Lee Cronin's The Mummy

It’s been a couple of weeks since I saw Lee Cronin’s The Mummy, and it’s stayed with me, mostly because it’s so bad. 

I’m assuming the writer/director’s name has been added to the title to avoid any confusion with the Brendon Fraser Mummy movies, one of which is currently in production. It also, most likely unintentionally, reflects that fact that Cronin’s creative stamp is firmly on this flick, and so, for better or worse, he gets to own it. 

The premise for LCTM is, on paper, an interesting one: The pre-teen daughter of an American family is abducted in Cairo, and is found eight years later, mummified but alive. The execution, however, isn’t. 

The trouble is apparent in the pre-credits sequence with its Raiders of the Lost Ark-style indoor pyramid and a kill that should impress to kick things off, but just doesn’t. The movie, then, begins with a whimper, and not what seems the intended bang. 

Post-credits, we see little Katie learning Morse Code, which we know will play a role later in the story. She's then abducted, and Dad (Jack Reynor) comes across like a macho American asshole, his rage and frustration showing itself via entitlement rather than concern. He’s a difficult character to empathize with, despite the weight of his situation. It's the kind of role mid-career Mel "Givmebackmyson!" Gibson excelled in. 

Eight years later, through the eyes of a teenage cyclist, we see a cargo plane crash in the far distant mountains. Seemingly seconds later, the boy has traversed distance and time to arrive at the crash site. Not only does he discover a deuce of dead bodies, but he also finds a sarcophagus standing upright, presented like the monolith from 2001: A Space Odyssey. When archeologists get a chance to examine the sarcophagus, they find the mummified Katie inside, who bolts to life moments later. That she's survived plummeting to Earth in a heavy AF stone coffin seems something we’re intended not to question.  

All this is so much setup for the story proper in which Katie’s family, now relocated to her maternal grandmother’s home in New Mexico, bring her home. It’s a fine setup for what could be a disturbing and affecting flick about what happens when a traumatized family member is brought back into the fold, and her return destroys rather than reunites the family. Instead, it’s during this homecoming scene that we discover just how boneheaded this movie is. Instead of lifting the nonverbal and semi-catatonic Katie from her wheelchair and carrying her upstairs to her bedroom, Dad pulls her up the staircase, bumping and thumping her wheelchair up each and every step. Dad’s care looks an awful lot like abuse. 

Katie’s not the only child in the Cannon family; there are three, and each becomes possessed to varying degrees, with Katie the centre of all the supernatural hokum. Not much has been added to what cinematic possession looks like since The Exorcist, and if we’ve ever needed proof of just how terrific Linda Blair’s performance in that watershed flick is, we need look no further than what little Billie Roy as Maud Cannon, Katie’s younger sister, is called upon to do with the unconvincing casual use of shock words like “cunt”. It’s not Roy’s fault; the basis of the problem lies in the writing, direction, and expectation placed upon such a young actor. 

As much bandwidth devoted to LCTM has mentioned, the flick quickly devolves from a mummy movie into a variation of Cronin's previous possession film, Evil Dead Rise. It also throws in elements of Ari Aster’s Hereditary, William Friedkin’s The Exorcist, the Philippous' Bring Her Back, and countless other horror films, including a funeral scene that crosses, I kid you not, The Simpsons with Sam Raimi’s Drag Me to Hell and Mary Lambert's Pet Sematary.

Beyond LCTM’s penchant for playing mix tape with every horror film made since 1973, it’s also an ugly film to sit through in terms of its cinematography. Apparently lit to suggest an Egyptian tomb, the Canon’s suburban home is so filled with sandy earth tones and so dimly lit that it would be uninhabitable. It's a choice. 

The film has its good points — its Egyptian setting, the performances of Emily Mitchell as the returned Katie, Laia Costa as Katie’s mother, May Calamity as a Cario-based detective on the case, Hayat Kamille as the villain of the piece, and Katie’s character make up from Arjen Tuiten’s R-E-N Studio, as well as some very wet gore effects — but it’s well and truly a dud.

2025

Dracula (aka Horror of Dracula).

