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There are many different ways to classify movies. The greats, of course, represent milestones in the history of filmmaking or embody the spirit of an age so successfully that they become treasured lenses for anyone who wants to look back and understand. Here Im thinking of The Breakfast Club, for instance, which captures in amber our pre-Columbine innocence about beleaguered children staggering through high school blessed and cursed with each others company.
But the majority of movies present themselves as brief moments we experience and release into the river of oblivion, to make room for the digits of yet-another registration name and password or, if you are technologically challenged, for todays grocery list or the fact that this months recycling day falls on a Tuesday to make up for the one missed on July 4th. Such movies of themselves contain no meaning for us to treasure, but they can be the source of whirling eddies of fun. Take Stephen Sommers The Mummy Returns, for instance. This is one of those movies best seen with a young person on your arm, preferably one wrapped clean around it, writhing in relatively low-stakes terror as he (or she) struggles to escape the hands, or claws, or maws of monsters whose menacing domain is in actuality limited to the rectangle of screen that shimmers before you in the darkness. Its a great movie to see with your 1-year old son, as I did.
In case you were engaged in some more weighty enterprise when The Mummy Returns made its megaplex rounds this spring, in this movie the principals from The Mummy, Rick the reluctant archeologist, and Evelyn the hapless librarian, have married and brought forth a child, Alex, now eight, and every bit as much of a prodigy (translate that, politely, as thorn in the side) as you would expect from the issue of such flamboyant parents, and working parents at that. I found myself thinking, as we sat in the dark, that the creature mesmerized into delight beside me was a lot like the child on the screen and, in fact, like all those children who are above average in Garrison Keillors Lake Wobegon. It was not in vain that all us upper-middle-class parents spent so much time in Zany Brainy buying Jump Start Kindergarten, Brio trains, KNex Launchers and Legos of every stripe. The children of today are the most challenged, rehearsed, subliminally savvy, multi-talented, multi-processing little devils in history.
Alex, who is abducted by one of the films groups of bad guys, torments his captors, Ransom of Red Chief-style, by chanting Are we there yet? as the crooks take him to Egypt to begin what they hope will be the lucrative process of locating the mummy. When my son was little and asked that question during trips in the Galaxy Cruiser, Darth Vader and I would chime in, and wed all sing Are we there yet? over and over until we were out of breath. My husband and I were messing with a time-honored American tradition by blurring the lines between the generations. But then again, the child is father of the man, and you know all about Anakins troubled childhood from Star Wars Episode I.... In a sense, his story is all our story, these days.
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Have you noticed that in America, the most generationally segregated place on earth, we adore movies that violate the boundaries we hold so dear? Thats why so many of our movies show supposed adults acting like kids. American Beauty is a recent example Lester Birnbaum spends the whole movie chasing preadolescent fantasies, including a shiny red 170 Pontiac Firebird and a vision of his teen-age dream-girl in a bathtub filled with rose petals. For kids we have the Home Alone series, where the kid acts like a real adult, while the adults who are supposed to be taking care of him have lost their grip. A lot of the time, though, thats the way it is. When my boy was ten, we were out in the middle of the day when a defective washer flooded the apartment upstairs and deluged our place with water cascading from the ceiling. Our boy, who was home alone, handled the situation like a master putting out pots, bowls and towels, moving furniture out of the way, going next door for help, and finding someone who tracked down the owners upstairs. When we came home from the grocery store, he was bobbing and weaving over his flood-control devices with the graceful exuberance of Leonard Bernstein conducting the New York Philharmonic. He allowed as it had been scary, but explained that he had pretended he was that kid in Home Alone, finding ways to baffle the invasion. Ah! These modern role models!
For all that, these amazingly poised whiz kids are not miniature adults who can fend for themselves. When the bad guys strike in The Mummy Returns, Alex needs to be rescued by his parents. Yet, like the prodigy he is, the boy marks each spot his kidnappers stop with a clever sand sculpture to serve as a clue for the parents he is sure are not far behind. No problems with fine motor skills here; the sculptures, executed in the blink of an eye, are all perfect renditions of ancient monuments, and accomplish their purpose until the bad guys figure out the trick and put an end to the little guys sculpting career, but not to his role as a pain in the ass, as they try to make off with the gold in the hidden tomb.
As for remakes in general, remember Heraclitus said you cant step in the same movie twice. So you can teach an old dog new tricks, but when youre done, is he the same dog? In fact, The Mummy Returns is replete with veteran canines strutting their state-of-the-art stuff. Here is our old Egyptian friend Anubis, now heading up a menacing army of computer-generated soldiers that look a lot like the troops in Woody Allens Antz but seem to have far fewer inhibitions about expressing their feelings. We also get a troop of marauding computer-generated mummies that chase our heroes up and down the streets of London and in the process turn a red double-decker bus into a topless vehicle. Then there are the waters of the Nile, which also pursue our unfortunate heroes, raising a tidal wave with an Edvard Munch face. In fact, the whole movie consists of one breath-taking, spine-tingling episode after the other in a seemingly endless technologically mediated romp from Africa to England and back again.
