Editorials
Sadako vs. Samara – Why ‘The Ring’ Is Terrifying in Either Language [Revenge of the Remakes]
Gore Verbinski’s The Ring led the first wave of early 2000s horror remakes that partially defined the era’s landscape alongside Saw torture-porners and other reactionary post-9/11 subgenres. Granted, remakes have always been a foundational pillar that keeps horror reinventing itself decade after decade — but the 2000s were different. Production companies like Platinum Dunes and Dark Castle Entertainment fixated on updating horror favorites from iconic slashers to Vincent Price oldies, banking on nostalgia as an added profitability measure (less so for Dark Castle, unfortunately). It’s curious though, because 2003’s The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and others get referenced when conversations think back to what started The Great 2000s Remake Avalanche — The Ring somewhat forgotten in these terms.
That could be because The Ring is based on Hideo Nakata’s Japanese adaptation Ringu (aka Ring), an international ghost story less popular with domestic audiences whose first introduction to Koji Suzuki’s 1991 novel was Verbinski’s Americanization. That’s not a scold, just an observation. The Ring is still frequently heralded as a top-tier horror heavyweight in a post-Y2K world, exemplified by soggy-haired Samara’s inescapable pop-culture relevance. From Saturday Night Live sketches to the most intricately planned and well-oiled cosplays, Verbinski brought a new face of terror to stateside audiences who’ve yet to escape Samara’s curse — somewhat overshadowing the Japanese original.
The Approach
‘Ringu’ (1998)
Verbinski set out to remake Nakata’s Ringu more than adapt Suzuki’s literature anew. The filmmaker was handed a VHS of Ringu, and only a short time later, the determined Verbinski was securing remake rights. Ehren Kruger’s screenplay comes from what’s seen on screen in Ringu — an interesting approach with Suzuki’s novel on the table. One of the great outs for horror filmmakers remaking movies based on existing works is that you can pick up the source material and start from scratch, but that’s not what intrigued Verbinski. He was so rattled and transfixed by Nakata’s Ringu, that’s what Verbinski wanted to recapture.
The bones of Kruger’s narrative are noticeably the same. Naomi Watts plays Seattle-based journalist Rachel Keller, who’s investigating a supposedly cursed videotape in relation to her niece’s death. Martin Henderson is Noah Clay — a video analyst and her ex-boyfriend — who aids Rachel as she races against a countdown clock that suggests she’ll die in seven days if supernatural paranoia proves to be confirmed. Things become graver when Rachel and Noah’s son Aidan (David Dorfman) watches a copy of the vengeful videotape supposedly killing its audience, which brings a frantic Rachel into Samara’s (Daveigh Chase) tragic world. Nothing too unfamiliar to fans of Ringu, at least on the surface.
Outside the basic parallels of a journalist lead, sidekick ex-lover, and endangered child are diversions that firmly separate The Ring and Ringu. Verbinski previously notes that roughly half of The Ring is brand new, rewriting Samara’s backstory or erasing mumbles about “brine and goblins.” The Ring is a vastly more straightforward horror approach that uses bathtub electrocutions and downplays some of the friction between Rachel and Noah, falling in line with the “show, don’t tell” mentality of American horror productions. Nakata’s Japanese iteration follows more character-driven, almost “true crime” guidelines that leave terror to the imagination — Verbinski doesn’t want us working all that hard to understand why we should fear Samara.
Does It Work?
‘The Ring’ (2002)
Verbinski doesn’t disgrace Nakata’s signatures nor waste an opportunity to shine a light on Ringu. What survives the translation from Japanese to English helps Verbinski introduce American audiences to J-Horror spirituality and dampness, while also driving interest toward Ringu. Kruger’s screenplay (supposedly with an uncredited Scott Frank rewrite) doesn’t mean to be a ripoff, nor does Verbinski try to mimic Nakata’s directorial personality (pacing, tone, etcetera). The Ring works because what’s inherently terrifying about Ringu is present, but Verbinski assures individuality through a lens meant to serve American audiences more easily deterred by descriptors like “pulp” and “avant-garde” (how Verbinski describes Nakata’s masterpiece).
What’s missing is Nakata’s mysticism and more Japanese-styled horror flourishes, which doesn’t necessarily dock points, but when watched back-to-back, The Ring helps me appreciate Ringu a hair more. Verbinski sets his sights on punchier scares, quicker impacts, and inescapable dread, whereas Nakata explores fable-like tragedies. It’s as simple as comparing both video reels of disturbing imagery. Where Nakata’s tape plays a montage of naturalistic black-and-white vignettes from cresting waves to written Japanese language, Verbinski goes for the kill with slithery centipedes, rotting livestock corpses, and hardware nails puncturing fingers. Nakata invites the audience to imaginatively run wild with horrors that aren’t always explicitly visible — a main essence that defines J-Horror — where Verbinski plays to American demographics who want to see everything up close and personal, without a shadow of a doubt.
