The Mummy (2026) Review — Cronin’s Wrapped-Up Horror
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The desert doesn’t sleep. It waits. You feel it the moment your boots hit the sand outside the tomb — a low hum rising through the soles of your feet, like the whole wasteland is holding its breath. Your torch sputters. The hieroglyphs carved around the doorway seem to lean in close, and even if you can’t read a word of ancient Egyptian, you understand the tone perfectly: turn around, genius.
But you don’t turn around. Nobody ever turns around. That’s the first rule of horror and the first thing everybody forgets. Out comes the crowbar. The seal cracks. And from somewhere below — deeper than the dark — something exhales, a sound like dry linen peeling off old skin, and you realize, with the particular clarity that only ever arrives way too late, that you were never the one doing the unwrapping.
It comes back wrong. It always comes back wrong. Not shambling, not groaning — patient. It remembers every thief, every archaeologist, every wide-eyed tourist who ever pocketed a scarab. And now it’s coming home, wrapped in four thousand years of grudges, and it brought the whole desert with it.
The Review
Lee Cronin has some serious nerve, and I mean that as a compliment. The mummy is the most reboot-battered monster in the crypt — the Dark Universe face-planted on it back in 2017, and most directors would rather fight a xenomorph barehanded than touch this property again. But Cronin, the beautiful sicko who turned a Los Angeles high-rise into a meat grinder in Evil Dead Rise, looked at three thousand years of bandaged baggage and asked: what if we made it scary again?
First, the exorcism of expectations: this has nothing to do with the Tom Cruise movie. That was an action-adventure wearing a mummy costume. This is folk horror with body-horror teeth — closer to a possession film than a pulp adventure, and all the better for it.
The setup is lean and mean: a family is reunited with their long-missing daughter, and for about ten beautiful minutes it plays like a miracle — until everyone notices the wrapping. She came back partially mummified, and whatever followed her home out of the dark is old, patient, and already inside the house. Cronin stages the homecoming like a grief drama that slowly curdles into a siege movie, and when the linen starts moving, you’ll feel it in your molars. I’m keeping this spoiler-light, because the less you know about what’s wearing her, the better it lands.
What Works
The dread, first and always. Cronin directs tension like a man defusing a bomb he built himself. The mummification imagery is nasty — tactile, practical-feeling, the kind of body horror that makes your own skin feel two sizes too small. The sound design deserves hazard pay: every crackle of linen, every wet breath, mixed to crawl straight under your skin. Jack Reynor cements his status as the most stressed-out man in modern horror — the guy radiates panic like a space heater — while Laia Costa gives the family drama real, aching weight. May Calamawy is all coiled, eerie stillness, and Verónica Falcón plays the matriarch with steel in her spine. Nobody here is phoning it in.
What Doesn’t
The middle act, though. Woof. For a movie about ancient evil, there’s a stretch where the film stops dead to explain its own mythology — curse rules, bloodline logistics, the whole cursed PowerPoint — and every minute of exposition is a minute the dread leaks out of the room. At 132 minutes, this thing is about fifteen minutes too long, and it sometimes can’t decide whether it wants to be a slow-burn grief metaphor or a splatter showcase, so it settles for being a very good version of neither. That 47% on Rotten Tomatoes? Honestly, fair. This is a swing, and not every swing connects.
Cronin’s Style
This is Cronin in autopsy mode — slower and more deliberate than the demolition derby of Evil Dead Rise. He shoots the desert like it’s alive and the family home like it’s a tomb with better lighting. When he lets atmosphere do the talking, the movie is genuinely chilling; when he stops to explain himself, it isn’t. If the Evil Dead crowd shows up expecting wall-to-wall carnage, tell them to be patient — the bandages come off eventually, and it’s worth the wait.
Trivia & Facts
- Written and directed by Lee Cronin (Evil Dead Rise)
- Starring Jack Reynor, Laia Costa, May Calamawy, and Verónica Falcón
- Produced by James Wan and Jason Blum — the two overlords of modern mainstream horror, sharing one sandbox
- Budget: $22 million. Worldwide box office: $90.6 million. That’s a mummy that paid for its own tomb.
- 132 minutes | Rated R | 47% on Rotten Tomatoes — the critics split right down the middle
- US theatrical: April 17, 2026 (Warner Bros.). Now streaming on HBO Max.
- Not a sequel. Not a remake. Not connected to the 2017 Tom Cruise film in any way — this is Cronin’s own folk-horror take.
Harper’s Extras
- Double feature: pair it with Evil Dead Rise for the full Lee Cronin Suffering Marathon — or with the 1932 Karloff original to see how far the bandages have come.
- Still hungry for 2026 horror? Sam Raimi stranded some poor souls on an island and it went exactly how you’d expect — read my Send Help (2026) review.
- Drink pairing: something ancient and bitter. Mezcal, neat. The mummy would approve.
- Best watched: lights off, sound up — and don’t sit too close to anyone you love when the linen starts moving.
Where to Watch
The Mummy (2026) is streaming now on HBO Max, and available for digital rental and purchase on the usual platforms (Prime Video, Apple TV, Vudu, and friends). It wrapped its US theatrical run via Warner Bros. after opening April 17, 2026.
Frequently Asked Questions
Is The Mummy (2026) connected to the Tom Cruise movie?
Nope. This is a standalone film — Lee Cronin’s own vision, not a sequel to or remake of the 2017 Tom Cruise movie. The Dark Universe stays in its tomb.
Where can I watch The Mummy (2026)?
It’s streaming on HBO Max, and available for digital rental or purchase on platforms like Prime Video and Apple TV.
Who directed The Mummy (2026)?
Lee Cronin, the Irish director behind Evil Dead Rise (2023). He wrote and directed this one, too.
Is The Mummy (2026) scary?
Scarier than the 2017 version, easily. Cronin leans into body horror and folk horror — creeping dread and gnarly, tactile effects rather than action-adventure scares. Your mileage may vary, but your skin will crawl.
