"The Mummy" (1932)

When I feel like being bitingly sarcastic, there's hardly any cure as effective as a Universal monster movie. Anything from the 1930s will do just fine. Tonight, that was original horror classic "The Mummy" (1932).

The glory of an old Universal monster movie takes on different shapes for different horrors. But the one universal (wink wink) trait they all share is the assurance that the frivolous blonde archeologist with the Gilderoy Lockhart hair is going to be left alone, get bored, and open Pandora's (or in this case, the mummy's) box. And that is the joy.

(is there anything like the 1930s Universal logo? The little plane might as well be flying around my heart)

It just happens to be extremely unfortunate for everyone involved that this same archeologist also happens to possess the ability to translate ancient Egyptian texts on the spot, meaning he's also able to mumble the curse which immediately brings the mummy back to life.

The original Mummy has one of the more disturbing reactions to a monster I've ever seen, far more disturbing than the expected scream. Instead, the archeologist who reanimates the mummy shouts - and then instantly lapses into irrepressible and hysterical laughter. This man apparently dies laughing because he was so freaked out. So.

It also has one of the great on-screen zingers delivered by a female lead. Scenario: Love Interest Guy is telling Leading Lady that he fell in love with the mummy princess he has recently dug up. Just when he thinks he's charming Leading Lady, she replies, "Do you have to open graves to find girls to fall in love with?" It's a Hollywood starlet moment. She's just roasted this guy while lounging in a shimmery dress and wearing a flawless smokey eye. Worth it.

Flawless.

If anyone has any qualms about old monster movies not being "scary enough", then I'd ask: is being mummified and buried alive dark enough for you? Because check and check.

And, bonus, the unexpected closeup Karloff with the glowing eyes (about 40 min in) is probably going to haunt my nightmares. It's a sudden and skull-like image that made me gasp, swear and make sure no one else was in the room.

It might seem like a small thing - glowing eyes or a slight movement - but it's all about the emphasis of small movements with Karloff. The way he opens his eyes commandingly in closeup when a servant opens the door, the slightest inch forward as he asks Helen if they have met before. That's way creepier than someone jumping out at you.

More than any other monster movie, I was hyper aware of the resurrected image. Watching ghosts, hearing voices and seeing faces of old. Whispering. Chanting. The very idea that cinema itself is a mummy, once alive, then banished into obscurity, and brought to life at our will over and over. It's a story about humanity's talent and curse: that we can't help but exhume what is dead, to hold on to the past. And when we do, there are hideous consequences. A mummy is a perfect monster for cinema.