Kruger and Verbinski’s alterations are dagger-sharp calculations that work within their confines. There’s never a forced feeling to recreate Nakata’s far more ghastly yet wickedly whimsical Ringu — the definitions of “good” and “evil” are cemented by Verbinski, where Nakata leans into moral dilemmas and a fluctuating state of gloom. It’s not like the recreation of Ryūji Takayama (the original ex-boyfriend played by Hiroyuki Sanada) in Henderson’s Noah is worse because he doesn’t possess any sixth sense or psychic abilities. Verbinski opts for a more grounded spectral race against time that’s far darker — visually and thematically — which works because it’s given complete devotion. Homage is paid to Nakata’s O.G. in broad foundational strokes, but in practice, Verbinski snatches the proverbial baton and is off to the races without a glance backward.
The Result
‘The Ring’ (2002)
The Ring still holds its ground as a sufficiently scare-stuffed 2000s horror staple. It’s easy to see why a slew of J-Horror remakes would follow from The Grudge to Shutter and beyond since The Ring paralyzed frightened audiences and turned a sizable profit (almost 250m against a 48m budget). From the Scary Movie spoofed introduction featuring two schoolgirls gossiping about boyfriends and parties to an ending that sees Noah succumb to Samara’s deadly gaze, Verbinski cares more about jumps, jolts, and raised hairs to an exceptional length. While Ringu can sometimes feel like a haunted soap opera, The Ring stays focused on making audiences squirm in their seats. It may become more expected through the everyday use of jump scares and horror tropes, but execution delivers well above lesser copycats.
There’s a reason why the mangled, putrid, distorted face of Amber Tamblyn has become one of the go-to jump scare examples in horror since 2002. There’s a reason why cinematographer Bojan Bazelli’s shot selections of jagged skeletal trees and rainy Washington landscapes are still talked about as a strikingly gorgeous example of genre filmmaking that isn’t afraid of succumbing to darkness. I don’t usually love the drab blueish, sickly-greenish lighting filter that cools the mood throughout movies. However, this waterlike hue highlights that downtrodden atmosphere of environmental wetness and atmospheric duress. The Ring is so well composed of elements that otherwise would seem ordinary and overdone, which is an odd compliment but one still earned by Verbinski.
Although, there’s a dimension missing from Verbinski’s clear-cut “simplification” of Ringu that I didn’t think that critically of until seeing both films in the same sitting. It’s a greater adjustment, explicitly noticed by how Kruger eliminates the frantic water-bucket sequence from Ringu by knocking Rachel into Samara’s well-grave with a static-buzzing television that breaks through floorboards. There’s rich drama, and we learn so much about the characters of Reiko Asakawa (the Japanese original’s journalist played by Nanako Matsushima) and Ryūji just by their teamwork as one fills a container with water and the other hoists from above. The Ring doesn’t value these moments as highly or outright wipes their existence, weakening the importance of Rachel and Noah’s relationship to emphasize brutal scares that are at least worth their spotlights.
The Lesson
‘The Ring’ (2002)
Once again, as I reiterate entry after entry, originality is key when remaking international films. Verbinski creates with freshness where something like Quarantine exhaustively replicates. Cultural horror trends won’t resonate as well in other nations, so it makes sense why the more tradition-oriented Ringu gets a makeover with The Ring. Japanese society has a bit different relationship with the afterlife and spiritual beliefs than the more “realistic,” maybe cut-and-dry American audiences looking for The Ring to take a harder stance against the amazingly designed Samara: dripping wet, bangs like greasy shades covering her death-peering eyes, clothes and skin fizzling like television fuzz from wonky antennas.
So what did we learn?
● It’s not always about going bigger and better, but exploring a different presentation of a familiar story — The Ring is meaner, nastier, and more visually charged versus the tell vs. show Ringu.
● Naomi Watts has never topped The Ring despite starring in multiple horror remakes.
● The Ring versus Ringu is one of the best showcases of significant differences between American and Japanese horror filmmaking signatures.
● I’ll never be able to watch the Katie jump scare without reacting — a wince, a sigh, anything.
Give Verbinski all the credit because The Ring ushered in a wave of J-Horror remakes and introduced American horror audiences to a whole universe of Japanese originals to watch after their English language counterparts. It takes more than a remake to turn lower-level horror viewers on to international originals — it takes a good remake. Interest in originals doesn’t translate when the remake tanks. The Ring could have been a non-starter for an entire horror movement, but thankfully Verbinski opened the door to a deluge of J-Horror interest.
