The Screengrab : the ring

Screengrab Review: "Tokyo Sonata"

Phil Nugent — Fri, 13 Mar 2009 15:00:00 GMT

While geek show operators like Takashi Miike continue to dominate articles about "new, exciting" Japanese cinema, the writer-director Kiyoshi Kurosawa has spent the past ten or twelve years quietly building a strong, surprising body of work that adds up to an ongoing portrait of a society cracking under unbelievable stress--stress so great that people who've never let themselves express a rude sentiment before snap and turn violent, and the line between our world and that of the departed spirits fizzles and melts away. Like Miike, Kurosawa is a provocateur, but while Miike gets your attention with weird concepts and bloody shocks, Kurosawa unsettles you with long, contemplative takes that get under your skin and shake up your nervous system. He was originally tagged as one of the "J-Horror" specialists, but there's a reason that his scariest movies, such as Cure (1997) and 2001'a Pulse (which was calamitously remade by Hollywood a few years ago), haven't inspired English-language franchises like the Ring and Grudge pictures. They're the product of a highly individual sensibility and way of looking at the world, and they don't make a lot of sense without Kurosawa's unifying style, which gives them the ineffable logical plausibility of a bad dream. Sometimes, as with Charisma, starring Kurosawa's favorite leading man, Koji Yakusho, as a big city detective who flees to the country and gets involved in local warfare over what may be a haunted tree, they don't even make sense with Kurosawa at the helm, and his daring conceptions and mix of good and bad ideas hit the wall with a splat. But at his best, he can justify a familiar rationalization sometimes offered by horror fans about much lesser artists--what may seem confusing or illogical about his movies makes them that much more frightening. His new Tokyo Sonata is being touted as a change of pace for the director, because it doesn't feature ghosts or serial murderers. Instead, it achieves the same kind of magnetic tension as Kurosawa's earlier movies, but here they're inspired by such everyday elements as uneasiness about economic stability, social class, and a family's lapses of faith in each other. If you think that makes it less scary, more power to you.

The movie begins with Ryuhei (Teruyuki Kagawa), a middle-aged salaryman with a wife and two sons, being kicked to the curb by his company. He is too ashamed to share this development with the family--no great moment in decision-making on his part, because he barely communicates with them at all anyway, aside from the occasional expression of disapproval at his younger son's interest in music. Kagawa continues to dress for work everyday and go out to prowl the streets, eventually hooking up with another secretly laid-off businessman who has his cell phone set to ring at regular intervals so that he can still keep up an appearance of being overworked. (His new friend eventually brings him home for dinner and introduces him to his wife as a guy from the office.) Ryuhei seems to be part of a whole subculture of unemployed men who are continuing to go through the motions that they think are all that can give their lives meaning, and it' not untypical of Kurosawa that, as soon as he has you convinced that there might be able to spend the movie exploring this world, he veers off and gets involved in the other members of Ryuhei's family, each of whom has reasons for seeing this colorless, desperate wretch as some kind of domestic tyrant and who need to break away themselves.

Tokyo Sonata grows crazier as it goes along, especially when Koji Yakusho arrives, wild-haired and red-eyed, as a burglar who carjacks Ryuhei's wife Megumi (Kyoko Koizumi) as part of a long sequence in which both parents and their child, Kenji (Kai Inowaki), all stay out all night and experience some sort of epiphany before returning home for breakfast. (Kurosawa seems to lose track of the teenage son, played by Yu Koyangi, who announces that he's heading off to fight in Iraq and checks back in just long enough to confess that this wasn't such a hot idea.) For a while, I thought the movie might go the way of Charisma, but Kurosawa manages to hold things together so that the movie is still on the rails when it reaches the finale, in which the family comes together to share in the celebration as Kenji, who's been taking piano lessons behind his father's back, gives a public demonstration of what he's learned. It's a great scene, and a hopeful one--and, as a sign of the director confidently extending his range, a reason to be optimistic about Kurosawa's future.

Related: Precursors: Time Out (2001)

Unwatchable #56: “Araf” (aka “The Abortion”)

Scott Von Doviak — Thu, 22 Jan 2009 20:30:00 GMT

Our fearless – and quite possibly senseless – movie janitor is watching every movie on the IMDb Bottom 100 list. Join us now for another installment of Unwatchable.

Turkish cinema is yet another hole in my film studies education. (Yeah, I actually have a degree in this stuff. No one has ever asked to see it.) I’ve seen clips of the Turkish Wizard of Oz and Turkish Batman and the like, but I have a feeling those are not representative examples of the current state of Istanbullywood. (I just made that up. At least I thought I did until I googled it and got seven hits.)

