Ringu (1998)

Move over vampires, werewolves, zombies and psychotic killers. Sadako's here and she's here to stay. Sceptics may say she's not much of a monster; after all what's so scary about a frail Japanese girl who constantly seems to be having a bad hair day? She's not even much of a looker, but then what can you expect of a woman who seems to be doomed to wear an oversized white nightdress for eternity? So they say Sadako's not scary. Well, what do they know. I would love to see their faces when she starts crawling out of their TV screen…

Hideo Nakata's Ringu (1998) is one of those films which deserve to be called milestones for the horror genre. Having taken international horror audiences by storm, it ruthlessly bared the shortcomings of the Western horror industry dependent on self-cannibalism and regurgitating stale ideas for far too long. Granted the general release in large cinema chains throughout the world, it cleared the way for a great number of Asian horror productions (if only Audition (1999), Jian gui / The Eye (2002), Honogurai mizuno sokokara / Dark Water (2002), Battle Royale (2000)) which would never have seen the light of day in the West otherwise, apart from, perhaps, a screening in a forgotten arthouse cinema (for the usual audience of two) or a DVD special edition pack too expensive for anyone but the most avid collector to buy. Hailed a cinematic masterpiece by hordes of enthusiastic critics, Ringu has enjoyed the air of respectability alien to most mainstream horror productions. Does it live up to its fame? Is it truly the horror worth of the new millennium?

The plot of the film is fairly simple. Investigating the mysterious death of her niece, a journalist, Reiko Asakawa (Nanako Matsushima), comes across an unlabelled videotape containing a bizarre recorded message. The message, as it happens, carries with it a death sentence to be executed in exactly seven days on the unsuspecting viewer. Helped by her ex-husband, Ryuiji Takayama (Hiroyuki Sanada), Reiko undertakes to unravel the mystery behind the tape. In the process, she unearths information about Shizuko, a psychic, and grows more and more certain that the cursed message is somehow connected to Shizuko's missing daughter: Sadako. Only Sadako cannot be found…

Based on the original novel of Koji Suzuki, Ringu does not aim to scare you with the usual bundle of horror tricks. Rather than explode in your face it unnerves you; it grows on you, reaching the depths of fear and anxiety you didn't know you had. Don't expect an abundance of hi-tech special effects and tons of make-up. But then, as Gore Verbinski's remake The Ring (2002) proves, special effects, big budget and good intentions are not always enough. The fear they generate, if any, is cinema-contained. The scary moments of the there-is-a-monster-behind-the-door variety will not give you sleepless nights, unless you are a person of a highly nervous disposition who should refrain from watching horror movies on doctor's orders. Ringu, on the other hand will. Sleepless nights aplenty.

The second foray into the world of horror for Nakata (after Joyuu-rei / Ghost Actress (1996)), Ringu reaches back to the older tradition of Japanese ghost stories (Kaidan (1996), Ugetsu monogatari (1953), Tokaido Yotsuya kaidan (1959), Yotsuya Kaidan (1966)). Besides the interest in Japanese customs and mythologies, Nakata admits to a number of influences from outside Japan, such as The Haunting (1963), The Amityville Horror (1979) or the Henry James' novella Turn of the Screw. The film fits in with a number of classic ghost tales, such as The Changeling (1980), The Legend of Hell House (1973), or House on Haunted Hill (1959), to name just a few. True to its almost forgotten origins, Ringu resurrects the ghost story with style.
The effectiveness of Ringu depends greatly on the carefully planned structure of the film. As seems to be the case with a great majority of Asian horrors, the story is set in an alternative reality where people mingle with ghosts on a daily basis and things are learnt through ESP to save time. Structurally, of course, this is very convenient: nobody questions the existence of the recording nor its supernatural origin; nobody denies its cursed effects. The plot is not so much explained as absorbed, unravelled at a slow pace, through a series of skilfully executed, excruciatingly long scenes, which proves a successful tension-building technique rather than a display of amateurish, badly edited longeurs.

Take the memorable well scene. In search of the unfortunate Sadako, Reiko and Ryuiji decide to drain the well. Now remember, this is the present-day Japan, home to state-of-art technology. And what do we get? Two buckets and a rope! And all intended to force poor Reiko down that inhospitable well, leaving her up to her waist in the murky water, dying of fear and exhaustion in the claustrophobic setting, so much more unnerving for impossible to leave on one's own. The flickering light of the torch reveals the terrifying mass of scratches on the walls of the well, with that one torn nail embedded deeply in the stone, like an exclamation mark. The scene seems to take forever. Although not representing real time it almost feels like we are stuck for a day.

Watching Ringu is doubtlessly a nerve-racking experience. Though the film is a visual feast rich in haunting imagery, its true strength lies in Nakata's understanding that what truly terrifies us can never be revealed, nor given a face. The art of frightening lies not in an almost pornographic display of the gory bits, but in reaching that indescribable depth of our fear, waking the monsters up and leaving the door ajar. The uncanny atmosphere of the film is greatly helped by the original music of Kenji Kawai, incorporating the most bizarre medley of sounds and noises you can imagine, accompanied by equally freakish compositions of Krzysztof Penderecki. The uncanny noises, registered at a subliminal level, unnerve us and keep us on tenterhooks, constantly expecting the unexpected. In effect, the anxiety felt becomes almost tangible.

But perhaps the most striking ingredient in Nakata's recipe for nightmare is Sadako herself – an upgraded version of supernatural malice compatible with the requirements of the new technological revolution. Sadako is a new variety of monster. Neither fully organic nor material she is but an electronic transmission, a matrix error, a flicker of light, pain and loneliness transformed into a video image flowing out of the screen in a flood of pixels and materialising into a solid body, as if taking substance from the terror she inspires. Spat out onto the floor in an epileptic spasm she remains nothing but a hint of monstrosity – an empty frame to be filled with our personal fears. A flicker of light, an electronic code, she remains emotionless though born in a surge of emotions, she remains indifferent, programmed to repeat the curse, cursed herself, just as she was when she was still alive.

In the world of multiple realities and excess of information Sadako remains an unrivalled figure of fear. So effective that even her imitators can bask in her well-deserved glory. The scary, hairy, epileptic ghost-women from such films like Ju-On (2003), Pon / Phone (2002), Kairo (2001), or Gawi/Nightmare (2000) are guaranteed to send shivers down your spine if not send you screaming at the top of your voice. All in all, you can be sure of one thing – confrontation with Sadako is such a wonderfully unpleasant experience that the next time you bump into a woman with messed-up hair you'll buy her a hairbrush right away.
KYASHI

Last Updated: 15 October, 2008