Editorials
[Editorial] The Crucial Ingredient That Makes the ‘Conjuring’ Movies So Refreshing
Over the past five years, James Wan and the folks at New Line Cinema have built The Conjuring into a far more consistently entertaining horror series than most of us would have predicted after seeing the original film for the first time. This success can be chalked up to a number of factors, including the patience the franchise’s storytellers have had in slowly building up a cinematic universe rather than launching headfirst into it (unlike some studios who shall remain nameless). But there’s another reason the Conjuring movies have been so refreshing thus far, particularly the main Warren films. Despite being R-rated and utterly terrifying, this is a surprisingly earnest, wholesome, character-driven series of movies about good people who love each other and who are generally rewarded, not punished, for their compassion, respect, and open-mindedness.
This was established right away in the first film, which introduces us to the instantly likable paranormal investigators Ed and Lorraine Warren. Wan’s previous movie was Insidious, another story about a family who seeks professional help after experiencing supernatural occurrences. But in the original Insidious, the characters of Elise, Specs and Tucker mainly just function as plot devices and comic relief. These are roles they fill well, but they aren’t exactly fully realized characters we sympathize with and care for, although Elise would later get a more involved backstory. The Conjuring, on the other hand, spends a lot of time developing Ed and Lorraine before they even meet the Perron family and start working on the case.
We see that the Warrens have a healthy relationship and a daughter whom they love but spend too much time away from, and it’s immediately apparent that Patrick Wilson and Vera Farmiga have undeniable chemistry.
The Warrens, it becomes clear, are not one-dimensional ghost hunters who will simply guide the audience from one case to another throughout the series. Instead, The Conjuring is fundamentally about them and their love story. These are two people who respect one another deeply, and the central conflict has to do with Ed’s desire to protect Lorraine, fearful for her safety after a recent case left her shattered; we will later find out that she saw the most horrible thing she could imagine: the death of the most important person in her life, her husband. Yet as much as Ed objects to Lorraine helping save Carolyn Perron, when she insists they do so together as always, he doesn’t put his foot down. He has faith that Lorraine can handle herself, and Lorraine, in turn, has faith that Ed can perform the exorcism despite not being authorized. “You can do this,” she assures him.
Rather than one Warren needing to do it all on their own, the two realize that it’s only together that they’ll be able to vanquish the spirit infesting this family’s home, and indeed, it’s ultimately the combination of Ed’s performance of the exorcism and Lorraine’s insight that save the day. With both having believed in the other, the ending is as satisfying a victory for the Warrens as it is for the Perrons. “You did good,” Ed tells Lorraine. “No,” she replies. “You did.”
Even putting aside The Conjuring’s scares, the Warrens’ arc alone is enough to make it a great movie.
The themes of love and respect don’t just have to do with the Warrens, though. It’s also present with the Perron plot, as exemplified in a scene in which Carolyn tells Lorraine about a day her family had at the beach. In the third act, Ed goes through the exorcism process, but it’s not enough. Carolyn needs to fight from the inside, and it’s by recalling this wonderful, but fairly average, day with her family that she’s able to fend away the spirit that would do her children harm. It’s notable that the memory she calls upon isn’t any super iconic moment in her life but rather something a bit more mundane, because sometimes, it’s these smaller memories with loved ones that resonate far more than the ones of greater significance. In an unusually emotional ending for a horror film, the Perrons embrace in the sunlight as the triumphant music reaches a crescendo.
Oftentimes in a horror movie, moments of pure bliss such as these are followed by a last-minute twist. The characters thought they were safe, and it’s at this precise moment that the movie gods twist the proverbial knife. But not here. The Warrens and the Perrons legitimately earn their happy ending, and it’s at this point that we realize we just watched an R-rated horror blockbuster in which not a single person died or was even really injured, yet it never felt sterilized and was, in fact, more frightening than it would sound on paper because we were truly invested in the relationships between everyone involved.
The happy ending can be credited in part to the real-life story concluding with no fatalities, but since Wan already took a number of serious creative liberties, he had every opportunity to alter the narrative so as to wrap up on a more sinister note like Insidious. He does no such thing, letting the characters get off scot-free. In a weird way, the utterly cheerful finale is kind of daring, and this speaks to the success of the franchise as a whole. Wan even consciously steers clear of the “one last scare” cliche by slowly focusing in on the music box as we tense up waiting for something that never comes like a horror anti-joke. Granted, the fact that the box spins at all suggests there’s still evil out there, but whatever evil there is does not show itself, and because it’s contained in the Warrens’ artifact room, this isn’t exactly a downer.
