The Mummy's Ghost: Not to Be Confused with Ghost Dad

I'd like to think of myself as an exponent of primordial genre treats. Not enough horror hounds show reverence for the classics. No, I'm not referring to Halloween, The Exorcist, and The Shining. I'm talking about forgotten spook shows such as the one parsed in this conspectus. But even I fail to see the merit in certain high-minded relics. For instance, The Wolf Man puts me to sleep every time I attempt to watch it. Literally. Tod Browning's Dracula has had the same lenitive effect on me, and I can't use fatigue as a scapegoat. Am I simply desensitized? I hope so because I can't bear the thought of The Mummy being a poor film. It struck me as a trying exercise in tedium, but I don't have the audacity to call it "bad." It was obviously an effective chiller for its time. My opinions usually jar with those of my fellow blood buddies, so it's always possible that I don't "get" it.

I have a presentiment that most would disagree with me in saying that the Kharis sequels top the original. The Mummy's Hand entertained me with its ebullient laughs, its likeable characters, and its spouting pace. The Mummy's Tomb was nothing more than a dinky, diaphanous serial, but I still prefer it to the first film. The Mummy's Ghost, the third chapter in the Kharis timeline, is moody and surprisingly hardy for a film that barely ingresses 60 minutes. Perhaps it's due to low expectations (how much can you honestly expect from an hour-long Universal cheapie?), but I fancied this flick. Of course, it's far from perfect. The premise rehashes a rehash. Some new plot devices are introduced to the fold, but this is essentially Hand and Tomb in prettier packaging. Ol' Sutureface repines for his lost love, Princess Ananka. With the assistance of an Egyptian high priest (as played by the immortal John Carradine) and a fresh brew of tana leaves, he aims to steal Ananka's mummified carcass from a museum.

The cast is above par, all things considered. Ramsay Ames is beguiling as Amina, the reincarnation of Princess Ananka. Her delivery is natural, and her coruscating comeliness is sure to girdle your attention. Robert Lowery is flat as Tommy, Amina's beau. These roles are usually reserved for cardboard cutouts, so you'll have to meet Lowery's unfeeling performance halfway. The supporting players are more than serviceable. When a character dies, their loved ones actually react and stuff. That's something you don't find in too many creaky, annealed creature features. And the creature? Lon Chaney Jr. is aggrieved and sententious as Kharis. This was his second showing as the mummy, and he's given more to do than in the forgettable Tomb. Kharis is somewhat layered here. He has a purpose, a motive, a determinant that dictates his actions. To the less discerning eye, he just lumbers around a lot.

The B&W cinematography is crisp, the camera is steady, and the tone is indissolubly despondent. I must tip my ski mask to the producers for opting to espouse an unhappy ending. Again, that's something you don't see in many drive-in playthings of old. On the downside, the pace can be fugacious at times. It ebbs toward the climax, and while The Mummy's Ghost is a curt quickie, it feels longer than it really is. Also, the "Lassie" angle is absolutely idiotic. A dog helps the hero locate our damsel in distress. Ergh. Don't let that divinatory tidbit wheedle you into skipping this exceptional sequel, though. The four Kharis-oriented mummy movies were zonked out one after the other with little to no forethought, and are often the subject of ridicule. In my book, dutiful horror freaks would be remiss in writing them off as irremedial detritus.