The Conjuring 3 review: A paranormal detective story that will probably be slapped with a lawsuit

The horror franchise has limitless opportunities for sequels and spin-offs, as long as it chooses the right villains

Paranormal investigators Ed and Lorraine Warren, played by Patrick Wilson and Vera Farmiga, were also married (Warner Bros)

Dir: Michael Chaves. Starring: Vera Farmiga, Patrick Wilson, Ruairi O'Connor, Sarah Catherine Hook, Julian Hilliard. 15, 112 mins

James Wan is an underrated force of franchise filmmaking. All three of the horror behemoths that he nurtured into life – the Saw, Insidious, and Conjuring films – bear a sturdy formula that gives them limitless opportunity for sequels and spin-offs. The Conjuring: The Devil Made Me Do It, the third instalment in its series, might be the weakest entry yet, but it’s still proof that Wan knows how to foster longevity.

The first Conjuring, which Wan directed in 2013, was a combination of classic haunted-house thrills shot with the flair of a Seventies psychological thriller – elegant and restrained when ratcheting up the tension, garish and operatic when all hell had been let loose. That tone is still present here, even with The Curse of La Llorona’s Michael Chaves in the director’s chair. Yet what’s truly unique about these films is how they treat the protagonists at their centre: real-life paranormal investigators Ed and Lorraine Warren, played by Patrick Wilson and Vera Farmiga.

Here, they’ve been lovingly romanticised, depicted as soulmates and partners in love, life, and ghost-busting. The Conjuring films are as much a celebration of marriage as they are a chamber of horrors. And that remains the very heart of The Devil Made Me Do It. Crockery could be flying around the room, the doors and windows could be rattling with all their might, and some child could be snapping their spine in half and speaking in tongues – Ed and Lorraine will still take a moment to check in with an “are you OK, honey?”. At one point, Ed dutifully holds his wife’s purse as she crawls headfirst into some rat-infested basement.

Each film draws inspiration from one of the many paranormal interventions the Warrens conducted over their lifetime. In 1981 in Brookfield, Connecticut, a young man named Arne Cheyenne Johnson, charged with killing his landlord, turned up to court claiming that he’d been possessed by a demon. The Warrens had been present at the exorcism of his girlfriend’s 11-year-old brother, David Glatzel, where Arne is said to have coerced the entity into taking possession of his body.

The film draws inspiration from the real-life case of Arne Cheyenne Johnson, charged with killing his landlord, who turned up to court claiming that he’d been possessed by a demon (Warner Bros)

There is nothing this dream team can’t overcome – except, perhaps, the lawsuit that this film will almost certainly be slapped with once the Satanic Temple catches wind of its demonic shenanigans. Wan – who has a story credit on the film – and screenwriter David Leslie Johnson-McGoldrick have made good old-fashioned Satanists the villains of their film (despite them having no involvement in the actual court case). There’s even a brief shot of a statue of Baphomet, the goat-headed deity the Temple have adopted as a symbol of religious freedom. Considering they’ve already sued Netflix’s Chilling Adventures of Sabrina over the use of its image, it’s safe to assume they’ll be particularly displeased to see it in such an outrightly villainous context.

It’s also a somewhat goofy choice of antagonist, too wrapped up in the archaic conservatism of the Satanic Panic to feel genuinely effective. The Devil Made Me Do It ends up wasting an ideologically potent, and quite terrifying, true story on some silliness with curses and creepy goblets. In a way, the film functions as a kind of paranormal detective story, as the Warrens attempt to prove who (or what) was responsible for the murder.

Despite the weakness of the conclusions they draw, Chaves still finds room for a few classic Conjuring scares – gnarled, ghostly hands thrust out of the darkness and characters emphatically point to the dark corner of a room, convinced there’s someone standing there. The latter is particularly effective. Inevitably, the camera will turn to rest on that sliver of pure black – is that the faintest trace of an arm we can see? Are those two glowing eyes or simply a trick of the mind? I’d watch 100 more of those moments, as long as the Warrens find themselves a more formidable adversary.