That being the case, I can’t really tell you where Araf (known in this country by the cheery title The Abortion) ranks on the spectrum of Turkish filmmaking. To my eyes, it looks like a very low-budget movie with a threadbare story, subpar acting and unimpressive special effects, but for all I know this is a top-of-the-line product in its country of origin. I would like to think not, and if the IMDb commenters claiming to be from Turkey are to be believed, I would be justified in thinking not. “Listen. I do not like to criticize my own country's movies for we are in the birthing pains of a stable film industry, but what the hell, this movie is horrific,” one earnestly proclaims. I feel his pain.

Araf tells the depressing tale of Eda (Akasya Asiltürkmen, who you will of course remember as the star of the TV series Felek ne demek), a dance student who learns too late that she is pregnant by her secret lover. Unable to have a legal abortion (a 1983 law made the procedure legal in Turkey during the first 10 weeks of pregnancy, or later if the mother’s health is at risk), Eda submits to the back-alley variety. Three years later she is married to stalwart Cenk (Murat Yildirim) and expecting their child but alas, she suffers a miscarriage. At about this time she begins hallucinating (or is she?) that her aborted child is now a creepy little girl straight out of a J-horror movie.

This could be a scary scenario (or just an offensive one if you choose to read Araf as an anti-abortion screed), but the video effects are so poorly rendered, it just looks like a junior high AV club's remake of The Ring. There’s nowhere near enough story to sustain a 92-minute running time, so director Biray Dalkiran pads out the proceedings with extended shots of characters walking to their cars, getting in the cars, pulling out of their driveways, driving, pulling into driveways, getting out of their cars, walking up to doors, walking up long flights of stairs…I think you’ve got the picture.

Given my limited knowledge of the Turkish language, I can’t vouch for the quality of the English subtitles, so I don’t know who to credit with some nearly Ed Wood-ian dialogue, as in a scene in which Eda consults a shrink. “We cannot live free of space,” he tells her. “Space is our irrevocable past.” Yes. Yes it is.

Previously on Unwatchable:
57. Phat Girlz
58. Ed
59. Don’t Go in the Woods…Alone!
60. Carry On Columbus
61. Yu-Gi-Oh! The Movie

Screengrab Presents: The 25 Greatest Horror Films of All Time (Part Three)

Andrew Osborne — Thu, 30 Oct 2008 21:00:00 GMT

15. THE BLAIR WITCH PROJECT (1999)

Yes, I know you never actually see the witch. Yes, my wife and my father and countless other people got motion sickness from all the whip-pan video camera shots, and many others felt ripped off when the scariest thing in the much-hyped “new horror classic” was a bundle of sticks. And, true, the sequel was a jaw-dropping fiasco. And yet, I defend The Blair Witch Project on many levels. First, it did its job and creeped the bejesus outta me. Now, maybe that’s because I grew up (and later got stoned) in the dark woods of New England, where we used to actually burn witches, and so I’m the ideal audience for a flick about the paranoid possibilities of a forest at night. I also saw the movie on the big screen, after watching the brilliant small screen promotional faux-documentary Curse of the Blair Witch, so I was up-to-speed on all the Elly Kedward/Rustin Parr mythology and ready to be seduced by the film's tone of ominous forboding (rather than waiting to be impressed by gory special effects or whatever the haters didn’t find in the film). Plus, directors Daniel Myrick and Eduardo Sánchez turned a $22,000 budget into a $200 million dollar indie smash and then disappeared without a trace, kinda like the actors from the movie...so maybe there really is a curse.

14. CARRIE (1976)

Brian De Palma's purest and best horror movie is also the most potent of the horror genre's many essays on just how close high school is to hell on Earth. Sissy Spacek, at 26, turns in a phenomenal performance as the outcast who has to contend with mean girls at school and a mean mother of a Jesus freak (Piper Laurie) at home. Given the chance to shine for the first time in her life, she winds up onstage dripping with pig's blood in front of her jeering adolescent tormentors, who don't know that she's telekinetic and is about to stick the local tacky-jewelry manufacturer with a whole lot of unclaimed class ring. If you can watch the ensuing carnage without rooting for her, you must have been a cheerleader.

