It's pretty annoying having the Olympics on the opposite side of the world, because you hear results well before NBC gets around to showing them. But at least we in the Eastern U.S. get to watch some events live in the evening. Not the poor Europeans—when those primetime events start, it's already the middle of the night there. So an Irish swimming fan would have had to be awake at 4 in the morning on Sunday to see Michael Phelps win his eleventy-billionth gold medal.

Well, Irish blogger Seán Kenny is helping those people out. He's staying up every night watching the Olympics, live, on several channels, and writing about it for the Irish Times's website. It's pretty much the funniest Olympics blog ever. He writes lines like this:

03:58: The word ‘Trampolining’ has appeared on BBCi screen five. We have never seen this word in print before. We prefer the appellation ‘boing gymnastics.’

and

04:12: MICHAEL PHELPS HAS BECOME THE GREATEST HUMAN BEING IN RECORDED HISTORY, AND THAT INCLUDES GANDHI, DA VINCI, SHAKESPEARE AND MICHAEL FLATLEY.

Read more here: All Night Olympics. And leave us comments about any other funny Olympics blogs we should check out.

— Helen Fields

The Mummy: Tomb of the Dragon Emperor, the third movie in the mummy series starring Brendan Fraser, is supposed to depict an epic confrontation between good and evil. But it begs such a willing suspension of disbelief that it doesn’t feel that grand—or even particularly engaging. It’s puzzling, for starters, because there’s no real mummy. And it’s more about treasure hunting than archaeology, with a dust-roiling explosion employed as part of a tomb “excavation” in one of the early scenes. It’s not even a compelling adventure fantasy, with one predictable plot twist after another, and dialogue that’s not campy enough to be delightful.

But it does have one thing worth seeing: glorious special effects that bring China’s famed terra cotta warriors to life and propel them into battle.

The character who kicks off the story is based on a historical figure: Qin (pronounced “chin”) Shi Huang Di, the third-century B.C. emperor who united much of what we know today as China, built the first version of the Great Wall, and commissioned the creation of more than 7,000 more-than-life-size statues—singers, dancers, acrobats, government officials, generals, archers, charioteers, and foot soldiers, each with unique, individual details—to accompany him in the afterlife. In his tomb, they were all situated facing east, as if holding an eternal line against people who had been conquered by the emperor and might rise in revolt in the next life.

Uncovered in 1974 by farmers digging a well near the city of Xi’an, the emperor’s tomb is one of the world’s most astounding ancient treasures. And it may yet hold surprises, with more than 3,000 of the figures yet to be excavated. No wonder it captured the imagination of movie moguls.

In the beginning of the tale, the ambitious emperor battles against rival rulers. His defeated enemies are forced to build his great wall, then are buried beneath it. But there’s one enemy he can’t vanquish by brute strength: death. For that he turns to a sorceress who knows where to find the secret to immortality. They have a falling out, and she casts a curse on him and his army, turning them to terra cotta in an ingenious sequence of scenes. Clay pours down cheeks like tears, bodies become boiling mudpots, and muddy figures burst into flames that fire them as thoroughly as a kiln. So in this weird murky way, the soldiers are “mummified” by mud.

Fast forward a couple of millennia. Rick O’Connell and his wife, Evelyn, the central characters in the first two mummy films, are living in a grand British estate, bored to befuddlement in retirement. The Foreign Office comes to their rescue, sending them to China to return the Eye of Shangri-La, a huge ancient diamond smuggled into the UK several years before. Arriving in Shanghai, the couple visit Evelyn’s brother, Jonathan, who owns a King-Tut’s-tomb nightclub—where Anubis guards the stairwell and other bits of Egyptomania make brief appearances. The year is 1947, neatly avoiding the rise of chairman Mao and any parallels between ancient and modern empire-building.

Meanwhile, the O’Connell’s son, Alex, has discovered the tomb of the emperor, and has opened it with a blast of dynamite. Inside stand the legions of armed warriors, along with horses and chariots, in long, precise rows—a scene that impressively conjures up the real-life emperor’s eternal army. The emperor is there, too, in an ornately carved stone sarcophagus. Inevitably, an evil Chinese general sets out to revive the emperor. It’s a very bad idea. If the curse on the emperor is ever lifted, he will rise to enslave all mankind. The key to the emperor’s revival? Why, the Eye of Shangri-La!

The emperor comes back to life, of course, bursting out of his terra cotta casing with his eyes ablaze. Fights and chase scenes ensue, with the O’Connells and their friends allied against the emperor-demon from the great beyond. (In one nifty scramble down a Shanghai street, the Ben-Hur axle attachment on the emperor’s chariot rips a jagged hole along the entire side of a parked Rolls Royce.) The emperor is now a shape shifter, taking the guise of a three-headed dragon in one scene—hence the title of the movie. He finally snatches the magical Eye from the O’Connells and succeeds in reanimating his warriors. On a dusty plain they rise from great rectangular pits and begin to march in vast regiments with spears at the ready, crossbows cocked. Cecil B. DeMille couldn’t have staged it better. The evil multitudes are heading into battle against an assortment of good guys: the O’Connells and their friends, the sorceress and her daughter, and the emperor’s once vanquished enemies—who now spring from their graves at the foot of the Great Wall looking much more like mummies than the emperor or his minions. If the emperor’s troops succeed in crossing the wall, it’s curtains for the civilized world.

Can’t guess who wins? You’ll have to see the movie. And stay long enough to see the subtitle in the final scene—it’s a clue to the location of The Mummy, take 4. But the filmmaker should be wary. Plans for a sequel could fall victim to the curse of a bad opening weekend at the box office.

-A. R. Williams