Conjuring: The Last Rides

 

Conjuring: The Last Rides - A Cinematic Journey Into Beautiful Chaos

An exhaustive review by someone who clearly has too much time on their hands

Prologue: How I Ended Up Watching This Masterpiece

Picture this: It's a rainy Tuesday evening, I'm scrolling through Netflix with the enthusiasm of a sloth on sedatives, when suddenly I stumble upon "Conjuring: The Last Rides." The thumbnail shows what appears to be a haunted carnival with ghostly roller coasters in the background, and I think to myself, "Well, this could either be brilliantly terrifying or spectacularly terrible." Spoiler alert: it was both, and somehow neither.

What I thought would be a standard supernatural horror flick turned out to be the most unintentionally hilarious two hours and seventeen minutes of my life. Yes, two hours and seventeen minutes. The director apparently believed that good things come to those who wait... and wait... and wait some more.

The Plot: A Rollercoaster of Bewilderment

"Conjuring: The Last Rides" follows the Warren family (and no, not those Warrens—these are apparently the "other" paranormal investigators, the ones who specialize in haunted amusement parks because apparently that's a niche market). Ed Warren Jr. (played by an actor whose previous claim to fame was a toothpaste commercial) and his wife Melinda (portrayed with the emotional range of a wooden plank, but a very dedicated wooden plank) are called to investigate Whimsy World, a defunct theme park that's been closed since 1987.

The park closed after what the locals call "The Great Cotton Candy Catastrophe of '87," an event that is referenced no fewer than 23 times throughout the movie but never actually explained. I spent the entire film waiting for someone to tell me what happened with the cotton candy, and I'm still waiting. This will haunt me longer than any ghost in the movie.

The Warrens arrive at Whimsy World with their trusty equipment: EMF readers that beep more often than a smoke detector with a low battery, cameras that somehow always malfunction at the most convenient dramatic moments, and a blessed crucifix that Ed Jr. waves around like he's conducting a very sacred orchestra. Their mission is to determine why the park's rides have been mysteriously operating on their own every night at exactly 3:17 AM. Why 3:17? Your guess is as good as mine, but the movie treats this timestamp with the reverence usually reserved for religious artifacts.

Character Development: A Study in Creative Writing Gone Wrong

Let's talk about our protagonists, shall we? Ed Warren Jr. is a man so intensely serious about ghost hunting that he apparently forgot how to display human emotions. He delivers every line like he's reading a grocery list at a funeral. His signature move is adjusting his glasses dramatically while saying things like, "The spirits are restless tonight, Melinda," as if the spirits have been personally inconvenienced by their bedtime routine.

Melinda Warren, on the other hand, has two modes: "mildly concerned" and "extremely mildly concerned." Her character arc involves learning to trust her psychic abilities, which manifest as an uncanny ability to state the obvious. "I sense something dark in the funhouse," she whispers mysteriously, while standing directly in front of a funhouse with "DANGER: DEFINITELY HAUNTED" spray-painted on the entrance in what appears to be glowing ectoplasm.

But the real star of this cinematic circus is Jeremiah Poppins (yes, really), the park's former maintenance worker who's been living in the abandoned employee break room for thirty-six years. Jeremiah knows all the park's secrets but speaks exclusively in cryptic riddles and carnival metaphors. When Ed Jr. asks him about the ghost activity, Jeremiah responds with gems like, "The carousel horses remember the taste of children's laughter, but now they hunger for something more... substantial." I'm still not sure if he's talking about ghosts or if he just really misses the good old days.

The Haunted Attractions: A Theme Park Designer's Nightmare

The movie's supernatural activity centers around five specific rides, each more ridiculous than the last. First, we have the "Tunnel of Love Eternal," where couples who rode it in 1987 are doomed to repeat their romantic boat journey forever. The ghost couples argue about directions, fight over who ate the last funnel cake, and one particularly memorable spectral pair spends their entire scene debating whether they left the car lights on in the parking lot. It's simultaneously the most relatable and least scary haunting I've ever witnessed.

Then there's "Captain Bloodbeard's Pirate Ship Adventure," a ride that rocks back and forth while ghostly pirates perform what can only be described as the world's most aggressive dinner theater. The ghost pirates don't just say "arrr"—they hold entire conversations in pirate speak about modern problems. "Arrr, the Wi-Fi be down in Davy Jones' locker," and "Avast ye, has anyone seen me reading glasses?" become actual dialogue that grown adults were paid to deliver with straight faces.

