Title: Conjuring The Last Rites
Director: Michael Chaves
Cast: Vera Farmiga, Patrick Wilson, Mia Tomlinson, Ben Hardy
Where: In theatres near you
Rating: 3.5 Stars
By its tenth outing (if one counts the spinoffs, and why shouldn’t one?), this film arrives at that cinematic séance where ghosts must be summoned, not only onscreen but also at the box office. Michael Chaves, whose stewardship of the franchise has been uneven, here finds steadier footing. The plot hangs upon a cursed mirror, a traumatised family, and the eternally haggard Warrens. The film is equal parts nostalgia and necromancy. It promises a devastating chapter and delivers a solidly eerie farewell.
The film succeeds in jolting the viewer. Faces lunge at you from the shadows. Electric wires are yanked. Dolls stir to life, and the obligatory levitations appear. Its pacing, though deliberate, allows dread to simmer before the Warrens are drawn in. By then, the Smurl family’s plight feels like an effective stage-set for what is to come. The mechanics of possession remain mysterious, but in a series so rooted in the unknowable, perhaps that is as it should be.
Actors' performance
Patrick Wilson and Vera Farmiga, now practically the high priests of horror, lend the proceedings their customary gravitas. Their chemistry remains the franchise’s holy oil, slicking over narrative creaks. Wilson’s Ed is still the loyal believer, Farmiga’s Lorraine the weary seer, both convincingly playing family who would rather banish demons than bicker over grocery lists.
Mia Tomlinson, as Judy, the Warrens’ daughter, finally claims narrative space and manages to appear both vulnerable and vaguely doomed, no small feat when a wedding dress fitting involves an infinity mirror full of ghouls. Ben Hardy, as her fiancé Tony, is genial if underwritten, seemingly drafted in to prove that ex-cops can be as bewildered by mirrors as anyone else. He nevertheless adds warmth, ensuring the Warrens’ struggles feel not only professional but also deeply personal.
Music
The film’s atmosphere is Chaves’ most reliable ally. The interiors are steeped in sepulchral gloom. Every creak of wood and flicker of candle reminds us that this franchise has always been about mood more than logic. The score rumbles and shrieks with measured precision, heightening the tension without smothering it. A few images linger: a child’s face reflected in home video playback, the unsettling geometry of the cursed mirror, and the spectral infinity of a bridal shop. Familiar as it is, the visual language still holds its power in a darkened theatre.
FPJ verdict
The Conjuring: Last Rites is not a thunderclap of revelation but a carefully wrought farewell. It offers scares enough to quicken the pulse and sincerity enough to keep the faithful engaged. Marketed as the Warrens’ swan song, it feels less like an exhausted encore than a respectful curtain call; polished, atmospheric, and at times surprisingly affecting.
If this truly is the end, it is a farewell mass that delivers both ritual and resonance. Should the studio conjure yet another sequel, one suspects audiences will still turn up, because in horror, as in life, some spirits simply refuse to rest.
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