Horror movies are pretty far down on my list of favorite genres. In fact, they’re not on the “favorites” list at all.
I object to horror because I feel like Freddy Krueger, Leatherface and their ilk only accomplish filling my brain with scenes of fake blood and dismemberment. I enjoy a good action flick or science fiction, and they sometimes (oftentimes?) tell stories filled with violence and guns (or phasers), but it’s blood with a plot.
Unfortunately, my Beloved and my Adored stepson like the adrenaline rush of crappy movies like “The Grudge” and “Evil Dead.” Thus, I found myself watching “The Conjuring” on Friday at my stepson’s behest because he pushed my buttons with “it’s my birthday.”
Alright already, I’ll go with you. There’s always the popcorn.
I was shocked to discover the movie sold out 30 minutes before showtime. We bought advance tickets “because everyone wants to see this movie”; I was skeptical and I was wrong. The line double-backed on itself in the hallway outside the theater. Everyone did want to see this movie.
To be honest, I found things to like about “The Conjuring.”
Like Lili Taylor. I think she looks exactly the same as she did in 1989’s “Say Anything… .” Which helps me maintain the illusion that I do, too. She and Patrick Wilson actually acted, and that’s more than I can say for most horror movies.
The costuming was great. It’s set in the 1970s, and I imagine the costumer had a fun time shopping Savers and Goodwills for some of those gems. The men wore long sideburns, and the cars were vintage, too.
There is blood (that’s a requirement, I suppose), and yes, the house is haunted. The plot reminded me a bit of “Poltergeist” (“they’re heeere”); all the mayhem has a point. I jumped in my seat more than once. And none of the main characters die.
My stepson didn’t think it was scary enough, however.
So consider yourself warned.