The Conjuring franchise has been a staple of modern horror for a long time now, combining real life paranormal lore with heart racing scares and an unwavering belief in the face of the devil. With The Conjuring: Last Rites, directed by Michael Chaves and out September 5, 2025, the series says goodbye to its beloved leads Ed and Lorraine Warren for the final time, played by Patrick Wilson and Vera Farmiga. Clocking in at 135 minutes, this fourth mainline film – the final chapter in the Warrens on screen story – takes us to 1986 Pennsylvania where a family’s nightmare in their rural home pulls the retired investigators back in. As the 9th film in the Conjuring Universe, does it deliver a thunderous exorcism of the series demons or does it exorcise our patience instead?
The plot is based on the Smurl haunting, which was all over the headlines in the late 1970s and 1980s. Ed and Lorraine, now in their twilight years and grandparents, are pulled out of retirement when their daughter Judy (Taissa Farmiga, standing in for her real life sister Vera) reaches out about strange happenings at her fiancé Tony’s (Ben Hardy) childhood home. What starts as poltergeist pranks—flying objects, shadowy figures and a malevolent presence tied to an antique mirror—escalates into full blown demonic possession, possessions, apparitions and a creepy Annabelle cameo that’s one of the scariest in the franchise. Screenwriters Ian Goldberg, Richard Naing and David Leslie Johnson-McGoldrick add emotional stakes by tying the haunting to the Warrens’ family dynamics and forcing Ed and Lorraine to confront not just external evil but the cost their life’s work has taken on their loved ones. It’s a story that goes back to the series’ roots of marital devotion and spiritual resilience while giving closure to characters who have become as comforting as a nightlight in a storm.
Patrick and Vera are the secret sauce of the franchise; their chemistry is dorky and endearing and quiet. Wilson brings Ed to life with a weary heroism – his folksy bravado hiding deeper wounds – and that raw, faith tested monologue gets me every time. Farmiga is radiant as always and Lorraine’s clairvoyant empathy is a mix of steel and maternal warmth. Her visions are like poetic fever dreams. Their banter and glances elevate the film above the ritual; it’s a love letter to partnership in the face of oblivion. The supporting cast adds texture: Hardy brings depth to Tony, the Warren daughters (Sterling and Madison) are more mature this time around and Steve Coulter is back as Father Gordon with authority and Rebecca Calder is a tormented family member with a visceral possession scene that’s both harrowing and heartbreaking. They make sure that in the jump scares, the human element – faith, fear, family – never feels secondary.
Technically, Last Rites is the Conjuring formula at its most polished and predictable. Chaves returns from the divisive The Devil Made Me Do It and leans into the atmospheric dread with a sleight of hand: the corridors creak with menace, the practical effects (levitating beds, contorted bodies) outshine any CGI. Michael McMillian’s cinematography bathes the Smurl farmhouse in '80s sepia tones; it’s like an analog terror from another era. Joseph Bishara’s score whispers and swells with dissonance; every shadow is amplified. The sound design is great, turning everyday household noises into omens of doom and Christian Wagner’s editing is tight on the set pieces: a midnight exorcism lit by candles, a mirror bound standoff that rivals the original’s basement climax. At its best, the film recaptures James Wan’s original alchemy: scares that build from psychological unease to visceral release, with a soundtrack nod to Howard Jones that’s hilarious because it’s so of its time and so culturally clashy.
But for all the heartfelt pleas, Last Rites falters under the weight of its own familiarity, feeling more like a rerun than a grand finale. The slow burn setup is immersive but drags through procedural exposition—endless investigations and family dinners that suck the momentum out of the movie before the supernatural stuff opens up—leaving the whole thing feeling overlong at over two hours. Chaves recycles tropes with mechanical precision: the creaky stairs, the floating kid, the rote demonic origin story, all done competently but without innovation. Where contemporaries are innovating with raw, subversive horror, Last Rites is stuck in "dad-rock horror" and uses jump scares like well-worn power chords that elicit groans more than gasps. The emotional arc is sweet but goes into sentimental overdrive and the faith-based resolution is proselytizing and may alienate non-believers in an era of nuanced genre fare. Critics have said as much, calling it a "frothy return" to the series' aesthetic but a "middle of the road" movie. Fans are split: some are celebrating the "terrifying final chapter" and the wholesome sendoff, while others are calling it the "weakest" entry and a predictable slog compared to the first two.
Overall, The Conjuring: Last Rites is a decent but not great goodbye—a nostalgic trip back to the past that honors the source material without surpassing it. It’s the scary version of a family heirloom: comforting in its familiarity but stale in its repetition. For fans it’s a goodbye to Wilson and Farmiga’s characters, the Warrens and a hint after the credits that the universe goes on without its foundation figures. Casual viewers will find it more tired than terrifying, a reminder that even the strongest magic loses its magic when you see it too much. Rated R for hellish imagery and deep themes, it’s for die hards looking for a final ride. In a series of Conjuring movies that have been scary and fun, The Last Rites doesn’t change the story; it just ends it with a soft whisper.