A Weeping Woman, a Screaming Audience, and a Surprisingly Good Time
The Curse of La Llorona is one of those movies that critics dunked on but audiences couldn’t stop paying to see. And honestly? I get it. It’s campy, chaotic, occasionally creepy, and has enough jump scares to power a haunted carnival ride. It’s also the kind of movie that feels like it was born out of a dare: “Hey, what if we made a supernatural horror about a ghost who can’t stop crying, but made it weirdly fun?”
Director Michael Chaves (in his feature debut) takes the age-old Mexican legend of La Llorona—the weeping ghost who drowned her children and now wanders the earth sobbing about her poor life choices—and gives it the Conjuring Universe treatment: loud, stylish, and just unhinged enough to keep you grinning between gasps.
It’s not subtle. It’s not perfect. But damn, it’s entertaining.
A Caseworker, a Curse, and the Worst Bathtub Ever
Linda Cardellini stars as Anna Tate-Garcia, a social worker in 1970s Los Angeles whose life falls apart faster than you can say “child protective services.” She’s a widow, she’s overworked, and now she’s dealing with a ghost who’s got mommy issues the size of the Rio Grande.
After taking two young boys away from their mother Patricia (Patricia Velásquez), Anna accidentally unleashes La Llorona—a centuries-old spirit who apparently decided social workers are her new favorite target demographic. Soon, Anna’s own children, Chris and Sam, become the next names on the ghost’s watery hit list.
Cue the ghostly crying in hallways, eerie puddles appearing where they shouldn’t, and one bathtub scene that makes you want to shower in a full wetsuit.
It’s a classic setup: innocent family, haunted by ancient evil, turns to unorthodox spiritual help because the Church is booked solid. But what La Llorona lacks in originality, it makes up for in gleeful self-awareness. This is a movie that knows exactly what it is—a ghost train on rails greased with holy water and melodrama.
Linda Cardellini: Patron Saint of Panicked Moms
Let’s take a moment to praise Linda Cardellini. She’s the film’s MVP, grounding the absurdity with the weary charm of a woman who’s clearly dealt with worse things than crying ghosts—like PTA meetings.
Cardellini brings just the right mix of maternal terror and gallows humor. When her character screams, you believe it. When she rolls her eyes at the priest who suggests an exorcism, you really believe it. It’s like she wandered off the set of Freaks and Geeks and into a demonic telenovela, but she sells every second of it.
There’s also Raymond Cruz as Rafael, the ex-priest turned curandero (folk shaman), who steals the show with his deadpan delivery. Imagine Breaking Bad’s Tuco Salamanca but with rosaries and sage smudges. He’s the kind of guy who could banish a demon and fix your carburetor in the same afternoon.
The Legend: Hell Hath No Fury Like a Mother Scorned
For the uninitiated, La Llorona (“The Weeping Woman”) is a centuries-old Latin American legend about a woman who, in a fit of jealous rage, drowns her children and then herself. Condemned to eternal torment, she roams rivers and lakes, weeping for her lost kids and occasionally kidnapping others to replace them.
It’s a story told to children as both bedtime warning and early trauma introduction. “Go to bed or La Llorona will get you” is basically the Latino version of “Santa’s watching.”
The movie takes that legend and gives it a Conjuring-style spin: haunted houses, cursed objects, demonic whispers, and the faint scent of James Wan’s cologne on every frame. Even though it’s technically a standalone film, Father Perez (Tony Amendola) shows up to tie it to Annabelle. Because nothing says “cinematic universe” like a priest who keeps wandering into haunted nonsense.
The Scares: Jump Scares on Steroids
Let’s be clear: The Curse of La Llorona doesn’t do “quiet horror.” It does “throw-your-popcorn-in-the-air” horror. Every few minutes, there’s a loud bang, a ghostly shriek, or a violin that sounds like it’s having a nervous breakdown.
Subtlety? Never met her.
But somehow, it works. The jump scares are timed with surgical precision—cheap, sure, but delightfully effective. La Llorona herself (played by Marisol Ramírez) is a striking figure: flowing white gown, hollow eyes, and tears like acid. She’s less “tragic ghost” and more “divorced goth aunt who found necromancy.”
The film uses her sparingly enough to keep her creepy but often enough to remind you she’s the MVP of every watery death scene. One minute she’s sobbing pitifully, the next she’s hurling people across rooms like a vengeful sprinkler system.
The Humor: Intentional or Not, It Works
For all its dark subject matter, La Llorona is sneakily funny. Not laugh-out-loud funny, but that kind of sly, deadpan humor that bubbles up when the characters realize just how ridiculous their situation is.
Father Perez’s casual mention of a “haunted doll incident” feels like a wink to the audience. Rafael’s DIY exorcism kit looks like something you’d buy at a flea market next to dreamcatchers and churros. Even La Llorona herself occasionally comes off as a diva—she cries, she poses dramatically in mirrors, she makes a lot of unnecessary fog. She’s less a ghost and more a tragic theater major who never got her callback.
And yet, beneath the humor, there’s an undeniable sincerity. The movie genuinely respects its folkloric roots—it never mocks the legend or the culture that birthed it. It just wraps it all in a glossy, popcorn-horror package that makes it easier to digest between screams.
The Strength of Simplicity
What makes The Curse of La Llorona stand out isn’t its originality—it’s the way it embraces simplicity. It doesn’t try to reinvent the wheel; it just makes the wheel spin really fast while screaming.
At 93 minutes, it never overstays its welcome. The pacing is brisk, the visuals are striking, and the scares come early and often. It’s horror comfort food—predictable but satisfying.
Sure, the script occasionally veers into cliché territory (“We have to break the curse before sunrise!”), but the performances and atmosphere elevate it. Chaves’ direction is confident, and Joseph Bishara’s score—equal parts elegiac and ear-splitting—wraps the movie in a sense of operatic dread.
The Ending: Cry Until You Win
The climax is pure Conjuring-verse chaos: holy water, screaming children, spectral tantrums, and a showdown that involves stabbing a ghost with a magical tree branch. It’s gloriously over-the-top and just the right amount of ridiculous.
By the time La Llorona is vanquished (or is she?), you feel like you’ve been through an exorcism, a therapy session, and a water aerobics class all at once.
And then comes that final shot: a puddle reflecting her face. Because of course, she’s not really gone—she’s probably just buffering.
Final Thoughts: A Wailing Success (Mostly)
The Curse of La Llorona isn’t high art—it’s a haunted funhouse in cinematic form. It’s loud, lurid, and occasionally absurd, but it’s also oddly charming. It delivers the kind of straightforward, spooky entertainment that modern horror often forgets how to do.
Linda Cardellini brings heart, Raymond Cruz brings swagger, and La Llorona brings the tears (and the screams). Together, they create a movie that may not reinvent folklore but at least makes it stylishly scary again.
Final Score: 4 out of 5 Buckets of Ghostly Tears
If you’re looking for intellectual horror, look elsewhere. But if you want 90 minutes of jump scares, Latin American legend, and a villain who could outcry an entire Real Housewives reunion, The Curse of La Llorona is your ticket.
Just maybe skip your next bath.