Dir: Terence Fisher. Cast: Peter Cushing, Michael Gough, Melissa Stribling, Christopher Lee, Carol Marsh, John Van Eyssen, Valerie Gaunt, Olga Dickie & Janina Faye. 1958

Revisiting the 2012 Hammer Films restoration of Dracula, which includes additional footage from its initial Japanese/Eastern European release, I was reminded of how Jimmy Sangster’s script streamlines what’s found in the source novel, and keeps the proceedings fresh and unpredictable for viewers familiar with author Bram Stoker’s most famous work, and from earlier screen adaptations. 

Sangster’s script also nicely deals with (or eliminates) several moments that, even by the late 1950s, had become vampire/horror movie cliches, such as the coachman refusing to take Jonathan Harker (John Van Eyssen) all the way to Castle Dracula, the arrogant sneering at local traditions found in most other iterations of the story, and Dracula’s (Christopher Lee) barely contained, bug-eyed hunger at the sight of Harker cutting his finger. Even the fascinating, but difficult to convey without camp, character of Renfield is nowhere to be seen. It's apparent that Hammer had something very serious on its mind here.  

And although it’s been written about ad nauseam, the emphasis, for the first time, on the eroticism inherent in the Dracula story is (in)famously clear and present. 

On the latter note, something interesting I picked up on this time, whether it was intentional or not, is that, as Count Dracula makes his way to Harker to feed upon him, Dracula seems positioned as a sexual predator rather than as a creature solely intent on blood. To drive the point home, the scene ends with a fade to black, a transition that was frequently used to indicate a sexual moment that, based on era-specific sensibilities, the filmmakers would be unable to show on screen. 

Later, as Doctor Van Helsing (Peter Cushing) searches Castle Dracula for his companion, Harker, he makes his way into Dracula’s bed chamber. There, we’re shown the corpse of the Count’s recently staked “bride” as well as, in another nearby coffin, the dormant and now vampiric Jonathan Harker. It’s as if Harker has replaced Dracula’s bride as bedroom companion. Again, it’s hard not to read this in some sort of sexual context. 

Dracula was the second pairing of Cushing and Lee after The Curse of Frankenstein, the previous year’s box office hit for Hammer. The duo's continued shared screen appearances would become one of the hallmarks of what would be known as Hammer Horror. 

Here, Cushing gives us a more contemporary take on Van Helsing than we’re used to. He’s solid, caring, and well versed in both science and superstition. His Van Helsing is a man of both compassion and action.

As for Lee… With all apologies to the great Bela Lugosi, who truly established the way that we see and understand Count Dracula, Christopher Lee has always been my favourite incarnation of the Count. Watching again, I was struck by the way Lee’s Dracula is so matter of fact as opposed to coy or arch, the speedy and agile manner in which he ascends and descends Castle Dracula’s main staircase, and the way he turns absolutely feral when his anger or feeding instincts are aroused. 

In fact, it's one of the great moments in horror cinema the first time we see Lee as an enraged vampire. We've previously met him as a debonair and somewhat aloof nobleman, but here, we're wrapped up in a hurried conversation between Harker and the "Vampire Woman" (Carol Marsh), who is begging Harker to take her away from Castle Dracula. 

Suddenly, in a shock cut, we find that Dracula has returned from feeding, and he's not having any of it. In light of our earlier introduction to the Count, we’re not prepared for the sight of the red-eyed, bloody-mouthed monster, shot in medium close up, and accompanied by the clash of cymbals on the soundtrack. It is perhaps the most effective introduction of the Count as vampire in cinema history. Perhaps the same can be said for the film itself. Dracula, or Horror of Dracula, is a bonafide classic.

Clem Burke, RIP.

Blondie has long been my favourite band. There are multiple reasons for this, with their music obviously being first and foremost, but not insignificantly, the band was a lifeline for me from a boring and threatening small town existence that didn’t fit me particularly well, to the exciting and artful world of New York City and all that that mecca has always offered all sorts like me. 

At the core of the band has always been three members: co-founders Debbie Harry and Chris Stein, and Clem Burke. Having been with Blondie since the beginning, Burke’s extraordinary drumming has been instrumental in the creation and evolution of the band’s sound and image. 

Clem Burke passed away “following a private battle with cancer”, as a release from the band states. His death date was Sunday, April 6, 2025.