In The Conjuring 2, the Warrens’ relationship is expanded upon much further, and we see some of their adorably pure lifestyle; Ed stops himself from saying the word “asshole” in private, and he’s so in love with his wife that he can’t stand it when they have to sleep in separate beds. We also see more of their daughter, Judy, who gives them each a kiss when she comes down to eat breakfast in the morning. None of this feels saccharine; it’s legitimately endearing, and we just find it pleasant to be around these people.
Although it was Ed wanting to keep Lorraine out of danger in the first film, this time, the tables are turned. Lorraine, it is now revealed, has been seeing visions of Ed’s death. But the sequel makes clear that Ed and Lorraine are driven almost to an unhealthy degree by helping families who need them. They’re like the superheroes of the horror genre. As Ed tells Lorraine in one scene, “There has never been a family that we’ve refused to help.” Loraine is reluctant to get involved in this case, though, being so afraid to lose Ed just as Ed was so afraid to lose her before.
When they ultimately go to assist the Hodgson family in Enfield, Lorraine becomes close with Janet Hodgson, and she talks with her about the importance of finding people in this world who you can place your complete and total trust in. “One person can change everything, and you just have to open up to them,” Lorraine says. Janet asks, “How did you know you could trust the people you opened up to?” Lorraine answers, “I didn’t, and sometimes I got hurt.” This becomes the central theme of the movie, as Janet is being targeted by the demon, Valak, but nobody knows whether to believe her, and Janet can’t be sure who she can open up to about it. Already a bit of an outcast, she is alone and afraid, and the Warrens naturally relate. We learn that both Ed and Lorraine had nobody to believe them for an interminable amount of time, only to eventually find each other, which Lorraine believes was God’s plan.
When it comes to this case, the Warrens could easily take the cynical approach and conclude that this little girl is making the whole thing up; there’s plenty of reason to think that, especially since, as the film establishes, the Warrens investigate a lot of cases that don’t lead to anything. But they could also take a leap of faith and trust in the decency of others, a choice these two select at every opportunity. That faith is tested when video seems to prove that Janet was making the whole thing up. The Warrens start to head home, only to begin second-guessing their worst assumptions about Janet. They’re inherently positive people, after all, who are always willing to believe when no one else will. Thanks to this optimism (and Ed dropping his luggage in a very convenient way), the Warrens return to the Hodgson house and are able to cast out the very real Valak.
Once again, it’s Ed and Lorraine’s combined efforts — Ed saves Janet, while Lorraine saves both Ed and Janet — that allow them to succeed, and Lorraine truly did see her vision of Ed’s death so that she could prevent it. After leading us to believe the film might end on a needlessly upsetting note with Ed dying, Wan swerves in the other direction. The Warrens were truly supposed to be together, and it’s their compassion for Janet that allows them to save the day. “Didn’t I tell you it was meant to be,” Ed tells Lorraine. As the two embrace, it’s at this point that it becomes clear just how fine a job Wan has done making us care about this relationship and how much the Warrens’ development over the course of two films has paid off.
The second film also reinforces that the whole series, at least thus far, is about our bonds with others and how these bonds, as well as the willingness of good people to stand up in the face of ever-present evil, will be our salvation in this terrifying world. Had Wan only been concerned with scaring us, after all, he wouldn’t pepper the movie with scenes like the one in which Ed sings “Can’t Help Falling in Love” to the Hodgsons, both a sweet moment of the family coming together during a difficult time and a personal message from Ed to his wife. Just vaguely gesturing towards having nice characters and positive messages in the movie obviously wouldn’t be enough, but Wan puts in the time and the effort. Few other directors would devote over two full minutes of their mainstream horror film to a scene where a character sings a love song, but that’s what happens when you allow yourself to be as earnest as Wan, knowing full well that annoying teenagers in the theater will probably laugh at the film’s unabashed sincerity or grow impatient because nothing scary has happened in a while.
The beautiful final moments call back to this scene by having Lorraine finally getting the record of “Can’t Help Falling in Love” playing. By this point, the evil has been defeated, and everything appears to be completely fine. Like in the first movie, it couldn’t be a happier ending, so once again, we expect a last-minute twist where the characters get screwed over in some way. Clearly, you aren’t allowed to be this joyful in a horror film without being punished for it. At the very least, we expect some tease that evil will return in the third film. But that doesn’t happen. Ed and Lorraine dance to this love song as the film fades to black, cuts to credits, and that’s it.
