Frolic in brine, goblins be thine
There are some movies which render me territorial. Not quite to the point where I'd wee on the film to prove it was mine, but I might give serious consideration to wee-ing on the person trying to take it away from me. Like a band or a song or a place or a person, there are some things so precious that you can't bear the idea of anyone else appreciating it, let alone touching it or deluding themselves that they have any right to even notice it at all.
Or maybe it's just me.
Either way, there are some movies that no matter how much you love them, I love them more. And I love them in that special way that makes it perfectly sensible to strap them down and hobble them so they will stay mine forever.
This is a story about RINGU.
There will be no mention of penguins in this story, so if you think I said Pingu you will be confused.
I go to a film festival in Montreal every summer and it used to take place at a grand old cinema called The Imperial, which was all chipped ormulu fandanglings and sticky red carpet. I loved that place. You couldn't really sit down too quickly as the rusty nails sticking up through the arm-rests would lacerate you, but it was a great cinema.
The very first year I went there, I arrived after 39 hours in transit and found my own way to the movie theatre. There I was told that my driver wouldn't be around for a couple hours, so why didn't I just store my luggage in the office, go watch a film and I would be taken to my B&B afterwards? That sounded like a plan to me, so I dumped my bags and headed into the auditorium as the lights were going down, found a seat and watched as.....
....I watched as the equivalent of punk happened to my movie life.
Again, spoilers follow, so if you have only seen the mince remake, read on, cos you don't deserve to see the original, and if you haven't seen either, please go watch the original immediately :)
I'd never seen an Asian horror movie before and although they are now so commonplace as to have become frustratingly familiar, RINGU left me breathless.
The story of a young psychic woman whose daughter Sadako's powers outstrip her mother's, are both victims of fear and violence from their community and husband/father/mentor. Wife disposed of, Sadako's father clubs his daughter over the back of the head and tips her recumbant corpse down a well. We assume she's dead, but one of the genuinely upsetting truths exposed towards the end of the movie is that she was alive in the well for years and years.
Sadako is about as abused as a person can be. Not only that, but she's vengeful and powerful. Her vengeance reaches beyond her brick confines and her anger forms images on a videotape that, once watched, gives the viewer seven days to live. And how do you avoid death? You sacrifice one close to you, by ensuring that they watch the tape, of their own volition, thereby transferring the curse.
I watched this film unwind. With peaks of action in the beginning and end, it plateau's in the middle, leaving you unprepared for Sadako's physical assault on the world. Not since Poltergeist has a movie made me sit further away from the TV.
Jet-lagged, exhausted, hungry and tired, I was in no fit state for what this movie threw at me. I would have walked away, happy to admit I was too scared to stay, but that would have meant getting up in a dark cinema, and I already felt exposed and vulnerable.
Film over, 1000 shocked film fans stumbled into the welcome foyer light and although there was palpable enthusiasm for the movie, there was something else going on. People seemed stunned. It's rare to see any movie have that kind of effect on so many people, but as they all drifted off into the night, it was impossible to shake the dread that settled inside me, accompanying images I was trying to let go, but that seemed in no great hurry to leave.
My driver appeared and took me off to my B&B. And here's where it got interesting. The house was up a flight of a dozen open-backed creaky wooden steps from the pavement, looming under a nearly-full moon like Bates Motel. I had my foot on the second step when my ride roared off into the night. Abandoned on a too-quiet suburban street, scared shitless by the best horror movie I'd seen in years, I was not a happy bunny.
Still, I made it to the porch, retrieved the key that had been left for me and stepped inside. No lights, but another wooden staircase. I went up and faced a short corridor with three doors. The note said mine was at the end. Of course it was. I opened the door and in the middle of the dark room stood a huge bed with wrought iron head and foot boards. A lace cover trailed all the way to the floor on all sides, a massive ceiling fan hung lifeless above it, and the lace curtains over the window threw odd shapes on the far wall.
I needed light. And company. And a big stick and a stiff drink.
I felt the wall around the door but no light switch. Then I realised I was avoiding getting anywhere near the bed so I did the sensible thing and checked under it. No monsters, although at that point a monster I recognised would have been a blessing - what I feared most was long dark hair, long white robes and a temper that stretched from the most violated corners of hell.
I still needed light.
I carried on feeling all around the wall in case the switch was somewhere stupid, but still no luck. My eyes still weren't adjusting to the dark, and I was exhausted so I put my bag on the armchair, pulled my shoes off and climed onto the bed.
The room was sweltering (Montreal summers are super hot) and a smart bit of my brain remembered the ceiling fan and I was happy to see a string hanging down from it. I pulled the string and the light came on. I screamed, very loudly, because in my sweep of the room I hadn't noticed the mirror opposite the bed, and so on seeing long dark hair and a white shirt in the very sudden light, I nearly died.
Part of me is really very glad that a movie can do that to me, and it's a big part of the reason why I was so disappointed at the remake, but that's another story entirely.
Although I initially hated Ring 2, when watched with the original they make for three of the best hours any horror fan can hope for, and although the prequel, Ring 0, is mince, the last 10 minutes of it are cack-yer-pants scary and the film is tolerable just for those.