In their statement, the band go on to note that “Clem was not just a drummer; he was the heartbeat of Blondie.” This is the heart of the matter. I don’t quite see how Blondie can continue as a band. Fortunately, they have an album recorded and ready for release sometime this year. It will be Burke’s farewell. 

^ Click to read.

Fans of any band can be forgiven for stating “Member X is one of the greatest guitarists in the game”. We frequently only see the best in the people and things that we love, but in Burke’s case, it’s not hyperbole. He was well recognized and acknowledged as a drummer among drummers. Evidence to support this is online everywhere. 

When the heartbeat of something that has been so integral to your life stops beating, it seems only natural to reflect on its impact. Burke absolutely had a great run, sought out by countless musicians to add his touch to their projects both live an in-studio. He was recognized with an honorary doctorate from the University of Gloucestershire, and he “founded the Clem Burke Drumming project to investigate the physical and mental-health benefits of drumming”, as Wikipedia says. But it’s the fact that he propelled the band that helped me see a different and recognizable way of being that matters most to me. 

As your friends and bandmates say, "Godspeed. Dr. Burke."

Blondie's "Panic of Girls" CD autographed by Harry, Stein, 

and in the upper right corner, Burke. 

The Night God Screamed.

Dir: Lee Madden. Cast: Jeanne Crain, Alex Nicol, Daniel Spelling, Michael Sugich, Barbara Hancock, Dawn Cleary, Gary Morgan & Stewart Bradley. 1971

Never underestimate the power of nostalgia. 

As a 1970s Monster Kid, The Night God Screamed is just the kind of retro horror I eat up. I must have come across images of its skull masked stalker when I was a kid through the pages of Famous Monsters of Filmland or in a book like Denis Gifford's A Pictorial History of Horror Films. Certainly, I was familiar with the film's lurid poster. Whatever the case, that creepy rubber mask was known to me, even if I had no real context for it. All I knew was that it was from a movie I wanted to see. It took me until 2025 to do so. 

Academy Award nominee Jeanne Crain (Elia Kazan's Pinky) has convicted a Charles Manson like cult leader and two of his followers to death row. One night sometime later, while caretaking four teenagers, the remaining cult members lay siege to the house, terrorizing Crain and her charges. 

The first act of the film focuses on the then relatively current Manson Murders Mania, but then, post-conviction, the caretaking scenario comes into play, setting up the rest of the film. What follows, for me and my nostalgia addled synapses, is a tense and satisfying showdown between caretaker and teens, and crazed cult members. 

The Night God Screamed was written by Gil Lasky, who co-produced along with Ed Carlin. What this means to a trash raccoon like me is that it possesses a thoroughly enticing pedigree. Lasky also wrote and co-produced with Carlin an even more nostalgic and even more lurid favourite of mine entitled Blood and Lace, and it shows. Most of the hallmarks of that flick are present here, including its sickly atmosphere, a real feeling of threat, weird surprises, and moments that just may have influenced John Carpenter's classic Halloween.

All in all, The Night God Screamed was a perfect night in at the movies for me.   

Shitkid and the end of music.

Shitkid is (was?) Åsa Söderqvist (at one point it also included bassist Lina Ericsson), a Swedish musician whose music you'll either love... or you won't. From her first Shitkid EP in 2016 though to 2023's "Rejected Fish", Söderqvist's music has sounded just like she's wanted it to sound, even as that has shifted from project to project.

Personally, Shitkid's music has come to sound like the end of music, like it's the last word in contemporary music. I can't put it any better than that. I think that's pretty amazing. 

You can check out Shitkid at Bandcamp. 

A first.

Gazing over at my to-read stack recently, I noted that it was comprised entirely and incidentally of gay material. The thing that hit me about this is that, for the first time in 60 years of living on this planet, three gay publications were available to me and I'd chosen them at random and without purpose beyond entertainment. It may not seem like anything to some, but it was absolutely noteworthy to me. 

Maxxxine

It’s hard to write about Maxxxine as a fan of X and Pearl, the proceeding films in Ti West’s X Trilogy, without sounding like I’m trying to convince myself that I liked it. That’s absolutely not the case. 

