Yesterday evening, El Elvis Rojo and I took in a sneak preview of The Ring. Last night, I read until two, considered sleeping on the couch, contemplated staying up all night, and finally resorted to a nightcap in the hopes of disturbing my sleep patterns to avoid REM sleep. The movie was just that goddamned scary.
The Ring, a remake of a Japanese movie of the same name, concerns a videotape that kills its viewers seven days after they watch the tape. Immediately after watching the tape, viewers’ phones ring, and a voice says “Seven days.”
I won’t give away major plot points, but the movie’s stroke of genius-brilliant, evil, why-in-the-name-of-all-that’s-#$%ing-holy-did-I-put-myself-through-this? genius-is that it makes TVs and phones the instruments of doom. Haunted houses, abandoned mental hospitals, and deserted roads with psycho killers on the loose are all easily avoided, but I’ve got a TV right beside my bed. If I’d gone to sleep on the couch, there would be a TV right in front of me. Rooms without TVs might have been safe, if El Elvis Rojo hadn’t seen the original and thus been unable to explain that it wasn’t just TVs there, but any reflective surface. This ruined the bathroom for me as well.
The Ring is one of the best horror movies I’ve seen, and the only one to keep me awake since I saw Return of the Living Dead when I was five. The movie’s constant rain and deep grey color scheme have put my desire to visit Seattle on a temporary hold. Despite the seven-day formula, there isn’t a moment in the movie where it doesn’t seem like something horrible is just around the corner.
The movie uses the happy ending cliche to great effect. The main character, a reporter, solves the mystery of the evil force, and goes home to her son, who has been receiving psychic messages from the evil. He wakes up with her lying next to him. “It’s okay, baby” she tells him. “We helped [it].”
He looks at her wide-eyed and says “You weren’t supposed to help [it].”