Now the highest-grossing horror franchise of all time, the Conjuring movies are known for their haunted homes, eerie Christian iconography, and grab-you-by-the-throat exorcisms.
But while this R-rated brand of supernatural horror catapulted The Conjuring (2013) to its record-breaking success—spawning an entire cinematic universe—there’s another critical piece to what makes the three main films tick: the love story at its center.
The Conjuring and its two direct sequels are scary, sure, but this Valentine’s Day, I’m here to remind you they are also romantic as f*ck.
Though based on the lives of paranormal investigators Ed and Lorraine Warren, the movies skip the scandals of their real-life inspirations to portray a marriage that’s occasionally relatable—and more often, deliciously aspirational.
In James Wan’s hands, the Warrens aren’t just partners in life and work, but soul mates brought together by the higher power they so fervently serve.
Patrick Wilson’s Ed is gentle, protective, and empathetic—a classic Wife Guy with sideburns and Golden Retriever-isms. He makes Lorraine’s morning coffee, calls her “hon,” and matches his ties to her skirts and dresses (she favors plaid).
Nothing makes Ed happier than catching his wife in small moments of domestic bliss: He looks on adoringly as she cares for their chickens; he grows wistful for the “spot in the country” they have “always wanted” when she hangs laundry.
Really, all Ed Warren ever wants is Lorraine at his side, safe and happy.
Ed may be a man of simple desires and thoughtful gestures, but he’s no stranger to larger declarations of love either. In The Conjuring 2 (2016), he sings a touching rendition of “Can’t Help Falling in Love”—ostensibly to comfort the Hodgson family, though it’s obvious every word is meant for Lorraine.
And after Lorraine saves his life not once, but twice, in The Devil Made Me Do It (2021), he surprises her with a backyard gazebo.
It’s a commemoration of their first date—and a public symbol of how their love is stronger than any evil they face.
And the Warrens face a lot of evil, but especially Lorraine, who often goes toe-to-toe with demonic entities only she can see. While Ed takes pride in Lorraine’s psychic gifts (“A demon that has the power to obscure Lorraine’s sight is no match for me!”), he is also keenly aware of the private hell they cause her.
“Whatever Lorraine sees, feels, touches, it helps people,” he explains gravely in The Conjuring. “But they also take a toll on her. A little piece each time.”
This slow erosion haunts Ed throughout all three movies—What will be left of Lorraine if her visions take too much?—but he has learned to trust her instincts with the same unwavering faith he shows his mission and his god.
Where Wilson’s Ed is part Retriever, Vera Farmiga’s Lorraine is more cat—slightly reserved and otherworldly, but no less steadfast in her devotion.
When Ed is near, she leans on, or towards him, and her expressive eyes speak silent but loaded messages he can instantly decipher. When Ed is dangerously out of reach, she is prone to anguished, “EDDDDDDDDDD!”s—to which he’ll respond with his own, “LORRAAAAAINE!”—and likes to remind him they are stronger when they are together.
Lorraine not only wears her heart on her sleeve but also, in a way, around her neck: Her locket holds a picture of their daughter, Judy, and the emergency medicine that will save Ed’s life.
In lighter moments, Lorraine can be as twinkly-eyed as a schoolgirl, often teasing Ed (“It’ll give you something to look forward to,” she says of their separate beds in TDMMDI), or recalling memories of their 30-year marriage.
“Do you remember what you told me on our wedding night?” she asks him in The Conjuring. “‘Can we do it again?’” he jokes.
…a sentiment Lorraine echoes in both sequels.
As a girl, Lorraine’s clairvoyant gifts were met with skepticism and scorn. As a boy, Ed’s own demonic encounters were doubted by everyone around him, even his father.
Theirs is no ordinary marriage but a union of outcasted, twin souls sanctioned by God.
“One person can change everything,” Lorraine tells 11-year-old Janet Hodgson in TC2. “It took a long time, but I finally found someone who believed me.”
And for that, Lorraine is eternally grateful.
But as with Ed, Lorraine’s great love comes with the fear of great loss, and her psychic visions of Ed’s death are never far from her mind.
After one such vision prior to The Conjuring, she “didn’t talk, didn’t eat, didn’t come out [of her room] for 8 days”—so awful was the idea of living without her husband.
In another vision in TC2, she embodies Amityville killer Ronald DeFeo Jr., but it’s the final image of Ed’s impaled chest that is “as close to hell” as she “ever wants to get.”
Lorraine’s greatest demon isn’t one she encounters on the job, but the possibility of losing the only person who has ever understood her.
The stakes are high in all three films, not just because we’re dealing with the devil, or because innocent lives are on the line—but because the Warrens’ souls hang in the balance, too.
Who are Ed and Lorraine, without each other? What greater hell is there than a world in which they are not together?
Thankfully, there is no Annabelle, Valak, or Bathsheba who can match the enduring power of Ed and Lorraine’s love—a truth on full display during their showdown with a satanic witch in TDMMDI.
“She thinks our love is our weakness,” Lorraine says to Ed, “But it’s not…It’s our strength.”
And so it is for the movies, too. These romantic moments in The Conjuring, The Conjuring 2, and The Devil Made Me Do It are what keep me coming back, case after case and film after film (the last of which releases this fall!).
The Warrens’ love story is the foundation on which every demon, jump scare, and exorcism is built—The Conjuring’s greatest asset and its beating, beautiful heart.
Featured photo: Warner Bros. Pictures, Joanna Kosinska / Unsplash
