Lee Cronin's The Mummy (2026)

What makes Lee Cronin’s The Mummy feel newly alive is how it drags an ancient curse out of the museum-case imagination and drops it right into the most intimate place possible: a family that’s already been hollowed out by grief. Cronin leans hard into oppressive atmosphere and tactile, wince-inducing body horror, staging dread not as a parade of set pieces but as a slow, sickening realization that a miracle reunion can curdle into something unrecognizable. The vibe is shadowy, desert-dry, and nerve-tight, with mystery elements that keep you leaning forward even as the film dares you to look away. If you want swashbuckling adventure, this isn’t that kind of Mummy—but if you’re in the mood for a modern, mean-spirited, visually confident horror reimagining, it’s exactly the nightmare you’re hoping for.

Lee Cronin’s The Mummy is clearly aiming for an original, grief-soaked horror reimagining where the real terror isn’t tomb raids, but what happens when a long-missing child comes back wrong. If you’re expecting the breezy, swashbuckling fun of past Mummy movies, this sounds like a hard pivot into grim domestic dread, body horror, and jump-scare intensity that could feel punishing rather than entertaining. The premise is strong and the setup has real emotional bite, but the familiar “returned loved one as nightmare” framework may leave some viewers feeling like they’ve seen this shape of story before, just with sand and sarcophagi. Watch it if you want bleak, claustrophobic horror with gore and transformation; skip it if you want adventure, humor, or a crowd-pleasing franchise vibe.