'The Conjuring: Last Rites' review: A bloated curtain call for horror's biggest franchise

Courtesy of Warner Bros.

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2013’s “The Conjuring” was a terrifying and refreshing detour from the previous decade’s reliance on “Amityville” and endless “Exorcism” retreads. An old-fashioned haunted house thriller, it proved you didn’t need cheap gimmicks or relentless jump scares to get under the skin. Using the infamous (and controversial) demonologists Ed and Lorraine Warren as its foundation was a clever hook, even if the films—despite that trusty “Based on a True Story” tag—took generous liberties with the facts.

Now comes what’s being billed as the final chapter, “The Conjuring: Last Rites,” a serviceable sendoff that trots out the franchise’s greatest hits and leans on the steady presence of Patrick Wilson and Vera Farmiga. But it’s hard to shake the feeling the series has become the very thing it once set out to correct: a stitched-together collection of clichés, running on fumes.

Considering the “Conjuring” universe has raked in over $2.5 billion and holds the crown as the most profitable horror franchise in history, the studio’s attitude seems to be: if the formula isn’t broken, don’t fix it. Unfortunately, director Michael Chaves proves once again he’s unwilling, or unable, to recapture the visual flair that made James Wan’s original entry so striking. The scares feel rote, the atmosphere recycled. This one’s for the diehards, though even they may grow weary.

Unlike previous sequels, “Last Rites” isn’t propelled by its central case so much as the Warrens’ personal turmoil. That’s clear from the prologue, which finds Ed and Lorraine navigating the chaos of new parenthood before jumping ahead to 1986. The filmmakers hammer home the setting with relentless needle drops and pop-culture nods; every teenager within shouting distance hollers “Who you gonna call?” just to remind us “Ghostbusters” exists.

The case itself, marketed as “the one that ended it all,” doesn’t even appear until about 80 minutes in. The Warrens are summoned to a Pennsylvania home plagued by an antique mirror that doubles as a demonic portal. Meanwhile, a subplot involving their daughter Judy (Mia Tomlinson) and her impending marriage hints at inherited clairvoyant abilities, though it plays like a distraction from the main event.

Farmiga, and Wilson remain the franchise’s strongest assets with Tomlinson adding some warmth, their performances grounding the chaos. But they’re often undercut by a script determined to cram in every horror trope imaginable: creaky basements, dark closets, ax-wielding maniacs, and creepy old women. There are flashes of genuine dread, an extended VHS tape sequence lingers nicely, but they’re buried inside a bloated two-hour-and-fifteen-minute runtime that mistakes excess for intensity.

Of course, whenever a movie is billed as “the final chapter,” the only real question is: really? With a franchise this cheap to make and this consistently profitable, it’s hard to believe Warner Bros. is ready to put it to rest. Scarier things have happened, but if “Last Rites” is truly the end, it’s a shame the series couldn’t go out on a stronger, more memorable note.

Grade: C+

THE CONJURING: LAST RITES is now playing in theaters.