The haunted carousel deserves its own paragraph because it's clearly where the movie spent 90% of its special effects budget. The carousel horses don't just go up and down—they gallop through the air, leaving trails of what I can only describe as "sparkly ghost drool." One particular scene shows Ed Jr. trying to communicate with the spirit of a carousel horse named Princess Buttercup, and I swear on my grandmother's grave that he has a full five-minute conversation with this wooden horse about its feelings regarding being painted pink instead of its preferred lavender.

The fourth attraction is the "House of Mirrors and Regrets," where visitors confront not just their reflections but also their poor life choices. Melinda gets trapped inside and spends twenty minutes arguing with her reflection about that time in college when she chose communications as her major. It's supposed to be supernatural horror, but it plays out like the world's most expensive therapy session.

Finally, we have the "Roller Coaster of Eternal Screaming," which sounds terrifying until you realize the screaming is coming from ghost riders who are just really enthusiastic about roller coasters. They're not screaming in terror—they're screaming in joy because they're having the time of their afterlives. One ghost even throws his spectral hands up and yells "Woo-hoo!" at the camera during what's supposed to be the movie's climactic horror moment.

The Special Effects: A Budget's Last Stand

I need to dedicate an entire section to the special effects because they deserve recognition, though I'm not sure if it's the good kind of recognition. The movie's approach to CGI can best be described as "enthusiastic amateur," as if someone's teenage nephew who's really into computers volunteered to handle the ghost effects in exchange for pizza money.

The ghosts themselves look like they were created using the same technology that brought you dancing baby from the late 90s. They float around with the grace of inflatable lawn ornaments in a hurricane, and their transparent effect seems to have been achieved by simply turning down the opacity slider in whatever editing software they were using. When the ghosts try to look menacing, they end up looking like they're constipated, and when they try to look sad, they look like they've just been told there's no more ice cream in the freezer.

But the pièce de résistance has to be the ectoplasm effects. Instead of the classic green goo we've come to expect from supernatural movies, the ectoplasm in "Conjuring: The Last Rides" appears to be bright purple and has the consistency of Jello. During one memorable scene, Ed Jr. gets covered in this purple goo and spends the next ten minutes of screen time looking like he lost a fight with a grape Slurpee. The movie treats this as horrifying, but all I could think about was how sticky and uncomfortable he must have been.

The Dialogue: Poetry in Motion (If Poetry Could Trip Over Itself)

The screenplay for "Conjuring: The Last Rides" reads like it was written by someone who learned English exclusively through horror movie trailers and carnival barker announcements. Characters don't just talk—they proclaim, announce, and declare everything with the dramatic intensity of a Shakespearean actor who's had too much coffee.

My personal favorite line comes from Ed Jr. when he's facing down the final boss ghost (yes, there's a boss ghost, because apparently this movie is also a video game): "You may have claimed this park, spirit, but you'll never claim our love for properly maintained amusement park safety standards!" It's delivered with such conviction that you almost forget it makes absolutely no sense whatsoever.

Melinda gets her moment to shine with gems like, "The carousel spins not just through space, but through the very fabric of our shared human experience!" She says this while pointing dramatically at a carousel that's literally just spinning normally, because apparently normal carousel spinning is deeply metaphysical when you're a psychic investigator.

But Jeremiah Poppins steals every scene with his carnival-themed wisdom. When the Warrens ask him for advice on dealing with the supernatural threat, he responds with, "Sometimes the house always wins, but sometimes the house is just lonely and needs a good friend and maybe some fresh popcorn." This line is delivered with such gravitas that you'd think he just shared the secret to world peace.

The Climax: Everything Happens All at Once

The movie's final act is a symphony of chaos that somehow manages to be both completely predictable and utterly bewildering. All five haunted attractions activate simultaneously at exactly 3:17 AM (of course), and the park transforms into what can only be described as the world's most inefficient supernatural tornado.

Ed Jr. and Melinda split up to handle different rides, which in any other horror movie would be a terrible decision, but in this one feels perfectly reasonable because the ghosts are more interested in having fun than causing actual harm. Ed Jr. takes on Captain Bloodbeard's Pirate Ship while Melinda heads for the Tunnel of Love, and I spent this entire sequence wondering if they were going to bill the ghosts for the overtime.