Go on, find someone who doesn't know them and break part of their mind they didn't realise they had :)
Or maybe it's just me.
Either way, there are some movies that no matter how much you love them, I love them more. And I love them in that special way that makes it perfectly sensible to strap them down and hobble them so they will stay mine forever.
This is a story about RINGU.
There will be no mention of penguins in this story, so if you think I said Pingu you will be confused.
I go to a film festival in Montreal every summer and it used to take place at a grand old cinema called The Imperial, which was all chipped ormulu fandanglings and sticky red carpet. I loved that place. You couldn't really sit down too quickly as the rusty nails sticking up through the arm-rests would lacerate you, but it was a great cinema.
The very first year I went there, I arrived after 39 hours in transit and found my own way to the movie theatre. There I was told that my driver wouldn't be around for a couple hours, so why didn't I just store my luggage in the office, go watch a film and I would be taken to my B&B afterwards? That sounded like a plan to me, so I dumped my bags and headed into the auditorium as the lights were going down, found a seat and watched as.....
....I watched as the equivalent of punk happened to my movie life.
Again, spoilers follow, so if you have only seen the mince remake, read on, cos you don't deserve to see the original, and if you haven't seen either, please go watch the original immediately :)
I'd never seen an Asian horror movie before and although they are now so commonplace as to have become frustratingly familiar, RINGU left me breathless.
The story of a young psychic woman whose daughter Sadako's powers outstrip her mother's, are both victims of fear and violence from their community and husband/father/mentor. Wife disposed of, Sadako's father clubs his daughter over the back of the head and tips her recumbant corpse down a well. We assume she's dead, but one of the genuinely upsetting truths exposed towards the end of the movie is that she was alive in the well for years and years.
Sadako is about as abused as a person can be. Not only that, but she's vengeful and powerful. Her vengeance reaches beyond her brick confines and her anger forms images on a videotape that, once watched, gives the viewer seven days to live. And how do you avoid death? You sacrifice one close to you, by ensuring that they watch the tape, of their own volition, thereby transferring the curse.
I watched this film unwind. With peaks of action in the beginning and end, it plateau's in the middle, leaving you unprepared for Sadako's physical assault on the world. Not since Poltergeist has a movie made me sit further away from the TV.
Jet-lagged, exhausted, hungry and tired, I was in no fit state for what this movie threw at me. I would have walked away, happy to admit I was too scared to stay, but that would have meant getting up in a dark cinema, and I already felt exposed and vulnerable.
Film over, 1000 shocked film fans stumbled into the welcome foyer light and although there was palpable enthusiasm for the movie, there was something else going on. People seemed stunned. It's rare to see any movie have that kind of effect on so many people, but as they all drifted off into the night, it was impossible to shake the dread that settled inside me, accompanying images I was trying to let go, but that seemed in no great hurry to leave.
My driver appeared and took me off to my B&B. And here's where it got interesting. The house was up a flight of a dozen open-backed creaky wooden steps from the pavement, looming under a nearly-full moon like Bates Motel. I had my foot on the second step when my ride roared off into the night. Abandoned on a too-quiet suburban street, scared shitless by the best horror movie I'd seen in years, I was not a happy bunny.
Still, I made it to the porch, retrieved the key that had been left for me and stepped inside. No lights, but another wooden staircase. I went up and faced a short corridor with three doors. The note said mine was at the end. Of course it was. I opened the door and in the middle of the dark room stood a huge bed with wrought iron head and foot boards. A lace cover trailed all the way to the floor on all sides, a massive ceiling fan hung lifeless above it, and the lace curtains over the window threw odd shapes on the far wall.
I needed light. And company. And a big stick and a stiff drink.
I felt the wall around the door but no light switch. Then I realised I was avoiding getting anywhere near the bed so I did the sensible thing and checked under it. No monsters, although at that point a monster I recognised would have been a blessing - what I feared most was long dark hair, long white robes and a temper that stretched from the most violated corners of hell.
I still needed light.
I carried on feeling all around the wall in case the switch was somewhere stupid, but still no luck. My eyes still weren't adjusting to the dark, and I was exhausted so I put my bag on the armchair, pulled my shoes off and climed onto the bed.
The room was sweltering (Montreal summers are super hot) and a smart bit of my brain remembered the ceiling fan and I was happy to see a string hanging down from it. I pulled the string and the light came on. I screamed, very loudly, because in my sweep of the room I hadn't noticed the mirror opposite the bed, and so on seeing long dark hair and a white shirt in the very sudden light, I nearly died.
Part of me is really very glad that a movie can do that to me, and it's a big part of the reason why I was so disappointed at the remake, but that's another story entirely.
Although I initially hated Ring 2, when watched with the original they make for three of the best hours any horror fan can hope for, and although the prequel, Ring 0, is mince, the last 10 minutes of it are cack-yer-pants scary and the film is tolerable just for those.
Go on, find someone who doesn't know them and break part of their mind they didn't realise they had :)
posted by Adele at 2:30 PM
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