Why every 30-something bisexual you know has feelings about The Mummy
No harm ever came from reading a book.
Not to be that girl or anything, but I loved The Mummy before it was cool. Since I saw it in theatres as a horny little tween, it’s been one of my all-time faves—a movie I know by heart, because it is in my heart. I still refuse to watch Tom Cruise’s abortive Dark Universe reboot, due to my loyalty to the 1999 version. And there’s truly nothing ironic about my love here: I think it’s a perfect adventure movie in every way, from the peerless cast to the corny SFX to the earnest but silly tone. It’s unapologetically cheesy while not straying into “so bad it’s good” territory OR into self-referential meta territory—a very tough needle to thread.
So of course I’ve been thrilled to watch the Brendan Fraser renaissance, and to discover over the past couple of years that I’m not alone. The Mummy is a formative text for a lot of millennial bisexuals, and for good reason. Let’s get into it.
Let’s start with Evelyn “Evie” Carnahan, the luminous avatar for anyone who got “Belle from Beauty and the Beast” on a Buzzfeed personality quiz. Evie is a fussy know-it-all of a librarian, and proud to be one. She has an overwhelming love of all things ancient and Egyptian, and hasn’t yet found anyone who appreciates or enables that passion—not her boss, not her brother, not the Bembridge Scholars. Watching her get the chance to take her cinematic inspiration’s advice and get out of the library is a genuine delight. She also has the impossibly romantic face of Rachel Weisz, with those sharp little 1920s eyebrows and deeply expressive eyes. That doesn’t hurt.
Evie is also the most active character in the movie, as she sets just about every major plot point into motion. She recognizes the mysterious puzzle box that her wayward brother Jonathan brings to her. She rescues Rick “O’Connell” O’Connell from his execution and hires him to take her to Hamunaptra, the City of the Dead. She reads from the Book of the Dead, both bringing the titular mummy and his attendant curses into the world AND rendering him mortal again, thus saving the day. Even though she gets damselled, she’s still the hero, and O’Connell is her love interest. Their dynamic is the major key to this movie: the eternal power of the himbo-librarian pairing.
A himbo is an important archetype, and one that gets misunderstood a LOT. Himbos are not just dumb hot jocks, though they do have to be hot and typically present as dumb. But a dumb hot jock is just a meathead. Despite their superficial similarity—namely, that meaty brawn-to-brains ratio—a himbo is very different from a meathead. Andy Dwyer is very different from Starlord. Boris Kodjoe in Brown Sugar is very different from Morris Chestnut in The Best Man. Thor in The Avengers is very different from Thor in Thor: Ragnarok. There is a tenderness, a lack of ego, and a rejection of toxic masculinity bound up in himboness that you just don’t get from a meathead. And nobody was serving himbo in the 90s like Brendan Fraser.
Fraser’s Rick O’Connell initially comes across as a real meathead type, what with him surprise-kissing Evie through the bars of his prison cell and everything. But after that frenzied bit of machismo, he quickly settles into the romantic dynamic that so many of us are hard-wired to love—the strongman in awe of the smart lady. He saves her life numerous times, because this is an old-timey adventure movie; but he also clearly loves listening to her talk and teach him about her passion, and recognizes a kindred adventurous spirit in her that thrills him. The scene where he fumblingly gifts her a stolen archaeology tool kit is absolutely knee-wobbling, from his nervousness to her giddy smile that melts into a horny gaze.
And while we’re on the subject of horniness, we have to talk about the palpable-to-the-point-of-being-touchable sexual chemistry between the two. It’s a kind of chemistry that is extremely lacking in today's very Disneyfied cinematic landscape. The kind that isn’t just about wry, mass appeal banter, but the kind where two actors are vulnerable enough with each other to connect emotionally and convey desire for each other. The kind that Christine Baranski talks about here.
Rick and Evie have it. The mummy and his eternal love Anck Su Namun have it. Put me in a room with Oded Fehr’s leader of the Medjai, Ardeth, and I bet you we’d have it too.
The point is, it’s not just that the cast is stacked with hotties. Most Hollywood adventure movies are. It’s that the cast is stacked with hotties playing characters who subvert hetero gender norms, and who openly want to kiss each other, which makes us want them to kiss each other and also us. And since the movie came out in 1999, when a sizable chunk of us millennials were coming of age/first beginning to understand our horniness, we imprinted on it in a big way.
There is simply no way that Tom Cruise’s version is touching this one. Not when it comes to sensuality, gender norms, or vulnerability. Honestly, it’s possible that in the current state of Hollywood, this kind of movie is pretty much dead. Then again, as true fans know, death is only the beginning.