Pyramid selling; Film of the week

The Mummy (12) Mediaphobes concerned about the ever-growing power of the Hollywood spin machine may wonder whether it's a coincidence or just publicity that The Mummy is released in the same week archaologists unearthed 10,000 embalmed bodies in western Egypt. On the basis of Stephen Sommers' remake of the 1932 classic, I'd warn these guys: look out for Imhotep - he's the one who's still twitching.

Egyptologists on the hunt for a unique haul could profitably direct themselves towards Hamunapatra, where, in this film's grandiose prologue, its Kojak-alike antihero Imhotep is buried alive for daring to goose the Pharaoh's sweetheart.

Hence Hamunaptra's grisly reputation as the City of the Dead, which would give you or I, but not beefy Brendan Fraser, pause for thought. In Sommers' knockabout romp - which contains plenty to enjoy for those who embalm their brains before entering the cinema - Fraser plays '20s-era legionnaire Rick O'Connell. O'Connell stumbles upon Hamunaptra while soldiering and later escapes the noose by selling his knowledge of the lost city's location. It's valuable information: Rachel Weisz's golly-gosh librarian, clearly peeved that Indiana Jones got to the Lost Ark first, has set her heart on finding Hamunaptra and sundry trinkets said to rest the rein. Before you can say Tutenkhamen, the soon-to-be lovers - plus Evelyn's buffoon of a brother Jonathan - set off on their adventure. In The Mummy, they wisecrack. Imhotep's awakening from his 3000- year sleep climaxes the finest sequence in the movie, as rival excavation teams greedy for treasure penetrate Hamunaptra's Stygian subterranean labyrinth. But the mummy's privileged entrance into an atmosphere of audience hypertension is almost instantly undermined, both by Rick's reaction - when his cadaverous foe roars at him, Rick roars right back - and by the mummy's rather too conversational brand of aggression. Far from the impassive mummies of yore, Imhotep likes nothing more than a chat. The action transfers to Cairo, from where Imhotep - in search of other people's body parts to help replenish his own - unleashes Biblical plagues on Egypt. Our sense of these blights remains fairly localised: a few extras with nasty complexions, for the most part. Which isn't to criticise the special effects, the movie's prime claim to distinction. Those ill-at-ease with creepy-crawlies will itch for days after The Mummy, wherein fist-sized beasties scurry under their victims' skin and up corridors in fleet-footed armies. No, the effects aren't the problem - although the mummy himself, all pulsing tendons and rotting flesh, never really persuades. What Sommers' film lacks is an understanding that, even in these ironic times, a life-and-death- dabbling epic on this scale mustn't forget to make us care. Ill-timed cocksuredness from characters who grin and fool about even in the teeth of the apocalypse thwarts our engagement here. Of course, The Mummy's fun - but does it have to be ridiculous too? Brian Logan

Copyright 1999
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