This is a far cry from the comparatively sedate 1 mummy movie with Boris Karloff, which was set mostly inside dignified houses and museums, not in uncharted deserts and tombs, and relied for its special effects on the searing stare from Karloffs deep-seated eyes all you got was one admittedly classy mummy who did his most horrific by staring into a round pool of turbid water. Once brought back to life, the Karloff mummy seemed not to need to chase anyone and suck the life out of them decidedly a limitation for our modern action-packed age. Instead, he hung around for years in the curiously static core of the film it was almost as if all the characters, and the viewer, were suspended in a kind of increasingly deepening hypnotic trance. As part of his plan to bring back his honey, Anckesen-Amon, the mummy worked his mesmeric arts upon the neurotic heroine, Helen Grosvenor, who became increasingly listless as the film went on.
Evie, the librarian turned mommy, is anything but listless, and that is definitely part of her charm for those of us who think the charmingly helpless ingenue is pass. She has outgrown the coltish bumbling that characterized her efforts in the first Sommers mummy movie and comes into her own as a kick-ass broad, my ideal of a parent. No! You will not close the pool until my kid goes back for the wristwatch he left in the locker. Kee-yap-pah! I always consult my boy for comments on the authenticity of the moves in the fighting scenes. He gave Evie a B+, and especially liked her fighting scenes with Anckesen-Amon, indicating that he has well launched the transition from disinterested karate inspector to preadolescent babe-drooler. He was not the only male in the theater to have an appreciative reaction to the scenes in which Evie, who is getting in touch with her former life as Nefertiti, vies with the Egyptian princess for top billing in The Son of Mummy Returns.
All the same, Aristotle would have been horrified by The Mummy Returns, fixated as he was on stories with a well-integrated beginning, middle and end. But my boy and I, we are Simpsons fans, more interested in the quick cut and the fast-paced allusion muttered under the breath, the intersection of stories that gives the lie to the hackneyed plot on which they hang. Its a question of whether you focus on the forest or the trees. My father-in law in his eighties once confided to me that he couldnt watch The Simpsons, because he couldnt understand what was going on. Oh, he could have there was, thank goodness, nothing wrong with his brain, and he was disinclined to be sanctimonious MASH was one of his favorite shows. But after all those years of Barney Miller, Grandpa would have had to be retrained to enjoy the antics of Bart and his family with us. In the old days, you looked for continuity and connections in what you were watching; now we like to rappel down the side of a plot, making contact with the storyline only now and again. I can just see the exercises wed use to get people like Grandpa into The Simpsons. Maybe we could turn spotting the allusions into a game - Jeopardy! was another family favorite - finally there could be a book - The Simpsons for Dummies?? Is that redundant?
Its all the action that we like, the boy twisted around my arm and I. The more windings of the plot, the merrier. And the number of stories that have been overlapped, juxtaposed, and transgressed here is large. We get the reincarnation theme from the 1 mummy, of course, heavily interlaced with the Indiana Jones-like archeologist family, the efforts of the Ghostbusters who free us from the evil spirits tearing up the civilized spaces where we live and work who doesnt delight to see an elegant Gothic mansion shot up by crooks? and the Star Wars quest complete with exclusive rights to a jerry-rigged airship a hotair balloon, in this case - and with a kind of loveable Jar-Jar Binks character in Izzy, who at the last minute rescues the good guys by pulling the ship right up to the curb in front of the sinking pyramid. Then theres Evie fighting with Egyptian daggers which she twirls like six-guns at high noon. We even get references to the previous (1) movie by Stephen Summers (The Mummy) in an early episode, the little boy Alex, in a rare clumsy moment, causes the columns of an ancient tomb to fall around him, one after the other, like an elaborate domino construction, replicating the antics of his mother in the first film. Evie managed to get herself fired from her job as a librarian at the Cairo Museum of Antiquities for having the bookcases in the museum library domino out in just the same way. There, the falling megaliths are a necessary plot device as they launch her on the quest for the films eponymous artifact, while in The Mummy Returns, they are just a kids gratuitous homage to his mother, a reference to yet another story in a wealth of stories.
In our family, we end every film-viewing experience with a round-robin analysis of the films appeal what was your favorite part? You have already heard most of my boys favorite scenes, except perhaps for his attraction to the endless canine armies shimmering into life in the desert sands. Excellent graphics, mom! For me, the best part of the movie was just what youd expect the scene in which young Alex brings his mother back to life. Theres a tortured moment there, to be sure - what kid wouldnt enjoy being freed from those Do your homework! Feed the cat! apron strings? But in the long run, the mother, like the mummy, must be faced down and conquered, not obliterated. And the struggle must take place at the critical moment, not when you might still be able to talk her into lending you the money for a Gameboy Advance.
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