The thing is, Maxxxine needs to be looked at two ways: As the end of a trilogy, and as a standalone film in its own right. In this light, I found it much more successful as the latter. That’s not to say that Maxxxine doesn’t do its job as the final chapter in the trilogy: It continues the storyline, and it closes this chapter in the life of Maxine Minx; it also carries with it thematic and technical aspects from the other films: It’s as different from Pearl as that film was from X, it features a terrific performance from Mia Goth, it subtly (and sometimes less subtly) references elements from its predecessors, and it further explores the various interpretations of “X Factor”.

This time, West is evoking the vigilante films of the 1980s (with a little bit of Argento inspiration added), and my take away is that in this case, the X Factor is Maxine Minx's ability to survive. This is one of the things that I find most fascinating about this trilogy, this exploration of the X Factor. For the three characters that Goth has played in this series, and I would assume for most of the audience, the X Factor means star quality. West, however, knows that there are other aspects that make people stand out. For Pearl, it was her insanity, for Maxine, that survival instinct is her true outstanding quality. 

Taken on its own merits, Maxxxine is a highly entertaining flick that, for fans of X and Pearl, may not provide the emotional connection to character that the previous films hold, but is still a satisfying experience. Could it be that the films it evokes are just not as fertile an inspiration as those that inspired X and Pearl? I guess I need to go see it again. 

Godzilla Minus One

Uncertain whether or not Godzilla Minus One would make it to a screen in my province, my husband, two friends and I drove the 164+ kms to Moncton to see it on the big screen, and I’m glad we did.

I’ve made the trek to M-town to see a movie exactly four times now — to see The Devil’s Rejects, to see My Bloody Valentine 3-D (before we had 3-D capability here in Charlottetown), to see The Witch, and now for G-1.

I’ve been a lifelong Big G fan — He’s my favourite movie “creature”. I think that he was borne out of Japan’s need to work through the radioactive trauma of the bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki is both heartbreaking and fascinating. My Chinese Zodiac sign is the dragon, and although Big G is a version of a dinosaur, he’ll alway be closely associated with dragon mythos in my mind. When I was diagnosed with blood cancer, I quickly settled on Godzilla as my symbol for my fight against this disease. He has been tattooed on my body — twice.

As a kid I “thrilled” (yes, that’s the right word) to Saturday matinee screenings of Godzilla flicks. I enjoy the campy later Showa Era Godzilla movies, taken on their own terms. I’ve enjoyed watching his evolution (and sometimes de-evolution) both as a character and in creature design.

All that to say that I probably react more intensely to a Godzilla flick than the causal viewer. With that in mind, Godzilla Minus One gave me all that I hope for in a Big G flick, and more — Characters to care about, honestly felt emotion — it’s possible that as a gay person, the concept of “found” or “chosen” family hits harder, awesome” (in the true and original sense of the word) mayhem, unobtrusive nods to the original 1954 Godzilla flick, suspense, social commentary, original themes neatly explored, a master class in how to use CGI, and this — the filmmakers were able to make Godzilla scary (no mean feat, as I’ve never found giant creatures a particularly upsetting notion).

Much, if not all of the film’s success can be attributed to Takashi Yamazaki who wrote, directed and provided the visual effects for G-1. Leave it to the Japanese to give us the best films about “their” creature. I think they understand Big G’s appeal, history and fluid meaning, and the weight (no pun intended) that he carries best.

As we were leaving the theatre, one of my travelling companions and I had a discussion about an occurrence that takes place towards the end of the film that he wasn’t sure how he felt about. I get where he’s coming from, but for me, there’s this — If you don’t live, you don’t know what you’re missing, no matter how improbable. In coming to terms with Japan’s notion of death as honour here, it makes perfect sense to me.

More Favourite Horror Flicks, Alphabetically: Phantasm

Phantasm

Dir: Don Coscarelli. Cast: Michael Baldwin, Bill Thornbury, Reggie Bannister, Kathy Lester & Angus Scrimm. 1979

Phantasm, the little movie that could. This indie flick is such a shaggy dog that I think horror fans either find it too all over the place and goofy to be a cohesive horror classic, or embrace its everything-but-the-kitchen-sink storytelling. Clearly, I fit into the latter category. 

Reduced to brass tacks, Phantasm is the story of something weird going on at a small town mortuary that involves tiny robed creatures from another dimension, a flying bloodsucking orb, and the iconic Tall Man played by Angus Scrimm. It also, significantly, involves a teenager dealing with the death of his parents, and the off-kilter world that he finds himself in in the wake of that loss. And that, for me, is the key to Phantasm. 

