Down in Texas, at a shabby nursing home called Mud Creek Shady Rest, a fat wreck of a man is living out his final days. The staff knows him as Sebastian Haff (Bruce Campbell), but Haff lets us in on the truth. He's really Elvis Aaron Presley. The King of Rock 'N' Roll had traded places with a professional Elvis impersonator back in the day to escape the trappings of Kinghood. Now he spends his time, watching staff speed through their daily routines, worrying about an undiagnosed growth on his penis ("Truth was," he notes in voiceover, "I hadn't had a hard-on in years,") and wondering, "Is there anything to life other than food, shit and sex?"

Down the perpetually underlit halls a second patient (Ossie Davis) also claims to be a famous personage, John Fitzgerald Kennedy, victim of an unseen conspiracy that has taken out part of his brain and replaced it with sand, then dyed his body black "all over." When a stolen Egyptian mummy shows up at the nursing home, sucking the souls of residents out through whatever orifice is convenient, it's up to these two old, barely ambulatory geezers to stop the monster that Elvis/Sebastian calls Bubba Ho-Tep.

It's to writer/director Don Coscarelli's credit (working from a tall tale by Joe R. Lansdale) that

a.) he never once lets us know for certain if our heroes are totally delusional (though at one point, E/S spies an unexplained scar on the back of his friend's head) and

b.) he keeps a straight face through the entire preposterous proceedings.

As a result, he creates something pretty unique in the annals of low-budget moviedom: a blend of campiness and melancholy regret that does both these boomer icons proud. He also - rather amazingly for me at least since I'd written the guy off years ago - has created his first great film since Phantasm (sorry, Beastmaster fans!)

The movie proceeds at its own geezerly pace and at times shows the restraints of its budget (the climactic showdown between our heroes and mummy is flatter than you'd expect it to - which only seems half intentional), while the occasional old-aged digressions into scatological obsessions will definitely try the patience of some audience members. But there are plenty of moments of B-pic poetry in this baby: a scene where our hero attempts to fend off a flying scarab (happily reminiscent of the deadly flying orb from Phantasm) using nothing but his walker and some dinner utensils, for instance, or the moment when a victim-to-be surprisingly shuffles up to a second nursing home resident in an iron lung to steal her eyeglasses. Plus, he captures the ravages of age and convalescent isolation with noir-like toughness.