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How\u2019s Lee Cronin doing? Fine. You know, still making movies. This one\u2019s his third feature. Somebody \u2014 perhaps it was Lee Cronin himself, probably not \u2014 wanted us to know that his latest project, \u201cLee Cronin\u2019s The Mummy,\u201d was no mere mummy movie. Certainly not the one you have in mind: bandaged dead guy, ominous hieroglyphics, maybe Brendan Fraser<\/a>. This is not that mummy movie. This is \u201cLee Cronin\u2019s The Mummy.\u201d<\/p>\n As for what that possessive credit means, we\u2019re still in a haze. Cronin\u2019s previous outing was \u201cEvil Dead Rise,\u201d<\/a> a sequel heavily devoted to the gooey game plan mapped out by Fede Alvarez\u2019s 2013 rethink<\/a> of Sam Raimi\u2019s gross-out comedies. In our current moment, when horror seems to be mining an especially rich vein (we\u2019ve even seen an Oscar go to an unforgettable witch<\/a> in \u201cWeapons\u201d), Lee Cronin represents the safe old ways of dutiful stewardship, getting the job done for a generic night out.<\/p>\n There are worse sins in the world. And sometimes the best way to introduce an ancient Egyptian curse is via a prologue that\u2019s tonally very much like the one in \u201cThe Exorcist.\u201d Who is the spooky, smiling woman beckoning to a young girl at the edge of her garden? No matter. The kid goes missing and, eight years later, her American family, since relocated to suburban New Mexico, is still feeling the loss: TV reporter Charlie (Jack Reynor<\/a>), his haunted wife Larissa (Laia Costa<\/a>) and their two semi-surly children, Maud (Billie Roy) and Sebasti\u00e1n (Shylo Molina).<\/p>\n When their precious Katie (a game Natalie Grace) is somehow returned to them, though, nearly catatonic with wrinkled, desiccated skin and gnarly toenails that would make a pedi technician shriek, it\u2019s hard to blame them for feeling euphoric. Working from his own screenplay, Cronin barrels over the gaping plot holes \u2014 a doctor might have some thoughts here \u2014 and gets to the good stuff with the family at home in squirm-inducing close quarters, a live-in demon resting in her bedroom.<\/p>\n \u201cLee Cronin\u2019s The Mummy\u201d works best as a variation on Ari Aster\u2019s career-making \u201cHereditary,\u201d<\/a> slicker and less guilt-ridden, with Grace\u2019s Katie prone to jaw-snapping clicks and faraway looks, a spin on Milly Shapiro<\/a>\u2019s hypnotic turn as a doomed host. Eventually, things get more obvious: a levitating wheelchair, some skittering around on the ceiling. If Cronin does have a signature \u2014 more of a penchant, really \u2014 it\u2019s for juicy gore, Katie\u2019s skin peeling off in sheets. She goes to town on her own teeth.<\/p>\n All these moments are good for audience groans and there\u2019s an enjoyable bad movie here for the seizing \u2014 that is when Cronin isn\u2019t steering the action back to Egypt for an underpowered mystery thread involving a one-dimensional Cairo detective (May Calamawy) pursuing the root of the trouble. Why deploy a plummy archaeology professor (Mark Mitchinson) if you\u2019re only going to give him a single scene to cut loose? He\u2019s the kind of character who usually makes it to the big finale.<\/p>\n