Even in the digital epoch where secularism is hip and science trumps art, there’s nothing not scary about tiptoeing down a lightless hallway as the grandfather clock loudens. Nothing. It’s a heart-pounding moment nobody can outgrow — just like a bunny’s hypersensitive hearing, we humans instinctually assume the worst when an unpleasant sound emanates from the bedroom closet. In one of most compelling fingers-over-eyelids pictures ever, “The Conjuring” finds harmony in the carriage of Satan’s cupped hands.
“The Conjuring”
A
New Line Cinema
Goodrich and Rave
Before, filmmaker James Wan knew more about creating scary buzz than actually scaring his audience (see: “Saw” and “Insidious”). With shaky performances and a lack of through lines, those films succeeded as ideas, not actual artworks. If cinephiles have cast doubt over Wan, “The Conjuring” is his all-important, holy-shit rebound. Throughout, he manages to keep you on the edge of your seat, forgetting to breathe. No plot point is safe, including the opening and closing credits.
Set in the Nixonian early ’70s, paranormal spirit-finders Lorraine and Ed Warren (Vera Farmiga, “Source Code” and Patrick Wilson, “Insidious,” respectively) investigate the demonic occurrences most people would try to ignore so they can sleep at night: demonic possessions, exorcisms, resilient spirits and even some entirely explainable creaks from the “haunted” attic. Lorraine’s different, though. She can connect preternaturally with inhuman energies via sight, touch, smell and sound. They make a killer team — Lorraine as the medium to best extract the forces and Ed as the intrepid torch-holder.
After an exorcism that “(takes) a lot out of” Lorraine and leaves her eating nothing for eight days, the Warrens finally are settling down with their daughter. It’s not long until a family across the plains approaches them with house disturbances unlike any the Warrens have seen. The sinister spirits have a demented agenda and only Lorraine’s animalistic pulse paired with Ed’s pluck stand a chance.
Lorraine’s got it. But not just in an “I see dead people” fashion; rather, our heroine balances her surreal powers to her congenial mothering. We can see what she sees from the horrified look in her eyes, not the grisly images themselves. Farmiga’s conviction will convert unbelievers to believers and jocks to mice. Her ability to translate the unknown into knowable terms makes you root for faith, despite your atheistic view.
An unexpected gear of this hair-raising machine comes from the gymnastic lensing that smoothly flips, coasts and vertigoes. One thumb-biting scene features a young girl peaking under her bed after suspecting someone else in the room. The lens carefully somersaults upside-down as she herself unconfidently peaks. Thankfully the lens never embodies one of the bad guys — an unimpressive gag recycled many a year.
Any filmic analyst won’t understand why “Conjuring” ousts other recent contemporaries. From an analytical stance, the movie derives virtually all of its assets from previous works: odd noises, a suspect dog, a rotten noose and a match lit in darkness. It takes a synthesizing mind to appreciate these assets holistically. A grain of sand bores, but a beach astounds.
A deft sound editing team, clever lighting crew and crisp direction all help to synchronize a script that allows Farmiga and Co. to shine.
During a decade-long stretch when horror trailers are urgently dismissed while channel surfing, “The Conjuring” will disrupt the ugly trend of blood sans depth. For whatever reason, well crafted satanic-themed movies always stand the test of time. From Rosemary to Father Merrin, Lorraine Warren reminds us maybe we believe more than we like to think we do.