Weekend Watch: The Conjuring: The Devil Made Me Do It, And Sweet Tooth
More horror for the Warrens and a hybrid navigates a post-apocalyptic world
Image Credit: Warner Bros.
Welcome to the latest edition of Weekend Watch, in which I recommend (or occasionally warn against) movies or TV shows I’ve been checking out. This week, Vera Farmiga and Patrick Wilson tackle more terror, while the world deals with a dangerous virus and some human-animal hybrids in Netflix’s new fantasy. Follow James on Twitter: @jamwhite
The Conjuring films have been one of the most successful franchises of the last few years, with James Wan’s 2013 original spawning no less than seven assorted sequels and spin-offs. The Devil Made Me Do It is the latest in the main strand, featuring the return of Patrick Wilson and Vera Farmiga as real-life paranormal investigators Ed and Lorraine Warren. Though I’ve written in the past that I’m not a big horror fan (I just don’t find the genre scary, which diminishes a lot of the pleasure of watching), The Conjuring, and, to a lesser extent, its direct sequel, worked well for me. It’s disappointing to report then, that despite a relatively strong start, this latest entry loses its way and becomes more Scooby-Doo than scary demons.
Michael Chaves takes over the director’s chair here (Wan remains involved as a producer and has a story credit), and the new film moves the clock forward to 1981, with the Warrens helping with the exorcism of young David Glatzel (Julian Hilliard). When David’s sister’s boyfriend Arne (Ruairi O’Connor) demands the demon possess him in David’s place, he ends up committing murder, and the Warrens agree to help shape a defence of demonic interference. The Glatzel case and Arne’s prosecution are both based on real-life events from the Warrens’ long history with the supernatural, but when the script attempts to layer in some satanic panic for good measure, it all goes off the rails. While the Conjuring movies have never been exactly subtle in their attempts to generate shocks, the grounding of the actual histories lent them an air of authority that The Devil Made Me Do It ends up wasting.
All the standard tricks are on display here: close-ups of characters who turn to find something horrible lurking, claw scrapes on the wall (which are mysteriously not fixed months after the initial event) and, of course, the rumbling soundtrack gets a good workout. At least a couple of the set pieces work, especially a creepy moment involving a waterbed, and both Farmiga and Wilson know how to breathe real life into their characters. The movie also doesn’t forget to let the story be funny when needed in subtle ways, such as a skeptical defence lawyer scoffing at what the Warrens could possibly do to convince her of evil’s lurking presence, only for the next scene to show the same lawyer shaken and converted following an off-screen trip to the couple’s famed creepy evidence archive. It’s just unfortunate that some cloying, forced sentiment and the detective mystery element that forms the second half lets everything down.
The Warrens remain a prime source for horror stories, but future filmmakers might want to consider really sticking to the source material a little more closely, as that tends to generate real, chilling results.
The Conjuring: The Devil Made Me Do It is in US cinemas and HBO Max today. It is already on release in the UK.
Image Credit: Netflix
Sweet Tooth represents Netflix’s latest adaptation of a story that originated in comic book form, and it will no doubt be hoping for better things than Jupiter’s Ascending. Fortunately for the streaming service, Jim Mickle and Beth Schwartz’s draw from Jeff Lemire’s Vertigo title is a much more successful translation of a paper tale to the screen.
This first season introduces us to a ravaged world, 10 years after the event known as “The Great Crumble”, kicked off when a deadly virus descends upon humanity at roughly the same time that human-animal hybrids start to be born. Are the two connected? It’s a mystery that confounds and concerns scientists, politicians, and civilians alike as they grapple with the downfall of society. A decade hence, many have come to hate the hybrids, hunting them down, while a scientist (Adeel Akhtar) searches for a cure to the virus, which keeps returning in waves leading to paranoia among the survivors in his suburban community. But the real focus of the narrative here is Gus (Christian Convery), an adorable deer-human hybrid we first meet living way off the grid – for Gus’ safety – with his dad “Pubba”, played by Will Forte. Gus’ whole life changes when he ends up on a mission to find his mother, tagging along with grumpy vigilante Tommy Jepperd (Nonso Anozie), who Gus calls “Big Man”. Together they’ll go on a journey across a ruined America that is still divided, trying to escape the clutches of the group known as the Last Men, who have sworn to eliminate what they perceive as the hybrid threat. And we also follow therapist-turned-recluse Aimee (Dania Ramirez), who is holed up in a closed zoo with her own hybrid, Wendy (Naledi Murray).
The show flits about in time to explain some of how the world got this way, and to reveal more about its characters, including Bear (Stefania LaVie Owen), the leader of a hybrid-sympathetic human “animal army” who Gus and Tommy meet on their travels and ends up travelling with them. Like its title character’s nickname, the show is by turns sweet and funny, but the quirks are never allowed to overwhelm the tone, cut smartly with sadness and believable interactions in this otherwise fantastical world. The pace is slow burn, but the characters and most of the plotlines hold your attention. One element that didn’t work for me? The narration from James Brolin that bookends each episode and too often falls into pat cliché, something the series itself usually avoids. Gus and Tommy are a solid double-act in the Lone Wolf And Cub mould, and Convery is a superb find, able to convey Gus’ wide-eyed enthusiasm without ever falling into preciousness. Likewise, Anozie brings haunted depth to his tough-nut character, steering clear of just playing a brute whose heart, if not melts, then at least drips a little through his looking out for the boy.
Mickle, Schwartz, and their creative collaborators weave an effective modern-day fairy tale, and if you can get past the virus aspect (the production was, ironically, shut down for a time by COVID) and enjoy it for what it is, this is an offbeat saga that ends on a cliffhanging note of both fear and hope. With luck, we’ll be able to dip into this world again.
Sweet Tooth is on Netflix today. I’ve seen the entire first season.