If you are active in my Discord, you may have seen me lightly lose my mind about The Mummy. Trust me, I am very self-aware about how aggressively I've expressed my distaste for this movie. I would apologize if not for the fact that I also know there's a lot more hate where that came from, and I'm doing my best to be cool about this.

I truly think part of what happened here is that I was simply unprepared for the experience of watching The Mummy for the first time in 2024 with a fully developed frontal lobe. Since its 20th anniversary in 2019, The Mummy has enjoyed a renaissance of sorts, fueled by the kind of nostalgia that makes us look back and go, "Actually, this is good! The best, actually!" For many, it's a beloved classic, full of action, adventure, and a campy sense of fun. It's many peoples' oft-cited "bi-awakening." See where I'm going here? I was promised a romp!

Friends, I received no romp. Arguably, this is a poorly-paced movie weighed down by both massive sections of info-dumping and a narrative progression that relies on not one single logical thought. There are 2-3 points near the end where it should've ended, and yet, like the big bad in this movie that sucks people dry to keep going, it keeps coming back, dragging its heels through another set of action scenes that do nothing to elevate the stakes.

But that's all arguable. I'm not going to fight anyone who thinks it's a thrill-a-minute, particularly because, self-aware here again, I know my entire experience of the film was through a thick lens of horror.

When I step back and think about the kind of movie it is—an Orientalist action movie that relies on a colonialist narrative of treasure hunting and adventure-seeking—I perhaps shouldn't have been shocked that this movie is incredibly racist. I have to then circle back to hearing so many positive things about it over the last five years to really account for my reaction.

All of this is not to say that I blame anyone for liking this movie, truly. Nostalgia is powerful. We all have media we grew up with—media that shaped our tastes and identities.

Nostalgia is also a trap. It can distort our perceptions of problematic media and shield it from necessary criticism, even from ourselves. Reading through some of the comments on my video reacting to The Mummy, I'm struck by the cognitive dissonance of "I know it's racist, but…" comments. It makes me wonder how deeply we are allowing ourselves to engage with, say, violence against Brown bodies and dehumanization to the point of turning them into cannon fodder if it's easily dismissed in favor of nostalgia tingles.

I fear that nostalgia often has a manipulative effect. It urges us to believe that the past was always superior to the present. And I get it—the now is real rough. Escaping it, however, through forms of nostalgia can stop us from critically engaging with the present. It can desensitize us to the kinds of narratives and ideals that, in fact, helped create our terrible and current reality. We each tell ourselves that we know better, and I'm sure many of us do! I suppose my point is that it's hard to believe people know better when their comments lead with defense, excuses, and, ultimately, dismissal.

Nostalgia operates as a form of privilege. When we defend something based on nostalgia, we prioritize our comfort over confronting the harm that has been done and continues to be perpetuated. The issue with defending media like The Mummy is that these arguments often come from a place of selfishness. When we defend something based on nostalgia or because we don't want to give up the comfort it provides, we're not engaging in a thoughtful conversation about the impact of that media. Instead, we're simply defending our own attachment to it.

It's important to acknowledge that media is of its time, yes, but our understanding of it changes. When The Mummy came out, many people may not have questioned the stereotypes it perpetuated about Egyptian and Arab people. But now, with more cultural sensitivity, we can see it for what it truly is: a movie that used marginalized people as the butt of all its jokes. These weren't singular, skippable moments. Racism is baked into the movie's entire premise; it features heavily in its humor, is visually represented in its casting and gags, and is, I fear, the point.

Of course, we can and all do enjoy media with problematic elements or made by problematic people. Almost every piece of media is a product of its time, shaped by flawed creators and circumstances. But the real question lies in how we talk about, consume, and promote such media. How do we engage with something that we know is problematic? What do we do when faced with criticism of a piece of media that we love?

My various comment sections are living proof that people often react to criticism of something they love as if that criticism is an attack on themselves. This is especially true of formative media. I think it serves us well as part of our continued growth to become better readers and consumers to learn how to quell the knee-jerk reaction to feeling affronted by criticism. I also think it serves us as people, especially ones on anti-racist journeys, to learn how to separate our sense of self from white supremacist or colonialist narratives.

We are all capable of enjoying problematic media, but we must also all be willing to engage with it critically and understand the harm it might be perpetuating.

Times change. People should change. Just because you loved something as a child doesn't mean you should continue to defend it without questioning its impact, particularly in response to someone doing just that.

Ultimately, every person navigates the edges of their convictions with the media they consume. The problem comes when we craft arguments in defense of problematic media—arguments that are ultimately self-serving. Nostalgia isn't a valid excuse for ignoring harm. It can be a beautiful thing, but I'm tired of it as a reason to ignore the truth.

💙

Marines

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