The Curse of the Boring Witch
There are haunted house movies that chill you to the bone, and then there’s Conjurer (2008), a supernatural snooze-fest that barely manages to chill a cup of lukewarm coffee. Directed by Clint Hutchison and written by Hutchison and David Yarbrough, this film asks the question: What if we made “The Amityville Horror,” but with fewer scares, less tension, and a witch who’s as threatening as an expired tea bag?
The result is a movie so uneventful that even the ghosts seem to have lost interest halfway through. By the end, you’re not afraid of what’s in the cabin—you’re afraid the movie might not end.
The Setup: When City People Move to the Country, Everyone Suffers
Our protagonists are Shawn (Andrew Bowen), a grieving photographer, and his wife Helen (Maxine Bahns), who’ve decided to heal from the loss of their unborn child by moving to the countryside. Because nothing says “fresh start” like moving into a creepy house next to a cursed shack straight out of a Home Depot Halloween aisle.
The house, courtesy of Helen’s overly helpful brother Frank (John Schneider, apparently on break from his day job as America’s favorite TV dad), is supposed to represent a new beginning. Instead, it represents the beginning of 90 minutes of cinematic purgatory.
Soon after moving in, Helen becomes pregnant again, because apparently their OB-GYN was also a screenwriter who needed to raise the stakes. Shawn starts poking around the property and learns from some suspiciously friendly locals that the nearby cabin is haunted by the ghost of a witch who likes to curse pregnant women.
Now, this could have been scary. “Cursed fertility” and “rural witch haunting” are solid horror foundations. Unfortunately, Conjurer builds on that foundation with all the structural integrity of wet cardboard.
The Horror: Now With 90% More Flashlights and Hallucinations
Shawn, being a photographer and therefore contractually obligated to investigate things with bad lighting, starts snooping around the cabin. He finds an old tooth (because of course he does) and promptly cuts himself on it—proof that in horror movies, tetanus shots save lives.
Soon after, he gets an infection, and this is where the movie begins its descent into tedium. We’re treated to a series of “visions” that seem to have been filmed by someone who just discovered color correction and fog machines. Doors creak. Shadows move. Someone whispers things like “get out” or “stop watching this movie” (it’s unclear).
Shawn spirals into paranoia, unsure whether he’s being haunted by a witch or haunted by his own bad genetics—because apparently his dad once killed his mom and himself, in a subplot so lazily dropped in it feels like it wandered in from another script.
Meanwhile, Helen spends most of her screen time staring into space, knitting, or being pregnant in a vaguely symbolic way. The witch, if she exists, must be napping.
The Atmosphere: Haunted by Mediocrity
Visually, Conjurer tries its best to look like an actual movie. There’s fog, dim lighting, and plenty of moody establishing shots. Unfortunately, it all feels like a student film titled “Intro to Spooky Ambiance 101.”
The haunted house itself looks more “HGTV fixer-upper” than “portal to hell.” Even the supposed “decrepit cabin” looks like it was built last week and gently dusted with cobwebs by an overworked production assistant.
The scares are a mix of jump cuts and close-ups of things that might be scary in another movie: a rocking chair, a mirror, a tooth. The editing suggests someone believed that if you just shake the camera hard enough, fear will appear by force. Spoiler: it doesn’t.
The Characters: The Real Ghosts Are Charisma and Dialogue
Andrew Bowen as Shawn gives it his all, bless his tortured little soul. He spends most of the film with a pained expression, muttering things like “Something’s not right here” as though reading the audience’s mind. His descent into madness is less “Jack Nicholson in The Shining” and more “guy who really needs a nap.”
Maxine Bahns plays Helen, a woman whose defining traits are being pregnant and looking slightly concerned. She’s so underwritten that even Siri could replace her with a voice prompt.
John Schneider, as Frank, shows up occasionally to remind us that someone in the cast has actual screen presence. Sadly, even his Southern charm can’t resurrect this film from the cinematic grave it dug for itself.
The Witch: Boo (Kind Of)
The titular conjurer—our alleged witch—is more rumor than presence. For most of the movie, she’s talked about in hushed tones, like Bigfoot or the plot of this film. When she finally does appear, it’s in flashes so brief and incoherent that you’re not sure if you’ve seen her or just blinked too hard.
And that’s the problem: she’s not scary. She’s not even interesting. If this witch really cursed the land, her biggest crime is making people sit through Conjurer.
The Writing: A Spell of Sleep
The screenplay seems to think that vague exposition equals mystery. Characters keep repeating lines like “It’s not what it seems” and “She wants the child” without ever clarifying who or what “she” is. By the third act, you’ll feel like you’ve been trapped in a haunted Mad Libs.
The pacing is glacial. For every minute of tension, there are ten minutes of slow walking, staring, or whispering. It’s like watching a ghost story told by someone who keeps forgetting where they were going.
Even the ending feels like a cop-out. After an anticlimactic chase and a few gunshots, Shawn ends up in a mental institution because apparently everyone—including the filmmakers—decided that’s the easiest way to end a confusing plot. Then Helen gives us a final “maybe she’s possessed” look that’s supposed to be chilling but instead resembles someone realizing they left the oven on.
The Themes: Trauma, Grief, and Unintentional Comedy
In theory, Conjurer is about grief, guilt, and mental decay. In practice, it’s about watching a guy yell at shadows for 90 minutes while we wonder if the ghost is just waiting for better lighting.
The film tries to explore generational madness and supernatural vengeance, but it handles these themes with the subtlety of a sledgehammer wrapped in clichés. It’s as if The Babadook was rewritten by a tax accountant who thinks “emotional resonance” means turning the music up louder.
The Ending: More “Huh?” Than “Haunted”
The film’s final scene tries to pull an Inception-style ambiguity twist—was there a witch, or was it all in Shawn’s head? But the execution is so half-hearted that you don’t feel suspense, just relief that the credits are rolling.
Helen’s final sinister smile is supposed to send chills down your spine. Instead, it sends you straight to the eject button.
Final Verdict: A Conjuring of Tedium
If you’ve ever wanted to experience what it’s like to be haunted by indecision, Conjurer delivers. It’s a film with all the ingredients of a decent ghost story—grief, isolation, creepy folklore—but it stirs them together with the enthusiasm of someone microwaving leftovers.
It’s not scary. It’s not emotional. It’s not even particularly bad in an entertaining way—it’s just there, like a fog machine left on overnight.
You’ll walk away not afraid of witches or haunted cabins, but of the terrifying realization that 90 minutes of your life just vanished and not even the ghost can give them back.
★☆☆☆☆ (1 out of 5)
A haunting without horror, a witch without magic, and a movie without pulse. Conjurer is less “supernatural thriller” and more “Ambien with opening credits.”