13. AUDITION (1999)

Ringu, a.k.a. The Ring, kicked off an American hunger for the weird eyes and dark, stringy hair of the ghosts of Japanese horror, but even more scary than a ghoul that crawls out of your TV set (a highly frightening but fairly uncommon occurrence) is an actual living woman who wants to do terrible, terrible things to you with needles. Sure, Sadako’s victims in The Ring may have a bad week and die, but the victims of shy, pretty, bat-shit crazy Asami Yamazaki (Eihi Shiina) wind up with no feet or tongue in a burlap sack for a much longer time. And then die. What makes the film even more disturbing is that it starts out like a carefree romantic comedy, until suddenly...not so much, kinda like Sleepless In Seattle with torture.

12. THE EVIL DEAD (1981)

Shot in the woods of Tennessee over the course of almost a year and half on a budget of less than $400,000, and slowly released to the public over an even longer span of time, Sam Raimi's gore-drenched take on the lost-out-here-in-the-middle-of-nowhere-with-weird-shit-going-on genre looks like the work of some enthusiastic kids who'd stayed up late watching junk like Equinox on TV and went a little crazy making their own home-movie version of it -- except that these kids had talent, as well as the rare determination to see their little art therapy project/get rich quick scheme through to the end. Some connoisseurs see this early, primitive effort as just a stepping-stone to the slapstick wonders of the openly parodic Evil Dead II, but the raw energy of this thing, which is often funny and just as often genuinely scary, is a testament to how well primitivism can work in the horror genre.

11. INVASION OF THE BODY SNATCHERS (1978)

Jack Finney’s classic novel of (literal) social alienation was first brought to the screen in 1956, and since then it’s been officially remade three times (not counting rip-offs and “homages"). And, while the original Don Siegel adaptation has its rightful defenders, I’ve always been partial to the 1978 version starring Jeff Goldblum, Brooke Adams, Veronica Cartwright, Leonard Nimoy and, of course, the incomparable Donald Sutherland. Naturally, I’m biased: I saw this version on the big screen at an impressionable age, and it was the first movie I’d ever experienced where the good guys didn’t win...making me wonder if I could really trust the other people in the theater with me (or even my parents) and giving me an early taste of the existential angst I would become a lot more familiar with in my adolescent and adult life. Best of all, the movie inspired a game in my neighborhood where one pod person would go around infecting everyone else until there was only one “human” left. Trust me, you don’t know terror until you’re the last survivor on your street, waiting for the end as a dozen weirdly screaming pre-teen aliens slowly surround your hiding place.

Click Here For Part One, Two, Four, Five, Six & Seven

Contributors: Andrew Unborn; The Vengeful Ghost of Phil Nugent

Screengrab Salutes: The Top 25 Leading Ladies of All Time (Part One)

Andrew Osborne — Thu, 16 Oct 2008 20:00:00 GMT

According to the famous quote, Ginger Rogers did everything Fred Astaire did, only backwards and in high heels.

Sadly, Ms. Rogers didn’t make our Top 25 list, but the sentiment holds true for the Leading Ladies who did: after all, like the actors in our recent posting of The Top 25 Leading Men of All Time, the following matinee idols managed to fascinate and captivate over the course of varied careers with astonishing on-screen performances (and off-screen personas)...yet they also achieved their success in a notoriously sexist, looks-obsessed business with a tendency to relegate women to underimagined wife and girlfriend parts...

...or, to quote Goldie Hawn’s actress character in The First Wives’ Club, there are usually three stages to a woman’s Hollywood career: "Ingénue, district attorney, and Driving Miss Daisy.”

But not always, thankfully, as we here at the Screengrab hereby celebrate with our salute to 25 celluloid dames (some of them actual Dames) who defined and redefined our notions of film and femininity...backwards, forwards, up and down, in high heels, cowboy boots and everything in between.

25. NAOMI WATTS (1968 - )

Oh yes, Ms. Watts absolutely kills in the above scene from Mulholland Dr. But she has had a bit of a quality-control problem since, appearing in The Ring and its sequel, 21 Grams, Stay, King Kong, and the unnecessary remake of Funny Games. All of these movies seem risky and high-concept in the abstract, but all of them hedge their bets in some way and fail to deliver on their promise. They’re good enough for what they are, but none of them reach the greatness they suggest. Naomi Watts, however, completely throws herself into her roles. You can see the movie that could have been when she’s on-screen...if you can see anything but her, that is.