As horror journalists and superfans, we must remember that the everyday moviegoer doesn’t have the same dedication or resources even to know something like Nakata’s Ringu exists without the right entry point. The Ring is that exact mainstream, studio-produced gateway that alone presents a pro-remake argument we horror obsessors must remember.
In Revenge of the Remakes, columnist Matt Donato takes us on a journey through the world of horror remakes. We all complain about Hollywood’s lack of originality whenever studios announce new remakes, reboots, and reimaginings, but the reality? Far more positive examples of refurbished classics and updated legacies exist than you’re willing to remember (or admit). The good, the bad, the unnecessary – Matt’s recounting them all.
Soon after the New Hollywood generation took over the entertainment industry, they started having children. And more than any filmmakers that came before—they were terrified. Rosemary’s Baby (1968), The Exorcist (1973), The Omen (1976), Eraserhead (1977), The Brood (1979), The Shining (1980), Possession (1981), and many others all deal, at least in part, with the fears of becoming or being a parent. What if my child turns out to be a monster? is corrupted by some evil force? or turns out to be the fucking Antichrist? What if I screw them up somehow, or can’t help them, or even go insane and try to kill them? Horror has always been at its best when exploring relatable fears through extreme circumstances. A prime example of this is Larry Cohen’s 1974 monster-baby movie It’s Alive, which explores the not only the rollercoaster of emotions that any parent experiences when confronted with the difficulties of raising a child, but long-standing questions of who or what is at fault when something goes horribly wrong.
Cohen begins making his underlying points early in the film as Frank Davis (John P. Ryan) discusses the state of the world with a group of expectant fathers in a hospital waiting room. They discuss the “overabundance of lead” in foods and the environment, smog, and pesticides that only serve to produce roaches that are “bigger, stronger, and harder to kill.” Frank comments that this is “quite a world to bring a kid into.” This has long been a discussion point among people when trying to decide whether to have kids or not. I’ve had many conversations with friends who have said they feel it’s irresponsible to bring children into such a violent, broken, and dangerous world, and I certainly don’t begrudge them this. My wife and I did decide to have children but that doesn’t mean that it’s been easy.
Immediately following this scene comes It’s Alive’s most famous sequence in which Frank’s wife Lenore (Sharon Farrell) is the only person left alive in her delivery room, the doctors clawed and bitten to death by her mutant baby, which has escaped. “What does my baby look like!? What’s wrong with my baby!?” she screams as nurses wheel her frantically into a recovery room. The evening that had begun with such joy and excitement at the birth of their second child turned into a nightmare. This is tough for me to write, but on some level, I can relate to this whiplash of emotion. When my second child was born, they came about five weeks early. I’ll use the pronouns “they/them” for privacy reasons when referring to my kids. Our oldest was still very young and went to stay with my parents and we sped off to the hospital where my wife was taken into an operating room for an emergency c-section. I was able to carry our newborn into the NICU (natal intensive care unit) where I was assured that this was routine for all premature births. The nurses assured me there was nothing to worry about and the baby looked big and healthy. I headed to where my wife was taken to recover to grab a few winks assuming that everything was fine. Well, when I awoke, I headed back over to the NICU to find that my child was not where I left them. The nurse found me and told me that the baby’s lungs were underdeveloped, and they had to put them in a special room connected to oxygen tubes and wires to monitor their vitals.
It’s difficult to express the fear that overwhelmed me in those moments. Everything turned out okay, but it took a while and I’m convinced to this day that their anxiety struggles spring from these first weeks of life. As our children grew, we learned that two of the three were on the spectrum and that anxiety, depression, ADHD, and OCD were also playing a part in their lives. Parents, at least speaking for myself, can’t help but blame themselves for the struggles their children face. The “if only” questions creep in and easily overcome the voices that assure us that it really has nothing to do with us. In the film, Lenore says, “maybe it’s all the pills I’ve been taking that brought this on.” Frank muses aloud about how he used to think that Frankenstein was the monster, but when he got older realized he was the one that made the monster. The aptly named Frank is wondering if his baby’s mutation is his fault, if he created the monster that is terrorizing Los Angeles. I have made plenty of “if only” statements about myself over the years. “If only I hadn’t had to work so much, if only I had been around more when they were little.” Mothers may ask themselves, “did I have a drink, too much coffee, or a cigarette before I knew I was pregnant? Was I too stressed out during the pregnancy?” In other words, most parents can’t help but wonder if it’s all their fault.