The resolution involves Ed Jr. realizing that the ghosts aren't evil—they're just bored. Apparently, being dead for thirty-six years gets pretty tedious, and the only entertainment they have is operating amusement park rides. So instead of exorcising them, he negotiates a compromise: the ghosts can operate the rides, but only during designated "spirit hours" and they have to follow basic safety protocols.

The movie ends with Whimsy World reopening as "Whimsy World: After Dark," the first theme park to advertise genuine supernatural experiences. The final shot shows families enjoying rides operated by friendly ghosts, with Ed Jr. working as the park's "Supernatural Safety Coordinator" and Melinda running the gift shop that sells "Authentic Ectoplasm Snow Globes."

The Unintentional Comedy Gold

What makes "Conjuring: The Last Rides" truly special isn't its intentional humor (of which there is very little), but its complete commitment to taking itself seriously while being absolutely ridiculous. The movie never winks at the camera or acknowledges how absurd it is, which somehow makes it even funnier.

There's a particularly memorable scene where Ed Jr. performs what he calls a "spiritual cleansing ritual" on the carousel, which involves him walking in circles around it while chanting in what sounds like a made-up language and sprinkling blessed water that he keeps in an old Gatorade bottle. The carousel horses start glowing and whinnying (yes, the wooden horses whinny), and Ed Jr. nods approvingly as if this is exactly what he expected to happen.

Meanwhile, Melinda discovers that she can communicate with the ghost children who used to visit the park by playing hopscotch with them. This leads to a five-minute sequence of a grown woman playing hopscotch with invisible ghost children while providing running commentary like, "Little Timmy says he misses the cotton candy, but not the stomachache it gave him." It's supposed to be touching, but it mostly looks like someone having a very elaborate conversation with themselves.

The Supporting Cast: A Parade of Peculiar Characters

I would be remiss if I didn't mention the movie's supporting characters, each more memorable than the last. There's Officer Murphy, the local police chief who's been trying to keep people away from the park for thirty-six years. His character exists solely to deliver exposition while eating donuts, and he approaches every supernatural revelation with the enthusiasm of someone being told about changes to the office coffee policy.

Then we have Mrs. Gunderson, the local historian who knows everything about the park's history but only shares information in the form of elaborate flashbacks that she narrates while knitting. Her flashbacks are so detailed and specific that you start to wonder if she was personally present for every event in the park's history, possibly as some kind of immortal carnival documentarian.

My favorite supporting character, however, is Doug the Hot Dog Vendor, who apparently never left his post when the park closed and has been selling hot dogs to ghosts for thirty-six years. His business model is unclear, but his dedication is admirable. He provides crucial plot information while preparing what appears to be the world's most elaborate hot dog, complete with toppings that definitely weren't available in 1987.

The Music: A Soundtrack to Remember (Or Try to Forget)

The movie's soundtrack deserves its own review because it's somehow both entirely inappropriate and strangely perfect for what's happening on screen. The composer apparently decided that every single scene needed its own musical theme, resulting in a soundtrack that sounds like it was created by someone shuffling through every genre on Spotify while blindfolded.

The carousel scenes feature what can only be described as "haunted waltz music," which sounds exactly like you'd expect: a waltz being played by an orchestra of ghosts who learned their instruments from YouTube tutorials. It's simultaneously elegant and terrifying, like being serenaded by the phantom of the opera's less talented cousin.

The pirate ship scenes get a full orchestral arrangement that wouldn't be out of place in a big-budget swashbuckling adventure, complete with dramatic horns and thunderous drums. It's so over-the-top that it makes the ghost pirates seem more epic than scary, which I think might have been the point, but I honestly can't tell anymore.

But the real musical highlight is during the climactic scene when all the rides activate simultaneously. The soundtrack becomes a chaotic symphony of every musical theme playing at once, creating what sounds like a marching band falling down a flight of stairs while a circus performs in the background. It shouldn't work, but somehow it perfectly captures the beautiful insanity of everything happening on screen.

Technical Aspects: The Art of Making Do

From a technical standpoint, "Conjuring: The Last Rides" is a fascinating study in creative problem-solving. The filmmakers clearly had big ideas and a much smaller budget, leading to some truly innovative approaches to moviemaking. For example, the abandoned theme park is obviously just a regular, operating theme park filmed after hours, with strategic camera angles to hide the fact that everything is actually in perfect working order.

