'The Conjuring: Last Rites' Review: A Haunting And Heartfelt Curtain Call

HOLLYWOOD, CA — A final jolt of terror? Hardly. Michael Chaves’ “The Conjuring: Last Rites” draws the curtain on an enduring supernatural saga attuned to a quieter shade of eerie. This isn’t the haunting that throbs like a heartbeat on edge. Gone are the shrills of terror — no shrieking specters, no thunderclap scares like those that rattled “The Conjuring,” “The Conjuring 2” or “The Devil Made Me Do It.”

In their place, Chaves offers a slow-burning requiem that hums more with silence than spectacle. What emerges is a whispered elegy draped in spectral grief — a solemnity that feels both graceful and soulful.

It lingers. It watches. It waits.

And so does the entity — a demon that doesn’t send tremors of horror but lingers as a presence seeking closure in the wake of the Warrens' storied encounters with the otherworldly.

Set against the backdrop of the real-life Smurl haunting of the late 1980s, the story follows ghost hunters Ed (Patrick Wilson) and Lorraine (Vera Farmiga) Warren as they investigate a cursed mirror seemingly tethered to their daughter Judy’s (Mia Tomlinson) emerging psychic abilities. The result is a haunting that echoes through bloodlines, with the evil simmering beneath the fractured glass.

Judy, seemingly trapped between generational trauma and inherited sensitivity, emerges as the narrative’s emotional fulcrum. As her visions intensify, so do the entity's spectral manifestations through the mirror — a conduit where sorrow festers and a shrine where time and reality distort.

As the Warrens delve deeper into the mirror’s origins, they uncover a lineage of sorrow bound to its glass — tragedies unspoken, rituals half completed and spirits left unredeemed. What begins as a routine inquiry quickly transforms into a crucible of memory and menace, drawing the Warrens into a confrontation not just with a malevolent force but also with the lingering consequences of their own legacy.

The emotional core of the film rests on the shoulders of Wilson and Farmiga, who bring gravitas to their roles. “Last Rites” wisely offers them a sendoff that feels both dignified and intimate. Farmiga’s portrayal of Lorraine shines with restrained vulnerability while Wilson brings rugged steadiness to Ed’s stoic fatigue. Together, their chemistry remains the franchise’s beating heart, anchoring the film with a sense of warmth and weariness honed over a decade of ghost hunting.

Chaves directs “The Conjuring: Last Rites” with newfound elegance, favoring a contemplative approach over the kinetic horror of his previous franchise entries. His vision weaves scares through character stakes, making each moment feel earned rather than gratuitous.

Eli Born’s cinematography in “Last Rites” echoes the moody elegance of the original “The Conjuring,” crafting a haunting visual rhythm filled with candlelit reflections, shadow-drenched hallways and spectral silhouettes that linger just out of frame. Meanwhile, the screenplay — penned by David Leslie Johnson-McGoldrick, Ian B. Goldberg, and Richard Naing — favors pathos over subtlety, grounding the narrative in raw emotional stakes. Together, these elements form a cohesive framework that reflects Chaves’ commitment to soulful depth and stylistic restraint.

Yet for all its emotional richness and visual grace, “Last Rites” risks alienating fans of the franchise’s earlier thrills, teetering at times on the edge of religious melodrama. Its subdued pacing and introspective leanings, though thematically resonant, occasionally drain urgency from scenes that yearn for a sharper crescendo.

Ultimately, “Last Rites” is a heartfelt curtain call, serving up a gem that is rare in horror: elegiac, introspective, graceful and emotionally resonant in the face of the unknown.

“Last Rites” bids farewell that doesn’t scream into the void — it whispers with silence that is haunting, human and unforgettable, like candle smoke curling through a chapel.