For once, a horror movie ends in a way that might actually make you cry rather than make you scream.
One might assume that without Ed and Lorraine, and without James Wan in the director’s chair, the Annabelle spinoff films would carry an entirely different tone, and that’s partially true in that these are the only movies in the series in which main characters actually die. But the idea of following well fleshed out, decent people and their relationships with one another continues with the first Annabelle. In this prequel, John and Mia are good-hearted souls who are struggling to adapt to a changing, increasingly dark world around them, as Manson Family type murders play out in the backdrop of the 1967-set story. In one early scene, John leaves the door of the house unlocked, and Mia tells him, “You have to start locking it. It’s a different world now.”
Later in the film, Mia is brutally stabbed during a break-in, and afterward, she again has to remind John to lock the door. That different world she was talking about has reared its ugly head, and it’s understandable why the couple would find it difficult to trust anyone other than each other ever again after nearly losing their unborn child. They’re not the only ones who feel that way, either. In their new apartment building, Mia strikes up a conversation with two children who live nearby, but they push her away, as they’re not allowed to talk to strangers.
But it’s actually a stranger, Evelyn, who saves John and Mia by sacrificing herself at the end in Mia’s place. We find out that Evelyn lost her daughter in a car accident years earlier, and she echoes Lorraine’s statement in the first movie about God having a purpose for her; that purpose turns out to be saving this young couple. Even though someone has to die, Annabelle’s ending is ultimately another happy one. John, Mia and their baby are safe, and Evelyn has fulfilled her destiny and has been reunited with her daughter. The movie suggests that when the world seems to have gone crazy, the answer is not to shield ourselves from our neighbors but open up to them and offer our love, a similar sentiment as was expressed in The Conjuring 2.
The sequel, Annabelle: Creation, is a bit of a departure tone wise. It does focus on the love between two friends, young orphans who promise never to leave one another. But it ends on a real bummer, with the main character, Janice, staying possessed, only to grow up, kill her adoptive parents, and commit suicide. This ending is a miss for the franchise, not because it’s dark but just because it is not earned and seems like an unnecessary last-minute attempt to tie an otherwise completely standalone movie into its predecessor.
But Creation is overall another solid entry into the series because, like the first three Conjuring universe films, it puts in the time to develop sympathetic characters and make the audience invest in their relationships with one another. In this case, the friendship between Janice and Linda is just as strong as the romance between Mia and John in the first Annabelle, which is why it’s so heartbreaking to see it end the way it does. With The Nun and onward, this character-first approach will hopefully continue, and it’s certainly fine for the spinoffs to do their own thing with the tone and the ending as long as the main movies with the Warrens remain infectiously optimistic.
Horror films are often populated either by awful people whose terrible behavior is punished or virtuous people who either die or make it out alive only by losing everything they care about, with the film concluding on the bleak note that more terror may await them. Even when everyone makes it out okay, as is not uncommon in haunted house movies based on true stories, it’s unlikely that we feel much joy throughout the film leading up to that point. The Conjuring movies offer something else entirely. Although Annabelle: Creation went off the beaten path with its final five minutes, for the most part, this has been a series full of people who are fated to be together, one that espouses ideas about acceptance, faith, destiny, and love, and one that manages to consistently give us nightmares while also allowing us to leave with positive feelings about the world around us. These days, that’s quite a gift.
After fifty years of continuous writing, Stephen King has become a genre unto himself.
The unrivaled Master of Horror made a splash in 1974 with his debut novel Carrie and has been terrifying readers ever since. Two years later, Brian De Palma brought this shocking story to the screen with an equally electrifying horror film that remains a genre classic and a prototypical example of “Good For Her” horror. This dual debut seemed to open the floodgates, unleashing endless waves of Stephen King films.
From the highs of Misery, Cujo, and The Shawshank Redemption to the schlocky fun of Cat’s Eye, Creepshow, and Children of the Corn, the last five decades have seen just about every notable horror creator take a stab at the author’s massive collection.
In recent years, this singular subgenre has begun to burst at the seams, expanding to include Stephen King-esque fare. In 2016, brothers Matt and Ross Duffer debuted Stranger Things, a sci-fi series heavily inspired by two of King’s most famous books. The Netflix series remixes Firestarter and It by following a little girl with psychic powers and an intrepid group of kids on bikes who must battle an otherworldly foe and a sinister government agency. With its clever blend of modern effects and comforting nostalgia, this gateway horror series paved the way for Andy Muschietti’s It adaptation which remains the highest grossing horror film of all time.
