There was a distinct era when Brendan Fraser effortlessly encapsulated an entire mythological saga with a mere gesture and a knowing smile, and the iconic Imhotep character exuded genuine pathos beneath his terrifying, gloriously rendered form. Almost three decades later, those vibrant, pulp-fiction adventures have matured like a perfectly preserved artifact, their infectious spirit of enjoyment resisting the erosion of time, even as Hollywood consistently revisits this ancient wellspring with increasingly heavy-handed approaches. Following Tom Cruise’s ill-fated attempt to forcibly integrate the material into an existing cinematic universe, which starkly demonstrated how quickly this narrative can falter when contorted into an unsuitable mold, this most recent excavation comes courtesy of Irish filmmaker Lee Cronin. Fresh off the visceral triumph of *Evil Dead Rise*, Cronin arrives with a considerable amount of industry capital, enough to undertake a revival, yet arguably with a touch of hubris evident in his direct association with the project’s title. This newest iteration benefits from substantial backing, including horror titans James Wan and Blumhouse Productions, though persistent whispers of Wan’s alleged dissatisfaction with an early cut continue to circulate, even after official dismissals. The final film does little to quell the notion that some creative friction or unforeseen complications may have arisen during its production.
Cronin re-establishes the legendary narrative within a contemporary framework, commencing in Cairo where TV journalist Charlie Cannon, portrayed by Jack Reynor, resides with his wife Larissa (Laia Costa) and their children. Their lives are irrevocably altered when their daughter Katie vanishes in a sandstorm after forming an ill-advised connection with a neighbor. Eight years pass, and the grieving family has relocated to Albuquerque. Katie’s return is orchestrated in the most extraordinary and unsettling manner possible: she is discovered within a 3,000-year-old sarcophagus at a plane crash site and subsequently reunited with her parents in a state that oscillates between profound catatonia and something far more malevolent—a condition that would compel any discerning adult to flee in terror.
Cronin’s directorial signature manifests in a visual style that feels both deliberately crafted and curiously derivative. Frequent split-diopter compositions relentlessly juxtapose foreground and background elements within a single, anxious frame, while the camera moves with a predatory stealth, as if anticipating a sudden assault. The family home itself transforms into a claustrophobic pressure chamber, characterized by acute angles, concealed passages, and extensive sightlines designed to heighten tension even when no immediate threat is present. This atmospheric tension proves effective for a time, before gradually succumbing to narrative inertia.
Once Katie is back under the family roof, all semblance of practical judgment and self-preservation instincts seem to dissipate. The screenplay subsequently leans heavily on sheer obstinacy to propel the plot forward, as the Cannons—defying all overt evidence—insist that the emaciated, wheezing, and unambiguously possessed child in their care merely requires “time and affection.” This perplexing decision reduces them to passive observers within their own harrowing ordeal, effectively stripping the film of any genuine emotional or narrative stakes. As the runtime extends far beyond a comfortable duration, the pacing becomes an arduous test of endurance, with scenes repeatedly revisiting the same frustrating thematic beats while the story simply waits for the next outburst of violence to rationalize its protracted length.
The performances offer intermittent respite from the overall sluggishness. Newcomer Natalie Grace delivers a fully committed portrayal of Katie’s physical transformation, contorting her body into genuinely unsettling configurations and channeling the raw, unfiltered menace reminiscent of Linda Blair without resorting to direct imitation. Calamawy consistently provides a grounded presence, lending the film a sense of anchor and purpose whenever it threatens to devolve into mere cacophony. Reynor, still conveying traces of his previous roles…
