The Conjuring: Last Rites
THE CONJURING: LAST RITES. Since The Conjuring premiered in 2013, director/producer James Wan’s extended horror universe has been a reliable source of scares. Real-life (though less credibly real) paranormal investigators Ed and Lorraine Warren have served as a well of exploits from which to draw, with Patrick Wilson and Vera Farmiga portraying them as intrepid souls doing battle with darkness, bearing the burden of their gifts together. Though truly, Farmiga could probably furrow her brow and turn her steady gaze onto a coffee can and convince us she’s in love.
Along with the costume designers’ generous interpretation of Lorraine’s personal style (stay for the credits for photos and footage of interviews, if you don’t have an aversion to ruffles), the movies have skipped the allegations that Ed committed statutory rape of a 15-year-old Judith Penny and the long-term relationship that she says followed. The details of her allegations are on par with the creepiness of Annabelle the haunteddoll. And while the idea of the Warrens being frauds didn’t give me much pause in enjoying the movies based on their exploits, learning about Penny took quite a bit of shine off even a cursed mirror, particularly as their familial wholesomeness is played up here.
But even those who insist they can separate the art from the exorcist will likely find the final installment of the Warren movies (perhaps not the last we’ll see of the evil nun and doll, though) lackluster and maudlin. Like the Warrens, the movie seems concerned with legacy, and far too much screen time is devoted to their family, perfect marriage, dad’s wariness of his daughter’s boyfriend Tony (Ben Hardy), and other aspects of their family life outside haunted houses, which, now, give me the wrong kind of heebie-jeebies. Though taking guests at their backyard barbecue down to the basement repository of cursed objects for tours got laughs in the theater, I don’t know that I needed to see a man-to-man ping-pong battle between Tony and Ed in the garage.
In Pennsylvania, the expansive Smurl family has been beset by a dark presence or three — manifesting in apparitions, freak accidents and vomiting glass — since receiving an antique mirror with an ominous crack and a trio of hideously carved cherubs. It’s an object the Warrens encountered decades before, when Lorraine was pregnant, nearly costing them their now grown daughter Judy’s (Mia Tomlinson) life. At first, they decline the case, owing to Ed’s heart condition, but upon the death of a friendly priest who’d been trying to help the Smurls and learning of the mirror, they get back in the game, son-in-law-to-be in tow.
There are still a handful of solid scares, including the de rigueur fast-crawling, levitating, bed slithering and the always effective doll in rocking chair. A couple inventive moments using scale and the magic of VHS tapes deliver goosebumps and possible nightmares, too. But the pacing and focus feel off. Outside of scenes with demonic wrangling, Wilson seems out of his depth. And I’m not sure when everyone started farewelling franchises with montages, but wrapping up the Warrens’ tales with the same cringe-inducing format as the last of the Fifty Shades of Grey movies feels all kinds of wrong. R. 135M. BROADWAY, MINOR.
Jennifer Fumiko Cahill (she/her) is the managing editor at the Journal. Reach her at (707) 442-1400 ext. 106 or jennifer@northcoastjournal.com. Follow her on Bluesky @JFumikoCahill.
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AFTERBURN. Post-semi-apocalypse, a treasure hunter (Dave Bautista) is hired by a nefarious collector (Samuel Jackson) to retrieve the Mona Lisa. R. 105M. BROADWAY.
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TOY STORY (1995). A 30th anniversary re-release to make you feel like a shriveled husk, listening for the relentless click of Woody’s plastic boot heels urging you ever closer to the grave. G. 81M. BROADWAY.
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For showtimes, call Broadway Cinema (707) 443-3456, Minor Theatre (707) 822-3456.
This article appears in Burger Week 2025.