24. (TIE) JULIA ROBERTS (1967 - ) & JESSICA LANGE (1949 - )

In The Player, Robert Altman’s poison pen love letter to Hollywood, there’s a running gag about Julia Roberts: every producer pitches every project with her in mind, and even the integrity-bound screenwriter who vows that his “serious” indie film will feature “no stars” eventually gives in, leading to a charmingly self-deprecating film-within-a-film cameo by, yes, Julia Roberts. And though her wattage may have dimmed in recent years (along with the general star power of human actors versus, say, Chihuahuas and Decepticons), she’s still the current reigning champ of modern female movie stars in terms of her career Trifecta of salary (the first female star to crack the $20 million mark), box office clout (over $2 billion + international star power) and industry respect (with multiple awards, nominations and a Best Actress Oscar for her dynamo performance as the titular (get it?) legal clerk of Erin Brockovich). It hasn’t all been hosannas, of course: for all her fame, Roberts hasn’t really given that many memorable performances, and her star turns can range from somnambulant snoozers (The Pelican Brief, Mary Reilly) and romantic comedy fluff (Runaway Bride) to inexplicable appearances in unmitigated disasters like The Mexican and Mona Lisa Smile. But when she’s in the zone, her charisma and presence are formidable: many who loathed Pretty Woman on principle were nevertheless charmed (against their will!) by Roberts’ hooker with a heart of Amex gold, and when she lets herself be likably unlikable (as in her bittersweet chocolate romantic comedies Notting Hill and My Best Friend’s Wedding), she hints at a largely untapped range that may yet blossom in the second half of her already impressive career.

Lange made her movie debut in the 1976 King Kong remake. An actual look at the footage reveals that she was perfectly charming as a sweet but not-too-bright piece of fluff with vague aspirations to stardom, but the movie was used as a piñata by critics, and many of them went so far as to suggest that if Lange was convincing as a dumb blonde, that must mean that she wasn't acting. Badly burned, she didn't appear in another movie until Bob Fosse cast her as some kind of Wilhelmina Agency Angel of Death in 1979's All That Jazz. Her performance there was more kindly treated -- call it the lowered expectations, or Sarah Palin effect -- but it wasn't until she paired off against Jack Nicholson with an unexpectedly fiery performance in 1981's The Postman Always Rings Twice that people began to suspect that they just might have a live one. She followed that up in 1982 with a classic romantic-comedy lead in Tootsie and a performance as the doomed movie actress Frances Farmer (in Frances) that snapped a few necks. Her best work since then has include her performance as Patsy Cline in Sweet Dreams, her end-of-the-sisterhood trio in Crimes of the Heart, and her troubled, trouble-making military wife in Tony Richardson's Blue Sky, for which she won an Academy Award. (Sadly, the movie, which was completed in 1991, got caught up in the bankruptcy of its funding studio, Orion, and didn't make it to theaters until 1994, by which time Richardson had died.) Little that she has done since that has been especially worthy of her, though she has appeared onstage in London and on Broadway in Long Day's Journey Into Night and The Glass Menagerie. She is currently set to play the ruined society matriarch "Big Edie" Bouvier Beale (with Drew Barrymore as Little Edie) in a movie based on the Maysles brothers documentary Grey Gardens.

23. (TIE) SISSY SPACEK (1949 - ) & JANE FONDA (1937 - )

Sissy Spacek was the amoral girl-on-the-cusp-of-womanhood in three of the defining films of the '70s: Badlands, Carrie, and 3 Women (yeah, you read that right: I said 3 Women was a defining film of the '70s). She could have quit after that, but she moved on to playing maternal figures in the movies. Her eyes look different now. She’s lost the shock that made her seem so delicate and young and precious back then, but that shock was always hiding something else, something weirder and harder to define. Her only recent movie where she's recaptured the shade of her younger self was The Straight Story, in which she played a woman who was a little slow. The Straight Story is also one of the very few movies she’s made that’s worth a damn since 1977, so go figure.

Fonda's offscreen reputation as a Vietnam-era leftist political scold has largely overshadowed her legacy as an actress. If there's any justice in this, it has less to do with her right to express her opinions, however embarrassingly, in what passes for her private life, than with her misguided decision to waste what might have been her peak years as an artist on half-baked scripts that she seemed to select on the basis of whatever political message they seemed to be editorializing, whether it was the legacy of Vietnam or nuclear power or women's rights in the workplace. In the 1980s, she didn't seem to know what to do with herself, and she basically retired after an unpleasant run-in with Vietnam vets who picketed the set of the awful Stanley & Iris, in which she taught Robert De Niro to read. But if there was only a short window of time in which Fonda was an actress first and at the top of her game, what she did during that time would still qualify her for any Mount Rushmore of American movie actresses. She spent most of her first ten years in movies establishing herself as an exceptionally saucy, cuddly comic actress: she's a hoot, and a turn-on, even in Barabarella, one of the ugliest-looking rip-off jobs that a pretentious French twat ever talked his trusting American wife into starring in. When her tobacco-road inflection on the line "Essence of man?" and the scene where she shorts out the orgasm machine failed to give Henry Fonda a fatal heart attack, she went about any daughter's life's work another way, becoming "radicalized" offscreen while pouring all that angry, room-clearing energy into starring roles in They Shoot Horses, Don't They? and Klute, two of the least sentimental, most hard-edged, beautifully detailed portraits of doomed women of the New Hollywood era (or anytime). Her Bree Daniels in Klute, the New York prostitute who has total control over her clients and zero control of anything else in her life, remains one of the most perfectly executed and daring star performances in movies.

