The Conjuring: The Devil Made Me Do It

On one hand, the Conjuring franchise — not counting its abundant spinoffs and related side projects — benefits from having multiple standalone ideas in its source material.

Yet the series also is one of diminishing returns. As the second sequel, evidently The Conjuring: The Devil Made Me Do It is only the third best “true story” from the files of paranormal investigators Ed and Lorraine Warren.

One differentiating factor is each installment’s ability to retool rather than just replicate the formula from the terrific 2013 original. And this follow-up struggles to sustain tension.

Specifically, the story based on a 1981 case in Connecticut that became the first time an American murder suspect has ever claimed demonic possession as a legitimate defense. ‘The court accepts the existence of God,” Ed explains. “I think it’s about time they accept the existence of the devil.”

From there, we flash back to the investigation months earlier, watching the case unfold through the eyes of Ed (Patrick Wilson) and his clairvoyant wife, Lorraine (Vera Farmiga).

They watch as Arne (Ruairi O’Connor) pleads for freedom from demonic possession for his girlfriend’s 8-year-old son (Julian Hilliard) during an exorcism. Ed suffers a medical issue, so he’s unable to warn Arne that the spirit might have been transferred to him. Meanwhile, Arne’s nightmares culminate tragically in an incident of violent rage.

The couple audaciously probes evidence of occult involvement, putting themselves at risk of great personal harm. Hallucinations lead to dark secrets and suspicions about Satanic curses.

This is familiar territory for director Michael Chaves (The Curse of La Llorona) and screenwriter David Leslie Johnson-McGoldrick (The Conjuring 2), who don’t allow the film to bog down in the procedural framework.

Bookended by intense and chilling exorcism sequences, it’s mostly a collection of jump scares, demonic possession cliches, spiritual mumbo-jumbo, ominous music crescendos, and menacing figures jumping out of the shadows.

The film manages some effective frights and visual flourishes along the way — a haunted waterbed is an amusing touch — while Wilson and Farmiga are as appealing as ever. But overall, it’s more predictable and familiar than its predecessors. The Devil Made Me Do It seems like a lame excuse.

Rated R, 112 minutes.