The latest installment in Warner Brothers’ blockbuster horror franchise surrounding the contentious paranormal heroics of the married demonologists finds the series taking itself in a bold new direction. With the multiple spinoffs and side stories notwithstanding, the mainline Conjuring films have built a lauded reputation for their big-budget, bombastic interpretation of the haunted house horror genre, shepherded by the terror-inducing direction of James Wan, which entertained through their grounded spectacle and fresh spin on numerous horror tropes. The latest in the franchise, The Conjuring: The Devil Made Me Do It, not only drops the numbered sequel convention for a mouthful of an awkward subtitle, it also replaces Wan with The Curse of La Llorona director Michael Chaves and daringly looks outside of the franchise’s bread-and-butter haunted house structure for its assortment of jump-scares. Much like the subtitle, these transitions are quite awkward and make a poor case for their necessity in execution.
The changes to the series’ direction are not abundantly evident from the introductory sequence involving the Warrens’ (Patrick Wilson and Vera Farmiga) attempted exorcism of eight-year old David Glatzel (Julian Hilliard) in 1981. The Devil Made Me Do It comes storming out of the gates with familiar but entertaining intensity as David’s demonic harboring manifests in an assortment of beguiling ways (blood showers, flying cutlery, contortionism, claw marks materializing out of thin air, etc.) all carried by engaging special effects and a directing style by Chaves which instills the whole scene with a keen frenetic excitement. This thrilling sequence of roaring terror and visceral horror has the emotional highs and gripping tension to serve as a climax in its own right. Instead, it unfortunately serves as a premature highpoint for an overall lackluster sequel.
The crux of the narrative extends outwards from this botched exorcism and encompasses a spin on the infamous real-world trial of Arne Johnson wherein a family friend of the Glatzels (Ruairi O’Connor) supposedly received the demonic entity from David, murdered his landlord, and cited “not guilty by reason of demonic possession” as his legal defense. Much like with the second Conjuring film and its treatment of the story of the Enfield Poltergeist, returning writer David Leslie Johnson-McGoldrick grossly embellishes the Warrens’ involvement and invents a satanic cult conspiracy for the married demonologists to heroically uncover and struggle against. With this conspiracy investigation angle, the latest Conjuring film hopes to differentiate itself from the static house hauntings of its predecessors by weaving a sprawling web of intrigue over Johnson’s legal case and manufacturing a concrete villain for the Warrens in the form of the Disciples of the Ram cult (carried over from the Annabelle films in a clear deepening of the series’ proposed narrative universe).
The narrative ambition on display is noble, but in effect the storytelling feels tedious. Without the anchor of the single haunted house location promising exciting horror spectacle, the Warrens’ investigation feels long-winded and aimless in their pursuit of a villainous occultist who is not even named or provided motivation until well into the third act. The pacing becomes awkward as the threads tying together the central possession and this invented cult’s machinations materialize too late into the runtime to provide much in terms of tension. Though the film tries to liven their investigation with a few spooky set pieces provided by Lorraine’s psychic link with the nameless antagonist, the bulk of the film’s main dramatic thrust feels dormant and flaccid.
Much more energy is spent on filling out the Warrens’ characters and giving them a more personal centering than the previous films. The returning Wilson and Farmiga are as charming as ever in the roles, demonstrating great chemistry with one another as the script foregrounds their relationship more forcibly than previous films. With their relationship tested by a heart attack Ed suffers after the first scene, the film tries desperately to get you invested in the two, relying on saccharine sepia-toned flashbacks of how the two first met and fell in love which feel shallow and out of place whenever brought up. The Warrens themselves were never the hook of this series, and while the latest entry’s attempt to provide them with some emotional depth is welcome, it fails to resonate within the film’s overall purview. Outside of them and an enjoyably malicious John Noble as a malevolent ex-priest who provides guidance to the Warrens, much of the cast is not given their time to leave an impression.
Of course the big question for the latest Conjuring film is whether or not it is scary, as any narrative shortcomings can be forgiven wholesale if the film provides the physical thrill of a good scare. Sadly, The Devil Made Me Do It represents a step back in the franchise’s approach to horror with its reliance on overtly telegraphed and cheap-feeling jump-scares. The reputable and overused sound design trick of dropping the sound mix to complete silence before a sudden element appears in the scene and cranks the volume back to deafening levels is relied on heavily as the film partakes in scares which lack the proper blocking, set-up, and downright artistry to be effective or memorable. Where the previous Conjuring films under Wan’s direction could inject stimulation into the anticipation of a sudden jump, Chaves’ approach leaves the scares feeling inert and predictable.
With the latest film in the franchise, The Conjuring feels like it has reached an identity crisis. No longer content being a haunted house series, The Devil Made Me Do It feels like an earnest attempt to make good on the so-named “Conjuring Universe” and work towards an interconnected cohesive narrative between its spinoffs and its main series, re-centering its two main protagonists as anchors and building off of the events that transpired in the Annabelle side series. In doing so, the series has fundamentally lost sight of what made the first two films in the franchise much more memorable and enduring over the litany of Warren case spinoffs. Lacking the effective scares and simple contained story of its previous films, The Devil Made Me Do It is left as a wide swing that misses the mark entirely. Maybe the story of Arne Johnson will be done the proper justice when it is adapted into the horror courtroom drama it was always meant to be without the needless interjection of the Warrens and their tiring adventures.
