The Conjuring: Last Rites Review | A Final Bow To The Warrens That Never Truly Arrives

All good things must end, and some linger far too long. The Conjuring remains the most recognized horror franchise, yet its storytelling has steadily weakened with each addition. When James Wan’s The Conjuring (2013) arrived, it was an instant fixation—the haunted farmhouse, the sinister tree by the lake, spirits emerging from shadows, all anchored by impeccable pacing and atmosphere. That film still stands tallest, not just for its scares, but for its sharp character arcs and the intimacy it revealed between Ed (Patrick Wilson) and Lorraine Warren (Vera Farmiga). Over time, however, the Warrens’ cases have been stretched past their natural limit. What survives is a single thread that runs steady through the chaos: love. Stripped of its paranormal theatrics, the saga often reads as romance—a portrait of two people who, even as forces beyond reason fracture their lives, remain unshaken in devotion and each other’s greatest refuge. Yet, the films also offered a curated portrait of the real Ed and Lorraine, whose own marriage was far from flawless and knee-deep in scandals. However, in the final chapter of the franchise, even their on-screen selves are denied the farewell they deserved.

In Conjuring: Last Rites (2025), the narrative rewinds to Judy’s (Mia Tomlinson) birth in 1964, where the Warrens relive the nightmare of prying a demonic grip off their child. The culprit is a towering, wooden mirror embellished with cherubs. The film intentionally folds back on itself, revisiting motifs from the first Conjuring (2013), as if tying a bow on the saga. Decades later, Judy has grown into a young woman who carries her mother’s intuitive gifts, glimpsed earlier in Conjuring 2 (2016) and Annabelle Comes Home (2019). The setup pivots on Judy introducing her boyfriend Tony (Ben Hardy) to her parents during Ed’s birthday, playing out as a self-referential nod to the franchise’s past with familiar faces at their backyard barbeque. If a horror film can be enjoyed in the sensibilities of another genre, then the film is either brilliant or has failed to establish itself in the genre altogether. Here, it felt as though the film was going soft on its viewers before saying goodbye. Viewers chuckled at Ed’s restrained disapproval of Tony. Yet, it is here that this warmth emerges and expands between Tony and Ed delivering some of the film’s most affectionate exchanges.

The Warrens’ last official case traces back to the Smurl family from Pennsylvania. Although, it is a running gag within the franchise that it is always the Warrens’ last case before it isn’t, here, the reluctant return takes shape through Judy, whose fully awakened psychic gift pulls her to the Smurl home. Jack Smurl (Elliot Cowan) and his wife Janet (Rebecca Calder) present their daughter Heather (Kila Lord Cassidy) with a mirror on her confirmation day, only for it to become the film’s central haunted artifact. As it goes in horror tradition, the mirror claims its ground in the middle of the night. Ed and Lorraine are no longer in their prime, with him battling a heart condition and her own strength visibly fading. Their semi-retired life places them in lecture halls, where students mockingly call them “ghostbusters,” feeding doubt about the very work that defined their existence. Yet, their compulsion to return to the afflicted and the haunted feels inevitable, both within the film and in their real lives, as if the Warrens cannot help but extend their story a little further. The film itself mirrors this impulse—a final and fragile attempt to enshrine them—reaching for an epitaph that tries to hold their legacy together. Director Michael Chaves is hellbent on connecting the dots, so much so that the storytelling suffers. The few well-placed frights are buried under an overbearing score that amplifies noise rather than terror, rendering the horror itself curiously hollow.

The Conjuring films have always been framed with the “faith over illusion” ideology: the god-loving Christians versus the demonic spirits. While one could always guess who “wins” in the end, Last Rites refuses to acknowledge the finality of the franchise. As the Warrens and the Smurl family cross paths so late in the film, any chance of forging an emotional connection feels lost. Their presence comes across as an obligation to their daughter rather than a genuine commitment to the family’s suffering. The intent is there, but the early focus on the Smurls jolts into a sudden and complete shift toward the Warrens in the second half, leaving the family at the very centre of the haunting strangely sidelined. The most unforgettable scare is still the scene where Lorraine is giving birth to Judy—because, let’s be honest, nothing beats childbirth for sheer horror. What’s truly disheartening is that the franchise chose formulaic mediocrity over its strongest angle: exploring Ed and Lorraine’s marriage, their last years together, and the traces of the supernatural that followed them even after finally leaving everything behind. Instead, the film closes precisely at the moment where the story should have truly begun. It feels more like a rushed conclusion aimed at a happy ending and a refusal to engage with what made the Warrens fascinating in the first place. 

While the film finally secures Tony’s place within the Warren family—after a crash course through their chaotic lives (even an exorcism), the callback to their very first demon feels oddly underwhelming. The idea of the original entity circling back to close the saga is intriguing, yet the tension never carries enough weight for audiences long accustomed to haunted houses, troubled families, and the Warrens inevitably stepping in to restore order. The franchise’s attempt to return to its origins ends up exposing its refusal to move beyond the very formula that made it great. And with returning director Chaves (The Conjuring: The Devil Made Me Do It, 2021; The Nun II, 2023) unable to inject freshness or vitality, the send-off lands more tired than triumphant. 

Even more disappointing was the farewell to the franchise’s heart, Patrick Wilson and Vera Farmiga. The closing ten minutes unfold with wistful tenderness, tracing their shared journey through archival glimpses and spoken legacy as Lorraine envisions a future of quiet devotion, still aiding others within their reach. It is soft, moving, and built to linger. Yet the ache remains in what is absent. The Philharmonic Orchestra version of “Can’t Help Falling In Love”—their song—was never used within the film, when it could have been the most fitting adieu to their love. Overall, Last Rites arrives as a muddled cocktail of homage, lightly seasoned with humour and scattered scares that scarcely hold their ground. What we are left with is a string of missed opportunities and a final bow that never truly arrives.