Elvis' only friend at the home is a crazy old black man who believes himself John F. Kennedy, a bag of sand in place of his missing chunk of brain. Together they investigate a series of mysterious deaths at the home, caused not, as "JFK" initially suspects, by Lyndon Johnson, but rather by a soul-sucking Egyptian mummy. In a cowboy hat and boots; an apparent side-effect of a diet of Texas redneck souls.

It's a very campy picture. No shit. Bruce Campbell as Elvis and Ossie Davis as JFK fight a mummy. The idea is brilliant -- I'm cracking up just thinking about it. And the story is set up wonderfully. Elvis is, almost surprisingly, an incredibly well-written, dimensional character. Bruce plays him, not with the usual over-the-top sneer we've seen in each and every fuckin’ one of his previous roles, but with a certain quiet dignity. His Elvis is a man who's seen it all and just doesn't give a shit anymore. It's practically a Clint Eastwood character.

Too bad none of the other characters are nearly as fuckin' interesting. Ossie's JFK is pretty much just a senile old man who, in addition to his natural familiarly with conspiracy theory, is also an enthusiast of superstition and black magic. And while he's got some really funny moments in the beginning, as the “Kennedy” thing’s being set up, the movie kind of forgets and lets go of this thread through the second act, only to pick it up for a lame Marilyn Monroe joke towards the end.

The Mummy doesn't make much sense at all, though I guess he doesn’t really have to. He's a mummy, kids. He'll fuckin' suck out your soul. Look out. But when it talks, its words coagulate into heiroglyphs before being subtitled in English. Mostly this is silly and slows things down, except for when the mummy tells Elvis, "Suck the dog-dick of Anubis, you ass-wipe." The pictographs for this line of the year are brilliant. Laughing my ass off.