Jenna Ortega and Glen Powell Lead Hollywood’s Summer of Supernatural Power Plays

Olivia Bennett, 1/17/2026 Hollywood’s 2027 is haunted by profit—franchises like “Paranormal Activity” and “The Conjuring” rise again, proving nostalgia is cinema’s favorite ghost. There’s more glitz than innovation, but who can resist another midnight séance under the multiplex’s golden glow?

Paramount, Warner Bros., and New Line Cinema are busily flipping through the Book of the Dead—the glossy one, leather-bound, with notes in the margins that hint at long-lost profits. Take “Paranormal Activity”—has it really been so long since it first rattled theater seats and left viewers whispering about bumps in the night? For most franchises, seven entries might signal exhaustion, but here comes number eight, slinking from the shadows in May 2027, with James Wan and Jason Blum acting as the genre’s elder statesmen. Oren Peli, whose 2007 original managed to terrify audiences on roughly the catering budget of a Marvel shoot, is back, peering over the production like a proud, slightly anxious godparent.

If the studios are a séance, then secrecy is their incantation—plot details, cast, and really anything of substance float just out of reach, like that final Ouija board answer no one quite believes. At a glance, it’s safe to wager something nasty will go thump in the attic, and even the skeptics will find themselves reaching for the popcorn. There’s something almost nostalgic here: the franchise’s micro-budget debut famously raked in nearly $200 million worldwide, the ultimate “little horror that could.” Since then, the series’ take has ballooned to nearly a billion, a figure that’d make even Freddy and Jason consider unionizing.

Swing over to Warner Bros.—they’ve their own necromancy in full swing. Did anyone, in their glittering right mind, really believe “The Conjuring: Last Rites” was the end of anything? The supposed swan song raked in $84 million on its opening weekend in 2025, as if inviting the boardroom to stage a victory lap before the next chapter unspooled. Goodbye, final act. Hello, “First Communion”—the sort of prequel title that winks knowingly from the marquee, promising new blood for old devils. Rodrigue Huart is set to direct, yet—quelle surprise—fans are left to guess at plot, stars, and whether Ed and Lorraine’s closet of cursed trinkets has any shelf space left.

Maybe it’s less a question of knowing what fans want, and more an answer to what’s safe. The “Conjuring Universe,” after all, is a $2.7 billion institution, sprawling now not just across theaters but onto HBO’s development slate. Will the series’ so-called “Phase 2” actually change the game, or simply shuffle the deck? The answer, as usual, probably sits somewhere between creative resurrection and financial exorcism—a bit of both, spiced up by the endless churn for new mythologies.

Of course, 2027 isn’t strictly a horror pageant. J.J. Abrams has his own cosmic tricks lined up for autumn—“The Great Beyond” boasts a cast glittering with Glen Powell, Jenna Ortega, and, yes, Samuel L. Jackson. Emma Mackey and Sophie Okonedo round things out; if there’s an unspoken rule about assembling ensembles with enough wattage to outshine the plot, Abrams certainly got the memo. Elsewhere, Warner Bros. is positioning Sam Esmail’s “Panic Carefully” (presumably not an instruction manual for their PR team), while Keanu Reeves gets roped into another mystery project with Tim Miller. Blink and you'll think you’re reading a studio bingo card, not a release schedule.

At this point, it almost feels mischievous—watching these well-coiffed executives pit devil dolls against animated misfits (“Bad Fairies” is waiting in the wings, after all) and horror icons against space dogfights (“Star Wars: Starfighter”). Who said multiplex programming was dull? If anything, studios seem to dare the audience: come see what rises from the rebooted crypt next.

Is anyone really clamoring for more of the same? That’s a question insiders ask with a cocktail in hand and a resume on LinkedIn. Yet there’s undeniable comfort in the familiar, wrapped in the supernatural shimmer. The old ghosts—no matter how many times they’ve been banished—wander right back onto center stage, lured by the twin spotlights of profit and nostalgia. The real horror, perhaps, is that Hollywood no longer wants to bury them at all.

It’s spectacle as ritual, risk-taking as myth, and the red carpet rolled straight to the mouth of the abyss. One suspects, as the curtain sways and summer’s heat gives way to eerie anticipation, that the next act won’t be the last. In Tinseltown, after all, resurrection is just another day at the office.

