Review: The Conjuring: Last Rites

The horror genre has delivered a lot of excellent film-making over the last decade or more - seriously, there's no genre out there that more consistently punches above its weight - but that kind of excellence can only thrive when there's a solid foundation of predictable, crowd-pleasing, almost instantly forgettable films audiences can rely on to do a passable job. Welcome to the Conjuring franchise.

There have been a few winners over the years. The Annabelle movies, tracing the history of the evil doll currently caged in the Warren's basement, were about, you know, an evil doll: automatic win there. And The Nun movies, about an evil nun who... possessed a painting? They were often surprisingly full throttle when it came to just throwing scary stuff at the screen.

But it always came back to Ed and Lorraine Warren (Patrick Wilson and Vera Farmiga), renowned paranormal investigators - well, renowned unless you actually looked up anything at all about their real life activities, in which case yikes. Pretty much the only way to enjoy these movies is to pretend they're about fictional characters investigating fictional cases, an approach the movies themselves are more than happy to encourage.

Supposedly this film is about their final case; the opening makes it very clear they were well on their way out even before people started spewing up broken glass and hanging themselves in a church. It's 1986 - though it often looks a decade or more before that: one of this film's secret strengths is the way it realises that for most people the world is always at least a few years out of date - and the Warrens are giving poorly attended lectures to disinterested teens shouting out lines from Ghostbusters, which is a much better movie than this one.

The birth of their first and only child Judy (Mia Tomlinson, taking over from Sterling Jerins) was messed up by an evil mirror inherited by a young woman who literally vanishes from the story (when asked about her later, Ed says "we don't know what happened to her"); 22 years later, the mirror turns up in Pittsburgh as a confirmation gift for the Smurl family's teen daughter. It's creepy, she hates it, she and her sister throw it out but uh oh, that only makes things worse. Who you gonna call?

Ed's heart attack (as seen in The Conjuring: The Devil Made Me Do It) and Lorraine's worries that she's passed on her psychic gift to Judy mean they waffle about for ages before deciding to help the Smurls, providing plenty of time to explore the relationship between Judy and besotted beau Tony (Ben Hardy). Will they become the next generation of spectre-seekers, battling grunge ghosts in the early 90s? Guess that all depends on the box office.

None of this makes all that much sense but there's a decent atmosphere around the hellish Pittsburgh house (this was filmed in the UK) and the jump scare stuff is mostly effective. It's a long slow build up to an "all hell breaks loose" exorcism ending - evil grannies, an axe wielding farmer, and a holy book that bursts into flames all make an appearence - and while none of it is all that memorable, it's a decent enough amusement park ride through the usual spooky cliches.

The good news for regular church-goers is that this is about as overtly religious as a mainstream US film (currently) gets. The bad news is that all your faith is pretty much useless when a demonic force gets you in its sights. Just ask the spectacularly useless priest in this; looks like we're going to need a bigger crucifix.

- Anthony Morris 

 

Review: But Also John Clarke

A documentary about John Clarke starts off with one huge advantage: it's got John Clarke in it. The New Zealand born comedian who made Australia his home was one of the most effortlessly likable and charming features of both countries' media landscapes, which possibly explains how he managed to get away with so much over so many years.

So this is a must see straight out the gate. Directed by Clarke's daughter Lorin Clarke, this works on pretty much every level you could ask for. Skillfully crafted personal history, peek behind the curtain at the history of his long running satirical segment opposite Bryan Dawe, potted history of Fred Dagg and by extension the origin of New Zealand comedy and much more besides, it's a constantly engaging look at a creative whirlwind who also seems to have been a top bloke in person.

With access to what seems to have been a seemingly endless archive, large sections of this are narrated by Clarke himself in a mix of public appearances and home movies. His extensive written work gets a solid look in as well, with a lengthy collection of his peers and co-workers (ranging from Andrew Denton and Shaun Micallef to Ben Elton, Wendy Harmer and Rhys Darby) reading out snippets in between providing their own insights and recollections. Lorin herself chimes in at times, deftly reminding us that along with everything else he was also a loving father, and a very inspiring one at that.

Add in an insightful look at Clarke's own personal life (where a lifelong dislike of authority was instilled by a school he hated so much there's a note in the end credits to let us know his views towards the school later mellowed), Sam Neill getting emotional more than once, and a reminder that Farnarkling was a craze that swept the nation, and you'd almost think this was too much of a good thing - if such a view was possible where Clarke was concerned.

Instead, this often gives the impression of barely scraping the surface. Which is exactly the impression a look at a man as talented and creative as Clarke should give. Put together with loving care while allowing Clarke's humanity to shine through, this works whether you're a longtime fan wanting to see your favourite works remembered, someone after an overview of a career that spanned multiple decades and formats, or simply looking for a tribute to a man who always had a mischievous twinkle in his eye - even, as Andrew Denton points out, when he was on radio.

-Anthony Morris