Four years later, Mike Flanagan would create Midnight Mass, a spiritual adaptation of King’s second novel Salem’s Lot. Published in 1975, the book sees a tiny New England town torn apart by a centuries-old vampire. Though Flanagan’s story is perhaps more tender, both iterations of the classic horror tale follow close-knit communities shaken to their core by the presence of an ancient evil.
In addition to these recent hits, 2025 was a banner year for the Master of Horror. Audiences delighted in six mainstream adaptations, including the massively popular It: Welcome to Derry which chronicles earlier cycles of the titular clown’s reign. With this boost to King’s cultural cache, it’s no surprise that we’ve begun to see more unofficial adaptations of the author’s work and horror creators who build their own unique castles in King’s creative sandbox.
So what defines a Stephen King-esque story?
For the past fifty years, the prolific author has dipped his toes in nearly every subgenre from supernatural stories and grisly gore to western fantasy and science fiction. Including his vast catalogue of short fiction, King has tackled ghosts, demons, werewolves, zombies, aliens, mutants, and self-driving cars, not to mention bizarre monsters of his own creation. But what truly unites this vast array of horror is King’s focus on relatable characters. In his 2000 memoir/instructional text On Writing, the prolific author describes the amusement he finds in writing disparate characters, placing them in horrific scenarios, then exploring the ways they try to survive.
An unofficial Stephen King adaptation may take place in the author’s native New England — bonus points if it’s set in Maine — and reference his well-known heroes and villains. But what makes the King connection unbreakable is a character-driven story about average people who band together in the face of abject terror.
Weapons Captures Small Town Stephen King
Following his 2022 shocker Barbarian, Zach Cregger returned with Weapons, a sprawling story that begins in a doomed elementary school. On an otherwise ordinary day, Justine (Julia Garner) arrives at her desk to find that all but one of her students have disappeared. As the mystery grows increasingly violent, Justine and Archer (Josh Brolin), the father of a missing boy, find their way to the home of Alex (Cary Christopher), the class’ only surviving student. In some ways reminiscent of Salem’s Lot, Weapons swings wildly through the unfortunate town, introducing us to its flawed inhabitants as we watch their lives fall apart.
Cregger’s setup nods to a pair of King short stories. Both “Suffer the Little Children” and “Here There Be Tygers” tackle monstrous presences in elementary schools, but as Weapons reaches its final act, Constant Readers may remember another Stephen King tale. Featured in his 1985 collection Skeleton Crew, “Gramma” introduces us to George, a little boy tormented by an aging witch. On an afternoon alone with his sickly grandmother, the frightened child gradually realizes that the imposing old woman has been waiting for an opportunity to cast a spell that will extend her own life by possessing his body.
Alex finds himself similarly tortured by his aunt Gladys (Amy Madigan), a garish witch who orchestrates a desperate plot to sustain her own strength. Transforming humans into mindless weapons, Gladys has taken over Alex’s family home and lured his classmates to the basement. Holding them in a comatose state, she syphons off their energy to extend her own supernatural life.
Vastly different in many ways, both “Gramma” and Weapons hinge on a sinister witch who uses horrific magical spells to sacrifice the bodies of her vulnerable prey.
Hokum Echoes The Shining and 1408
It’s nearly impossible to watch a film about a haunted hotel without thinking of King’s third novel, The Shining. This icy story follows Jack Torrance, an angry writer struggling with his sobriety and a shameful incident haunting his past. Accompanied by his wife and young son, Jack has taken a job as the winter caretaker for the Overlook, a haunted hotel situated high in the Rocky Mountains. Snowed in, Jack finds himself tormented by dangerous ghosts who amplify his greatest fears.
Damian McCarthy’s Hokum follows a similarly troubled figure. Ohm Bauman (Adam Scott) is a surly writer who travels to the Bilberry Woods Hotel in rural Ireland to spread his parents’ ashes. Haunted by his own tragic past, Ohm finds himself trapped in the honeymoon suite, a decaying room that’s been permanently closed to protect visitors from a dangerous witch trapped within its walls. Visual nods to King’s text abound with woodcut figurines and an animated clock, mirroring ominous descriptions found in King’s text.