Never a fan of “other dimension” horror tales, Phantasm, much like Jack Woods’ 1970 indie flick Equinox (to which Phantasm seems to owe a small debt, much smaller than say Sam Raimi’s The Evil Dead does), director Coscarelli doesn’t go down that particular portal in very much depth, which suits me just fine. Instead, Coscarelli focuses on the bizarre world of Morningside Cemetery and the uncertain and unstable nightmare that teenage Mike (Baldwin) is trapped in. 

More Favourite Horror Flicks, Alphabetically: Pearl

Pearl 

Dir: Ti West. Cast: Mia Goth, David Corenswet, Tandi Wright, Matthew Sunderland, Emma Jenkins-Purro, & Alistair Sewell. 2022

As much as I love X, I was unprepared for how much I would fall for Pearl. Set 61 years earlier than X, Pearl gives us the backstory of my favourite murdering granny, set in the era of the influenza pandemic in rural Texas. 

I love how West and co-writer Goth revisit and payoff themes, elements and incidents from X here. I love that they draw a connection between the height of the COVID pandemic with the earlier influenza pandemic. I love that Goth has an opportunity to really own her character here, to inhabit her, to write her, to co-create her. I love how Pearl’s parents know they are housing a psychopath in the making, and that this, to them, is Pearl’s true X-Factor. I love that West took the movie in a different direction than its predecessor by drawing inspiration from movies like The Wizard of Oz and Gone with the Wind. I love Goth’s performance here (she should have been handed an Oscar), and that of the other actors. I love the world this movie creates, I love its atmosphere. I love that, for me, it evokes the filmography of Curtis Harrington. I love that we get to see the spark in the young Pearl that, by movie’s end, is just starting to be snuffed out, only to be replaced by something much more lethal and sad. 

 

West and Goth have just wrapped shooting on MaXXXine as I write this, the third and final film in the X trilogy. It follows Pearl’s mirror image Maxine from the first film as she tries to make it big in 1980s Hollywood. I, for one, can’t wait to see what they’ve got in store for us. 

More Favourite Horror Flicks, Alphabetically: The Hills Have Eyes

The Hills Have Eyes 

Dir: Wes Craven. Cast: Susan Lanier, Robert Houston, Martin Speer, Dee Wallace, Russ Grieve, John Steadman, Michael Berryman, Virginia Vincent & Janus Blythe. 1977

While his Scream films tend to divide horror fans, I have a like/don’t like relationship with Wes Craven’s movies in general. Sometimes I react to a perceived silliness that I just can’t get beyond (i.e. his penchant for boobytrap-fuelled climaxes), sometimes I think he brings the worst out in his actors (Virginia Vincent in Hills, Ronee Blakley and — yes, sorry… Heather Langenkamp in A Nightmare on Elm Street), and sometimes, I actively dislike his movies (Shocker, Deadly Friend). Oddly, it’s some of his less popular titles that I respond to more positively, namely Deadly Blessing and Red Eye, though I think that Last House has its merits, and The Serpent and the Rainbow and The People Under the Stairs are worth catching, and A Nightmare on Elm Street is a bonafide horror classic. 

All that to say… By all accounts an intelligent and thoughtful man, Craven followed up his Last House on the Left with this less controversial but still lurid tale of an All-American Family at odds with its cannibal clan opposite. Stranded in the desert due to irritatingly dumb actions from Mom and Dad, the surviving members of the Carter family have to stay alive and retrieve Baby Katy from the clutches of the cannibal family lead by Papa Jupiter (Whitworth). 

Rife with social commentary, great raw shocks, genuine emotion, some indelible characters, and yes, boobytraps, The Hills Have Eyes gives me Craven at his best. For once, it’s less complicated than it need be.

Solidly remade by Alexandre Aja (co-produced by Craven) in 2006.

More Favourite Horror Flicks, Alphabetically: City of the Living Dead

City of the Living Dead (aka The Gates of Hell)

Dir: Lucio Fulci. Cast: Christopher George, Catriona MacColl, Carlo De Mejo, Janet Agren, Antonella Interlenghi & Giovanni Lombardo Radice. 1980

Lucio Fulci is one of my “comfort” filmmakers, having created a filmography from which segments have become very familiar to me, and which always serve to bring me back to the early days of hunting for Italian horror on VHS, and the joys of actually happening upon a rare uncut tape at some mom and pop shop back in the 1980s.

