Nightmare Fuel 2021 III: The Conjuring

[Next film in the series: Annabelle]

I’ve had the third film in the main vein of the franchise sitting on the back burner for a while now, so I figured I’d lead up to it by revisiting the rest of the series while I was at it. Why not? This means we’re starting way back in 2013 with the original The Conjuring.

The story centers on the Perron family, a couple with five daughters and a cute pupper. They move into their new house in Rhode Island in the early ’70s, thinking they’re about to start a new chapter in their lives. Unfortunately for them, strange occurrences begin to happen all around them. Disturbed, they enlist the aid of noted paranormal investigators Ed and Lorraine Warren, who determine the family is being tormented by the spirit of a witch (or, technically, the relative of an accused witch, but who’s counting, especially when this spirit is fuckin’ shit up regardless, right?) and that a household exorcism is in order. Hijinks, as you might imagine, ensue.

Alright, so, I can’t ever really talk about this movie without addressing a portion of the marketing and narrative, namely the involvement of the Warrens. See, starting in the ’50s the Warrens wormed their way into the talk of most of the major paranormal happenings of the time, all whilst purporting to be experts on the subject of demonology and running a nice little museum of their trinkets, which is also shown in the film. Not a bad racket, I must say. They were the ones who concocted the story of the curse of Bathsheba Sherman (the aforementioned witch relative), and it’s this story that the filmmakers keyed in on when writing the script. Hell, Patrick Wilson and Vera Farmiga even did some interviewing with their subjects, looking to perfect their mannerisms and chemistry. This wouldn’t be much of a problem if the marketing didn’t stick to the Warrens’ claim that the story was a true one. As will likely be discussed in future NF entries (plenty of movies have been based on the Warrens’ various encounters with the supernatural and demonic), the Warrens have been shown time and again to be on extremely shaky ground with their investigations, to the point where they contradict established facts and seem to create tales out of whole cloth; and they have been known to insert themselves into situations they weren’t welcomed into, all seemingly to make a buck later on down the road via books, lectures, museum tours, what have you. The focus on the Warrens here drags the film down into the realm of super-fiction, rather than lending any sort of verisimilitude to the proceedings, as none is to be had where the couple is concerned. Hell, some strong Warren apologia is on display in the film as well (not to mention a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it cameo from Lorraine), depicting them as staunchly scientific, earnest in their skepticism and helpfulness, and willing to look outside of their own views to figure things out. In reality, they were religious zealots, locked into a particular worldview that allowed for no wiggle room, and if they weren’t so damned lovely as people (as everyone who’s met them has attested), they’d be considered pretty close to Bill Paxton and Matthew McConaughey in Frailty. Seeing them treated like actual scientists here is an insult to science and a detriment to the script.

And that’s a major shame, ’cause the film is otherwise pretty damn good. Shit, just name Wilson and Farmiga something like Mulder and Scully or Jones and Johnson and we’d have no problems: just a couple of ostensible hokum practitioners or even clergy looking to help a desperate family. Said family is played rather well by all involved, especially matriarch Lili Taylor, and the false Warrens work well off of each other. James Wan’s direction is more than capable here, creating a tight, just-shy-of-claustrophobic atmosphere in the Perron’s old house and not overdoing it with jump-scares and loud stings. Indeed, sound is used rather well throughout, as the nasty spirit utilizes all sorts of misdirection and taunting to mess with the Perrons. Genuine tension is on display here, a relatively rare feat in modern horror, and the filmmakers should be praised for it. And, despite the Warren apologia and some mildly treacly family stuff, I never felt condescended to by the film, the events happening at the audience’s level without much need of over-explanation or playing to a lower rating.

Overall, The Conjuring is an enjoyable, frightening film that’s hampered by its attachment to the Warrens’ and their dubious-at-best legacy. Unfortunately, things only go further in that direction in the next instalment of the series, a prequel documenting the origins of the Annabelle doll sitting in the Warrens’ museum of haunts.