Step onto the sunbaked boulevard and take a deep breath—does something in the Hollywood air feel a tad colder this summer? Check the studio calendars and the answer creeps in: the season reads less like a box of fireworks, more like a gathering of old spirits summoned for one last (or not so last) waltz. One has to marvel. Studio execs, never known for subtlety, seem determined to wring every last gasp—and penny—from the film world’s most spectral bank accounts.Paramount, Warner Bros., and New Line Cinema are busily flipping through the Book of the Dead—the glossy one, leather-bound, with notes in the margins that hint at long-lost profits. Take “Paranormal Activity”—has it really been so long since it first rattled theater seats and left viewers whispering about bumps in the night? For most franchises, seven entries might signal exhaustion, but here comes number eight, slinking from the shadows in May 2027, with James Wan and Jason Blum acting as the genre’s elder statesmen. Oren Peli, whose 2007 original managed to terrify audiences on roughly the catering budget of a Marvel shoot, is back, peering over the production like a proud, slightly anxious godparent.If the studios are a séance, then secrecy is their incantation—plot details, cast, and really anything of substance float just out of reach, like that final Ouija board answer no one quite believes. At a glance, it’s safe to wager something nasty will go thump in the attic, and even the skeptics will find themselves reaching for the popcorn. There’s something almost nostalgic here: the franchise’s micro-budget debut famously raked in nearly $200 million worldwide, the ultimate “little horror that could.” Since then, the series’ take has ballooned to nearly a billion, a figure that’d make even Freddy and Jason consider unionizing.Swing over to Warner Bros.—they’ve their own necromancy in full swing. Did anyone, in their glittering right mind, really believe “The Conjuring: Last Rites” was the end of anything? The supposed swan song raked in $84 million on its opening weekend in 2025, as if inviting the boardroom to stage a victory lap before the next chapter unspooled. Goodbye, final act. Hello, “First Communion”—the sort of prequel title that winks knowingly from the marquee, promising new blood for old devils. Rodrigue Huart is set to direct, yet—quelle surprise—fans are left to guess at plot, stars, and whether Ed and Lorraine’s closet of cursed trinkets has any shelf space left.Maybe it’s less a question of knowing what fans want, and more an answer to what’s safe. The “Conjuring Universe,” after all, is a $2.7 billion institution, sprawling now not just across theaters but onto HBO’s development slate. Will the series’ so-called “Phase 2” actually change the game, or simply shuffle the deck? The answer, as usual, probably sits somewhere between creative resurrection and financial exorcism—a bit of both, spiced up by the endless churn for new mythologies.Of course, 2027 isn’t strictly a horror pageant. J.J. Abrams has his own cosmic tricks lined up for autumn—“The Great Beyond” boasts a cast glittering with Glen Powell, Jenna Ortega, and, yes, Samuel L. Jackson. Emma Mackey and Sophie Okonedo round things out; if there’s an unspoken rule about assembling ensembles with enough wattage to outshine the plot, Abrams certainly got the memo. Elsewhere, Warner Bros. is positioning Sam Esmail’s “Panic Carefully” (presumably not an instruction manual for their PR team), while Keanu Reeves gets roped into another mystery project with Tim Miller. Blink and you'll think you’re reading a studio bingo card, not a release schedule.At this point, it almost feels mischievous—watching these well-coiffed executives pit devil dolls against animated misfits (“Bad Fairies” is waiting in the wings, after all) and horror icons against space dogfights (“Star Wars: Starfighter”). Who said multiplex programming was dull? If anything, studios seem to dare the audience: come see what rises from the rebooted crypt next.Is anyone really clamoring for more of the same? That’s a question insiders ask with a cocktail in hand and a resume on LinkedIn. Yet there’s undeniable comfort in the familiar, wrapped in the supernatural shimmer. The old ghosts—no matter how many times they’ve been banished—wander right back onto center stage, lured by the twin spotlights of profit and nostalgia. The real horror, perhaps, is that Hollywood no longer wants to bury them at all.It’s spectacle as ritual, risk-taking as myth, and the red carpet rolled straight to the mouth of the abyss. One suspects, as the curtain sways and summer’s heat gives way to eerie anticipation, that the next act won’t be the last. In Tinseltown, after all, resurrection is just another day at the office.