At one point in the film, Frank goes to the elementary school where his baby has been sighted and is escorted through the halls by police. He overhears someone comment about “screwed up genes,” which brings about age-old questions of nature vs. nurture. Despite the voices around him from doctors and detectives that say, “we know this isn’t your fault,” Frank can’t help but think it is, and that the people who try to tell him it isn’t really think it’s his fault too. There is no doubt that there is a hereditary element to the kinds of mental illness struggles that my children and I deal with. But, and it’s a bit but, good parenting goes a long way in helping children deal with these struggles. Kids need to know they’re not alone, a good parent can provide that, perhaps especially parents that can relate to the same kinds of struggles. The question of nature vs. nurture will likely never be entirely answered but I think there’s more than a good chance that “both/and” is the case. Around the midpoint of the film, Frank agrees to disown the child and sign it over for medical experimentation if caught or killed. Lenore and the older son Chris (Daniel Holzman) seek to nurture and teach the baby, feeling that it is not a monster, but a member of the family.
It’s Alive takes these ideas to an even greater degree in the fact that the Davis Baby really is a monster, a mutant with claws and fangs that murders and eats people. The late ’60s and early ’70s also saw the rise in mass murderers and serial killers which heightened the nature vs. nurture debate. Obviously, these people were not literal monsters but human beings that came from human parents, but something had gone horribly wrong. Often the upbringing of these killers clearly led in part to their antisocial behavior, but this isn’t always the case. It’s Alive asks “what if a ‘monster’ comes from a good home?” In this case is it society, environmental factors, or is it the lead, smog, and pesticides? It is almost impossible to know, but the ending of the film underscores an uncomfortable truth—even monsters have parents.
As the film enters its third act, Frank joins the hunt for his child through the Los Angeles sewers and into the L.A. River. He is armed with a rifle and ready to kill on sight, having divorced himself from any relationship to the child. Then Frank finds his baby crying in the sewers and his fatherly instincts take over. With tears in his eyes, he speaks words of comfort and wraps his son in his coat. He holds him close, pats and rocks him, and whispers that everything is going to be okay. People often wonder how the parents of those who perform heinous acts can sit in court, shed tears, and defend them. I think it’s a complex issue. I’m sure that these parents know that their child has done something evil, but that doesn’t change the fact that they are still their baby. Your child is a piece of yourself formed into a whole new human being. Disowning them would be like cutting off a limb, no matter what they may have done. It doesn’t erase an evil act, far from it, but I can understand the pain of a parent in that situation. I think It’s Alive does an exceptional job placing its audience in that situation.
Despite the serious issues and ideas being examined in the film, It’s Alive is far from a dour affair. At heart, it is still a monster movie and filled with a sense of fun and a great deal of pitch-black humor. In one of its more memorable moments, a milkman is sucked into the rear compartment of his truck as red blood mingles with the white milk from smashed bottles leaking out the back of the truck and streaming down the street. Just after Frank agrees to join the hunt for his baby, the film cuts to the back of an ice cream truck with the words “STOP CHILDREN” emblazoned on it. It’s a movie filled with great kills, a mutant baby—created by make-up effects master Rick Baker early in his career, and plenty of action—and all in a PG rated movie! I’m telling you, the ’70s were wild. It just also happens to have some thoughtful ideas behind it as well.
Which was Larry Cohen’s specialty. Cohen made all kinds of movies, but his most enduring have been his horror films and all of them tackle the social issues and fears of the time they were made. God Told Me To (1976), Q: The Winged Serpent (1982), and The Stuff (1985) are all great examples of his socially aware, low-budget, exploitation filmmaking with a brain and It’s Alive certainly fits right in with that group. Cohen would go on to write and direct two sequels, It Lives Again (aka It’s Alive 2) in 1978 and It’s Alive III: Island of the Alive in 1987 and is credited as a co-writer on the 2008 remake. All these films explore the ideas of parental responsibility in light of the various concerns of the times they were made including abortion rights and AIDS.
Fifty years after It’s Alive was initially released, it has only become more relevant in the ensuing years. Fears surrounding parenthood have been with us since the beginning of time but as the years pass the reasons for these fears only seem to become more and more profound. In today’s world the conversation of the fathers in the waiting room could be expanded to hormones and genetic modifications in food, terrorism, climate change, school and other mass shootings, and other threats that were unknown or at least less of a concern fifty years ago. Perhaps the fearmongering conspiracy theories about chemtrails and vaccines would be mentioned as well, though in a more satirical fashion, as fears some expectant parents encounter while endlessly doomscrolling Facebook or Twitter. Speaking for myself, despite the struggles, the fears, and the sadness that sometimes comes with having children, it’s been worth it. The joys ultimately outweigh all of that, but I understand the terror too. Becoming a parent is no easy choice, nor should it be. But as I look back, I can say that I’m glad we made the choice we did.
I wonder if Frank and Lenore can say the same thing.
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