4/10/2003 - The Ring

There are some movies that should have never been made.

They are random and appear in all genres of film. "Night at the Roxbury" is one (not surprisingly, the official site for this movie is down), Dungeons and Dragons another, The Exocist belongs on that list, and Ed Wood contributed a few as well.

But I don't label them as such because they were necessarily just *bad*. Rather, because they missed the point.

Coincidentially, I've had the misfortune to bear witness to not one, but two such cinematic mishaps within merely one week.

The first one was The Ring. Now, for the uninitiated - you might want to skip this section as it contains plot spoilers and references to the ending. For all others - my question: What the hell was *that*?

In the interest of full disclosure, the alert reader should know that I'm a seasoned and enthusiastic follower of horror movies. Freddie Krueger, Michael Myers, Jason, The Omen's Damian, and a variety of werewolves and vampires were characters to be enjoyed on a stormy Friday night with a warm blanket and some popcorn. I relished "Princes of Darkness" just as much as "Carrie" or "Night of the Living Dead". I thought I had seen it all and nothing could possibly cook my noodle. Wrong. Oh, so very wrong.

Watching "The Ring" in a darkened theater on a harmless Sunday afternoon, I was intrigued by the first few minutes of the film. The plot seemed promising, the acting was good despite the unknown faces, and it was real enough that you knew no chainsaw-bearing monster was going to jump from behind a tree.

Progressively though, I found myself hanging on to the theater chair with a death-like grip, heart racing, mind spinning, and eyes averted as not to have the gruesome images permanently burned into my mind's eye. I wanted it to be over, but couldn't leave my seat for fear I would miss the happy ending. Except of course - there was no happy ending. And for me, there really was no ending at all.

As I stepped back outside into the afternoon sun, I felt disturbed, horrified, yet at the same time relieved that this visual assault was over. I couldn't believe this piece of film had made it past the censors and in front of a general audience. Two young kids with their mom had been seated in front of me.

I figured I'd just shake those bad images off and went home, not wasting another thought on it.

At 2am that night, I woke up with my heart beating like a steel drum on crack and my mind racing like a screaming freight train. I was taken back to the movie and replayed the most gruesome scenes over and over, desperately trying to figure out all the strange and inconsistent plot twists. Worst of all - I couldn't shut it off. It had dug its dirty finger nails under my skin and made me writhe with the pain of trying to make sense of it all.

For example: What were the girl's powers exactly? Was she born with them or did she only get them after her death? Was she akin to the anti-christ in that she was evil and wanted to destroy the world by means of the video tape? Why did she never sleep? Why did she leave the dad, who so mistreated her, alive? How did the shape of the tree get burnt into the barn wall? Was the little boy psychic, or at least psychically linked to the girl?

With virtually no special effects, little gore and no blood, but only a maddening mystery and a believable setting, this movie had achieved what only "The Exorcist" had so far - make me lose sleep. Its message had seeped into my unconscious, like a virus, where it bred genuine horror. By the end of the night, I was convinced the girl was going to come crawling out of my TV at any minute, and I breathlessly listened for the dreadful hum of it, turning itself on with that white noise.

It took me days (many of them waking hours) to work through that - only to discover a week later that a supposed comedy can be just a traumatic. Of course I'm talking about Jackass: The Movie (see review).