Another terrifying sequence sees Ohm staring with horror at a closed door, the only thing separating him from the approaching witch. As the door knob slowly turns, Constant Readers remember Jack’s narrow escape from the ghostly woman in room 217. And Ohm’s popular Conquistador books directly reference King’s long-running fantasy series The Dark Tower which follows a gunslinger named Roland Deschain tasked with protecting the nexus of the universe.
In addition to these thematic comparisons, Hokum bears striking resemblance to King’s terrifying short story “1408.” Collected in 2002’s Everything’s Eventual, the terrifying story follows Mike Enslin, a dejected writer who’s risen to fame penning essays about his adventures in haunted locations. Mike arrives at the Hotel Dolphin and bullies his way into the titular room, despite the manager’s dire warnings. McCarthy nods to this story with an ominously misplaced hotel room door, reminiscent of King’s entry to 1408, an unsuspecting portal that appears to move each time Mike looks away.
However, McCarthy’s most direct reference lies in a minicorder Ohm uses to capture notes. Trapped inside the dreaded honeymoon suite, this device offers well-timed messages while sitting next to a decomposing corpse. Mike records his time in 1408 with his own trusty minicorder. Described for the reader, his tape has captured the man’s slow descent into madness as the room prepares to swallow him whole. With conclusions that differ wildly in tone, both Ohm and Mike find their lives irrevocably changed by encounters with the supernatural realm.
Widow’s Bay Builds Its Own Version of Castle Rock
Katie Dippold’s Widow’s Bay has taken the idea of an unofficial King adaptation and turned it into an art form. The Apple TV series sees the residents of the titular island plagued by a curse that dates back centuries. Not only does the picturesque hamlet not accommodate wifi connections, those born on the island face certain death should they ever try to leave. Desperate to modernize the tiny town, Mayor Tom Loftis (Matthew Rhys) draws in waves of tourists just as a new cycle of terror begins.
Blending horror with deft comedy, Dippold makes cheeky references to King’s body of work. Tom warns that, “there’s something in the fog,” reminding readers of King’s 1980 novella The Mist. And Loftis’ own stay in the town’s haunted hotel sees him tormented by the ghost of a murderous clown. We even spy a vintage King hardback peeking out of a local book trade box.
In many ways Widow’s Bay feels like a new iteration of the author’s Little Tall Island, a tiny village off the coast of Maine. In addition to the 1992 novel Dolores Claiborne and a handful of harrowing short stories, this quaint fishing village is also the setting for King’s 1999 teleplay Storm of the Century. Premiering on ABC primetime, this tragic tale follows a terrified group of islanders who batten down the hatches for a dangerous Nor’easter only to find a more sinister threat lurking within.
Constant Readers may also be reminded of Castle Rock, the author’s favorite fictional town.
First introduced in the 1981 novel Cujo, the charming village becomes the star of Needful Things, King’s satire about consumerism. After several Castle Rock stories, we’re reintroduced to its residents as they gossip about the arrival of Leland Gaunt and the grand opening of his curio shop. Anything their hearts desire can be found in his varied inventory, so long as they’re willing to pay the price. Pitting cantankerous neighbors against each other, Gaunt ignites a wave of grisly violence by exploiting long-held resentments and feuds.
The town’s only defense against this supernatural threat is beleaguered sheriff Alan Pangborn. Still grieving the deaths of his wife and younger son, Alan struggles to connect with his older child and pick up the pieces of his shattered life. Also a widower, Loftis struggles to raise his own restless son and explain the strange details of his wife’s tragic death. Attempting to unravel the island’s dark secrets, Tom is aided by quirky residents including a surly fisherman named Wyck (Stephen Root) and Patricia (Kate O’Flynn), an earnest Town Hall employee. King’s own novels feature many of these proactive alliances with disparate characters combining their strengths to overcome insurmountable odds.
With Widow’s Bay renewed for a second season and Mike Flanagan’s Carrie series on the horizon, the future seems bright for new King adaptations, both spiritual and directly pulled from his catalogue. The prolific author also shows no signs of slowing down with two publications nearing release. His upcoming novel, Other Worlds Than These, is the long-awaited third Talisman book which teases direct ties to his Dark Tower world. Holly Forever will be a new installment of his crime series, offering a different kind of genre fare.
This embarrassment of riches spawning multiple worlds seems ripe for spiritual adaptation and will likely inspire horror creators for decades to come.
Kate O’Flynn, Stephen Root and Matthew Rhys in “Widow’s Bay,” now streaming on Apple TV.
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