanet (Sofia Boutella), a betrayed Egyptian princess contained beneath the sands, he must face a force unlike any the world has seen as she wreaks havoc on London.

While there’s some clever throwaway lines and a couple of exciting, frantic action sequences, The Mummy is ultimately proof that marquee blockbuster filmmaking has actively gotten worse in the preceding decades. Stephen Sommers’ 1999 take on the legend was a memorable romp that deftly blended action, comedy and horror with the wonder of an Indiana Jones film (another franchise that succumbed to time). This iteration, boasting six screenwriters and a director (Alex Kurtzman) better known as a producer, is not only less even, but repellently gloomy.

The atmosphere is surprisingly close to modern day DC Films, mired in the same ashen palette of Batman V Superman or (bizarrely) The League Of Extraordinary Gentlemen. Whoever lit this film must not have shown up on set. Overall, the design lacks reason or aesthetic appeal – what purpose do Ahmanet’s multiple pupils serve, exactly? The only camp to be seen comes from the least likely of sources: Russell Crowe as Dr Henry Jekyll. Now who could he possibly be? Blatant saga-building exposition weighs down every potentially exciting moment, and every story beat can be spotted a mile away.

Admittedly, blame can’t be really be levelled at protagonist Cruise, who has soared to the status of a legend on his capacity to effortlessly carry an action film. He’s as functional and affable as ever here, if a different breed of scoundrel than Brendan Fraser’s Rick O’Connell – far less likable, for one. His douchery makes his arc more traditionally dramatic, but adversely affects the film’s entertainment value.

There’s also zero stakes, from the word go. It’s quickly established that Nick is essentially unkillable – he becomes a human MacGuffin – and no amount of plot wrangling can bring back the sense of peril felt in the breathtaking plane crash sequence. None of the action has any sense of fun, and fails to excite on the primal level that rival effort Kong: Skull Island did.

At the premiere, the team were proud of showcasing Sofia Boutella as the first woman to ever don the bandages of the titular Mummy. But such a gesture, positive as it is, cannot simply be used to tar over a generic effort at franchise-booting. It’s also undercut by the events of the film itself. How ironic that The Mummy should be unveiled the week after Wonder Woman.

This character used to be juicy, but twenty years and a disinterested creative team have pulled its brains out through its nose, making it drier than the sands from whence it came.

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