The cinematography has a unique approach to lighting that can best be described as "aggressive flashlight usage." Every supernatural encounter is lit like someone's holding a flashlight just off camera and moving it around to create "atmospheric shadows," which mostly just makes everything look like it's being filmed during a power outage by someone with very shaky hands.

The editing deserves special mention for its commitment to showing us every single reaction shot, even when there's nothing particularly worth reacting to. Characters spend a lot of time looking meaningfully at things that aren't there, staring thoughtfully into the distance, and nodding slowly as if they've just had profound realizations about the nature of existence. It's like watching a movie performed by philosophers who've all taken too much cough syrup.

The Deeper Meaning (Or Lack Thereof)

Despite its many quirks, "Conjuring: The Last Rides" seems to be making some kind of point about nostalgia, the passage of time, and our relationship with childhood memories. Or maybe it's about the importance of proper amusement park maintenance. Honestly, it could be about anything or nothing at all, but that's part of its charm.

The movie suggests that sometimes what we think is supernatural terror is actually just loneliness and boredom. The ghosts in Whimsy World aren't malevolent spirits seeking revenge—they're just dead people who miss having fun. It's almost profound, in a weird, accidentally philosophical way.

There's also something to be said about the movie's approach to problem-solving. Instead of the traditional horror movie solution of "destroy the evil spirits," Ed Jr. and Melinda choose negotiation and compromise. They turn a haunted location into a thriving business by working with the supernatural elements rather than against them. It's surprisingly progressive for a movie that features a talking carousel horse named Princess Buttercup.

The Legacy and Cultural Impact

"Conjuring: The Last Rides" has found its audience in the most unexpected way possible: it's become a cult classic among people who appreciate movies that are so earnestly bad they become good. It's the kind of film that's perfect for group viewings where everyone can collectively marvel at the ambitious absurdity of it all.

The movie has spawned an entire subculture of fans who quote Jeremiah Poppins' carnival wisdom and debate the deeper meaning of the Cotton Candy Catastrophe of '87. There are YouTube compilation videos of the best one-liners, fan theories about the park's supernatural ecosystem, and at least three different drinking games based on Ed Jr.'s dramatic glasses adjustments.

It's also become required viewing for film students studying "how not to make a horror movie," though I'd argue they're missing the point. This isn't a lesson in what not to do—it's a masterclass in committing completely to your vision, no matter how bizarre that vision might be.

Final Thoughts: A Beautiful Disaster

After multiple viewings (yes, I've watched it more than once, don't judge me), I can confidently say that "Conjuring: The Last Rides" is one of the most entertaining movies I've ever seen, though probably not in the way its creators intended. It's a perfect storm of ambitious ideas, limited resources, and unwavering dedication to the craft of filmmaking, even when that craft occasionally resembles a toddler's attempt at abstract art.

The movie's greatest strength is its complete lack of self-awareness combined with its absolute commitment to the story it's telling. Every actor delivers their lines like they're performing Shakespeare, every special effect is presented like it's groundbreaking cinema, and every plot twist is revealed like it's the surprise of the century. This earnestness transforms what could have been a forgettable B-movie into something genuinely memorable and oddly endearing.

Would I recommend "Conjuring: The Last Rides"? Absolutely, but with the caveat that you need to approach it with the right mindset. Don't expect traditional horror, polished effects, or conventional storytelling. Instead, expect a unique cinematic experience that will leave you confused, entertained, and slightly concerned about your own mental state for enjoying it as much as you probably will.

In the end, "Conjuring: The Last Rides" is like that friend who tells the most ridiculous stories with complete sincerity—you're never quite sure if they're being serious, but you're always entertained. It's a movie that dares to ask the important questions: What if ghost pirates had customer service training? Can wooden carousel horses experience existential crises? And most importantly, what exactly happened with that cotton candy in 1987?

I may never get answers to these questions, but I'm surprisingly okay with that. Sometimes the journey is more important than the destination, and "Conjuring: The Last Rides" is definitely one hell of a journey.

Rating: 7/10 spinning carousel horses out of 10

Would watch again, and probably will whether I want to or not, because this movie has a way of haunting your thoughts long after the credits roll—much like the ghosts of Whimsy World themselves.