Both prequel and spin-off to the critical and commercial success
The Conjuring,
Annabelle will have to settle for making money. It’s a cheap, cynical knock-off, with numerous callbacks to its predecessor (which it assumes the audience has seen multiple times) that only serve as a reminder that
The Conjuring had production values—never mind higher, any at all would suffice—and better actors. But what about scares? That, after all, is the substance of horror. With the exception of one legitimately startling moment around the middle of the film, there’s a bit of directorial desperation going on; any moment that’s the least bit eerie pounded into the ground with sound cues and “shock” cuts that go beyond heavy-handed into an alternate realm where hands have the gravitational aspect of a black hole, wreaking their will upon horror clichés that were old before the filmmakers were born. The true victim here is Alfre Woodard, the only cast member anyone has ever heard of, stuck in a role whose ultimate resolution would have been shockingly offensive in the movie’s early ’70s setting, let alone 2014.
By
Danny Bowes