The Curse of the Shared Universe
There are cinematic disasters, and then there’s The Mummy (2017) — the kind of film that feels less like a reboot and more like an elaborate cry for help from an industry executive haunted by the ghost of cinematic universes past. Directed by Alex Kurtzman and co-written by approximately half of Hollywood (David Koepp, Christopher McQuarrie, Dylan Kussman, Jon Spaihts, Jenny Lumet, and Kurtzman himself — because nothing screams “creative vision” like a writers’ room panic attack), The Mummy was supposed to launch Universal’s ambitious “Dark Universe.”
Instead, it became its tombstone.
You can almost picture it: a grand Hollywood mausoleum with “Here Lies The Dark Universe” carved in gold, Tom Cruise’s face half-erased by windblown sand, and Russell Crowe muttering exposition in the distance.
Plot: Archaeology for Dummies (and Possibly the Undead)
Let’s get this out of the sarcophagus. The plot is a mess — a cursed jumble of action clichés, supernatural gobbledygook, and tone-deaf attempts at comedy. It’s like Indiana Jones met Mission: Impossible and both got food poisoning halfway through.
We open in ancient Egypt, where Princess Ahmanet (Sofia Boutella, doing her absolute best to act through ten pounds of gold paint and a script made of papyrus) gets cheated out of her throne. Her solution? Summon the god of death, murder her family, and then get mummified alive for her troubles. You know — family drama, but make it eternal.
Fast forward a few thousand years. Tom Cruise plays Nick Morton, a smirking U.S. Army “sergeant” who loots antiquities like a frat boy on spring break. His best friend, Chris (Jake Johnson), serves as comic relief and, eventually, as a zombie ghost — because apparently someone thought American Werewolf in London needed to be redone with less charm and more sand.
After accidentally unearthing Ahmanet’s tomb in Iraq (sure, why not), Nick and his pseudo-love interest, archaeologist Jenny Halsey (Annabelle Wallis, playing a human-shaped plot device), fly the sarcophagus to London. Naturally, the plane crashes in one of the film’s better sequences — which is faint praise, because that’s like saying the best part of your meal was the napkin.
Nick wakes up in a morgue, cursed by Ahmanet and followed around by his undead best friend who mostly exists to remind him of bad decisions — like signing onto this movie.
Tom Cruise and the Case of the Missing Chemistry
Tom Cruise is many things: a box office powerhouse, a stuntman masquerading as an actor, a man legally incapable of aging. What he is not, however, is believable as a charming rogue with emotional depth.
Cruise’s Nick Morton is meant to be a lovable scoundrel. Instead, he’s a 54-year-old man quipping like he just discovered sarcasm on TikTok. His chemistry with Annabelle Wallis could be carbon-dated. Their relationship oscillates between forced banter and reluctant exposition, which makes their big emotional moments feel about as heartfelt as an insurance commercial.
And then there’s the “romantic” subplot — if you can call it that. Nick sacrifices himself for Jenny, stabs himself with a cursed dagger, and becomes a half-demon monster god hybrid. She cries, but we cry harder — not because of the tragedy, but because we realize the movie still isn’t over.
The Mummy Herself: Deserves Better
Let’s be fair: Sofia Boutella as Ahmanet is the only thing in this film that doesn’t belong in a museum. She’s menacing, magnetic, and physically mesmerizing. Her design — all hieroglyphic tattoos and serpentine grace — is the one aspect that feels genuinely eerie.
Unfortunately, the script treats her less like a character and more like an inconvenient metaphor for female ambition. She just wanted to rule Egypt, people! But instead of exploring that theme, the movie stuffs her into a sarcophagus of bad CGI and gives her dialogue that could’ve been lifted from a Call of Duty: Curse Edition cutscene.
When your titular character is outshone by a prop dagger, you know something’s gone terribly wrong.
Russell Crowe Presents: Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Franchise
Just when you think the movie couldn’t get more chaotic, in strolls Russell Crowe as Dr. Henry Jekyll — yes, that Dr. Jekyll — because why not toss some literary fanfiction into this already bloated mummy wrap?
Crowe’s Jekyll runs Prodigium, a secret organization dedicated to hunting monsters. Think Men in Black, but everyone’s British and profoundly unhappy to be there. He spends most of his screentime explaining the plot to Tom Cruise, which is ironic because no one else in the audience understands it either.
Halfway through, he transforms into Mr. Hyde for a brief moment — mostly to remind you that this movie desperately wants to be Avengers: Spooky Edition. Unfortunately, Hyde’s big villain moment lasts about as long as the Dark Universe itself.
Tone: A Comedy, A Horror, An Existential Crisis
One of The Mummy’s biggest problems — aside from existing — is that it can’t decide what it wants to be. Is it horror? Action? Comedy? A corporate PowerPoint presentation on franchise potential? The answer is yes, but badly.
The movie swings wildly between grim horror and slapstick quipping. One moment, Ahmanet is sucking the souls out of screaming civilians; the next, Tom Cruise is cracking jokes about hangovers. The tonal whiplash is so severe you might need a neck brace.
Even the action scenes feel disjointed. There’s the plane crash (admittedly well-staged), a chase through the streets of London that looks like Mission: Impossible: Sand Edition, and a climactic underground battle where you can practically hear the CGI artists crying.
The Dark Universe: Dead on Arrival
The Mummy wasn’t just a movie; it was supposed to be an event — the first chapter in Universal’s long-awaited “Dark Universe,” a cinematic universe featuring all its classic monsters. Studios even released a cast photo with Johnny Depp (Invisible Man), Javier Bardem (Frankenstein’s Monster), and Angelina Jolie (Bride of Frankenstein).
That photo now looks like a family portrait taken moments before a meteor strike.
Instead of a thrilling start to a new franchise, The Mummy became the cinematic equivalent of an ancient curse — draining life, joy, and box office potential from everyone involved. Within months, the Dark Universe was quietly entombed, and the only thing resurrected was Universal’s humility.
Visuals and Sound: All Flash, No Pharaoh
Visually, the film is competent but soulless. The CGI sandstorms and undead hordes are technically impressive, yet emotionally hollow. Every set feels like it was borrowed from another, better movie. The desert sequences lack grit, the London ones lack atmosphere, and the underground finale lacks logic entirely.
The score tries to inject grandeur, but it’s like blasting the Jurassic Park theme over footage of a traffic jam — majestic, but pointless.
Final Thoughts: Rest in Pieces
In the end, The Mummy is less a movie and more a case study in studio hubris — a $195 million warning label that says, “Don’t start your cinematic universe before making a good movie.”
It’s not the worst film ever made, but it’s aggressively mediocre in a way that feels almost supernatural. It’s haunted by better movies — the 1999 Brendan Fraser Mummy laughs in its dusty face — and cursed by its own ambition.
The irony? For a movie obsessed with resurrection, it killed more careers than it revived.
So let’s seal this one back in its tomb, say a quick prayer to the god Set, and never speak of it again.
Final Rating: ★☆☆☆☆
(One out of five sarcophagi — overstuffed, overacted, and proof that some franchises should stay mummified.)