The director has a number of great horror films to his name — The Beyond, Zombie, The House by the Cemetery, and most notoriously, The New York Ripper — as well as gialli — Perversion Story, Don’t Torture a Duckling, A Lizard in a Woman’s Skin, The Psychic — but for me, City of the Living Dead is his most gleeful foray into the macabre. 

A doorway to Hell is opened when a priest in Dunwich, Massachusetts (Lovecraft territory), hangs himself. What follows (and precedes it) is a number of set pieces designed to wow splatter fans: A psychic awakens after being buried alive (a scene I believe Tarantino — ahem — paid homage to in Kill Bill: Vol. 2), poor old John Morgan (aka the late, great Giovanni Lombardo Radice) has his head drilled, internal organs are spewed, brains are squeezed out of skulls, and what’s an Italian splatter classick without a storm of maggots? 

There are surprising twists that may not be logical, but they sure work on a visceral level, and there are no rules about who will make to the other side, or even what that other side might look like when they get there. The whole thing is heavy on atmosphere and comic book lighting, and is not meant to offend or to be taken more seriously than the entertainment — albeit a little on the nihilist side — that it is. Admittedly, its pace has slowed, for me, on repeat viewings due to that same familiarity that makes me love it, but that initial introductory screening was extraordinary. 

Another White Guy Writes About Blaxploitation Movies

I find it at best awkward when a white person writes about Blaxploitation movies, mainly because these movies weren’t made specifically for us, and because we bring our experience as white people to them. It can be so easy for us to miss the point, to treat them as camp, or to dismiss them, because, honestly we might just not get them. 

As a white suburban kid in the 1970s during the golden era of Blaxploitation, I didn’t come into contact with any of these films. They may have played my local drive-in, but I wasn’t seeing them. If what I was seeing in the pages of Cracked and Crazy magazines could be believed, however, these movies were mostly playing urban centres, and they all shared one common message: “Let’s get honky!” 

The latter wasn’t true, of course, but it was a reading that obviously a lot of white people were making of Blaxploitation movies at the time, and it may also have been a reaction to the fact that movies made by black filmmakers and starring black actors were vying for screens alongside the usual white-centric films. Regardless, the message that was being passed along to pre-teen me was that these movies were clearly dangerous, at least to a little suburban white kid. 

Eventually, I caught one of the Shaft movies on TV, and I was surprised to find myself getting into it, and responding positively to Richard Roundtree’s John Shaft. Maybe there was more to these movies than what the comedy magazines of the day were pitching. 

During the 1980s, Blaxploitation movies made their way into suburbia and rural areas via home video. Unfortunately, that was also the decade when the concept of B-Movies took on a new life, meaning “so bad, they’re good”, and so all art, especially that from any earlier time period, was subjected to a sort of “we're above it” mentality. It was through this lens that I experienced Black Belt Jones. 

Despite that, times change, people change. Hopefully, we all develop a better understanding of, if not communities specifically, then of the need for communities to have their own and equally valid modes of communication, expression and storytelling. Blaxploitation, after speaking to the black community first and foremost, can be an invitation to others to be a respectful visitor/viewer, if you're open to the invitation. 

This is the way I’ve been able to approach Blaxploitation movies as I’ve dug deeper into them. Now, I’m ready to take in the concerns of the day in which each of these movies were made. Now I’m ready to take in their aesthetics, what they have to say. Now I’m able to enjoy them absolutely for their entertainment value, for the stars that they produced. 

I think being Queer has something to do with this, at least in my case. It doesn’t mean that I understand the “Black Experience”, as diverse as we all know that is; It means that I know what it’s like to not see yourself represented onscreen and to watch as films emerge that actually reflect some aspect of your experience and of your being (i.e. The New Queer Cinema of the 1990s). Not every Queer person thinks this way, of course, but I’d like to think that all of us from any faction of society are getting to a point where we can appreciate art for where it comes from, what it says, for the perspective it offers, and maybe, just maybe, to enjoy it for what it is.