The inebriating box-office success, two years past, of Stephen Sommers's The Mummy would hardly have encouraged him to take a soberer approach in its sequel. So the least, and probably most, to be said for the followup is that it provides some competition for its forerunner as the worst mummy movie ever made. Saying so is simply to affirm that any amount of clumsy and impecunious sincerity is preferable to, if not less tedious than, slick and spendthrift facetiousness. On those grounds the best thing about the sequel is the burnoosed desert warrior who looks vaguely like George Harrison in his earliest Ravi Shankar phase. Second best is the slinky villainess with the Modigliani face and Betty Page coif. The addition of a mischievous little towhead ("You have started a chain reaction that could bring about the next apocalypse"), ostensible spawn of Brendan Fraser and Rachel Weisz, is actually a subtraction that cancels out any such assets. (2001) — Duncan Shepherd
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