The Mummy Murders, directed by Colin Bressler and written by Bressler and Will Donahue, begins with Alexis (Lelia Annastasia Scott) eating lunch. She’s just gotten settled when a bespectacled man sits down at her table. This is Joe (Jason Scarbrough), who informs the reporter that he’s a big fan of journalism and has quite the exclusive scoop. Somewhat annoyed but also intrigued, especially by Joe calling himself an artist, Alexis indulges the stranger.
Joe takes credit for the rash of missing persons and murders that have cropped up around San Antonio over the last few years. He dives into his backstory, explaining how his first crush died and what that unlocked in him. He moves forward with his tales of death and depravity as Alexis interjects here and there for clarification. Why did Joe choose Alexis to confess to? Is she in immediate danger, and if so, will she be able to escape?
The Mummy Murders is a cross between Strawberry Flavored Plastic and American Hangman. A charismatic killer leads the reporter through his misdeeds. But instead of being a comedic faux documentary, Bressler’s film is more drama. Yes, drama. For anyone hoping this would be disturbing or horrifying, a la Seven or Extremely Wicked, Shockingly Evil, And Vile will be let down. There are a handful of tense scenes, but such moments are not the point. The screenplay is much more intrigued by how the reporter will react than creeping audiences out.

“…takes credit for the rash of missing persons and murders that have cropped up…”
In that regard, Bressler and Donahue have crafted a solid screenplay with decent characters. Mind you, the characterizations are pedestrian. How many times has the charismatic killer been done before? Why doesn’t the reporter just up and leave the table? Such questions race across the mind, but as the 83-minute runtime ticks on by, they fade away due to being propped up by other elements. Wisely, the film doesn’t dive deep into Joe’s upbringing, focusing on his horrible deeds. This cleverly sidesteps potential cliches, though others, such as not understanding how/why emotions matter, are present.
But the reason The Mummy Murders is so compelling is the two leads. While not the only people with speaking roles, they might as well be. Scarbrough is twitchy yet poised as the killer. When describing his “great love,” he lights up as if he truly means it. Scott’s concise retorts offer a few moments of levity. More importantly, she perfectly conveys her interest in the story, revulsion at the acts described, and frustrations at Joe’s lack of empathy. While the ending is contrived and not nearly as big a turn as the plot thinks it is, Scarbrough and Scott play it off without a hitch.
The Mummy Murders does not reinvent the serial killer drama. But it is often interesting, thanks to a good script and fantastic acting. This is a compelling watch for fans of the subgenre or of Scott and Scarbrough.
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