22. JOAN CRAWFORD (1905-1977)

It’s a testament to the sheer power of Joan Crawford’s personality that the mere act of portraying her can wreck a career: Faye Dunaway, once one of Hollywood’s most promising stars, took on the job in the infamous Mommie Dearest, and she was never the same again. It’s a cliché to say that some famous person is less a human being and more a force of nature, but it’s a cliché that was invented with Joan Crawford in mind: once a drifting youngster who only wanted to be a dancer, she got her hooks into Hollywood at a young age (becoming famous as a flapper even before the sound era made her a superstar), and she never let go for a second. In everything from acting to dancing to business to parenthood to sitting on the board of directors of Pepsi-Cola, Crawford insisted on running the game her way, and woe betide anyone who crossed her. For such a stunning screen presence – named by the AFI as the greatest female star of all time! – Crawford wasn’t the best there was at anything. She was an above-average dancer, but not a great one; she had a unique look – all flashing eyes and floating hair – but she wasn’t one of the screen’s greatest beauties; and she could put in some fine performances (witness Mildred Pierce and Strange Cargo for proof), but she was an unreliable box office draw and never one of the greatest actresses of her day. Indeed, as with her doppelganger Bette Davis, she’s often treasured as much for her bad performances, like Sudden Fear, as for her good ones. But there is probably no one in Hollywood history, male or female, who was so commanding, so arresting, so utterly implacable when she was onscreen: Joan Crawford had more presence than anyone who had come before or has been seen since, and if she wasn’t going to take over the world with her acting, then goddamn it, she at least was not going to be ignored.

21. JULIE CHRISTIE (1948 - )

Julie Christie! The rumors are true! Wait, no. Terry met Julie at Waterloo Station every Friday night. Hold it, she wasn’t just the subject of rock songs? Julie Christie could actually act? Yowza. Actually, even if the only movie she'd ever made was McCabe and Mrs. Miller, Julie Christie would still be one of my favorite actresses. But she’s always great, even when the movie isn’t. And despite the openness in her face (not to mention that incredible perpetual pout), she always brings a sense of mystery and intelligence to her roles, giving them a fully rounded life, though we sometimes only see a snippet.

Click Here for Part Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven & Eight

Contributors: Hayden Childs, Andrew Osborne, Phil Nugent, Leonard Pierce

OST: "Batman Begins"

Leonard Pierce — Tue, 22 Jul 2008 21:00:00 GMT

The Dark Knight is currently smashing box office records with the same alacrity that the Joker makes a pencil disappear, and as with the first Christopher Nolan Batman movie, its soundtrack is provided by two veteran industry hands in the person of James Newton Howard and Hans Zimmer. While it seems like this time around, their work was heavily influenced by the seething, screeching, atonal score that Jonny Greenwood wrote for There Will Be Blood, it's still highly reminiscent of the work they did for Batman Begins.

The two had their work cut out for them when they accepted the assignment from Warner Brothers to score the rebooting of the Batman franchise. DC Comics' famed vigilante already had a number of memorable pieces of music associated with him: from the jaunty, swinging theme song to the campy '60s TV show composed by jazz veteran Neal Hefti to the brooding, chaotic main theme written by Danny Elfman for the first Tim Burton Batman (which later became the theme music for the celebrated Batman animated series), and even Johann Strauss's operetta Die Fledermaus have been associated with the hero in the past. Their goal when putting together a new score for Nolan's reboot of the franchise was to create something that conjured the proper tone of darkness and struggle without too obviously drawing on what had come before. Howard, whose previous work has included The Prince of Tides and The Sixth Sense, took charge of the main theme and the loftier passages, while Zimmer, the German-born composer who created the eerie score for The Ring as well as the memorable soundtrack to Terrence Malick's The Thin Red Line, worked on the incidental music and quieter, more sinister passages. It was imperative that they create something that enhanced the brooding, bleak tone of Batman Begins while never threatening to overwhelm the action on screen or make the psychological development of the characters too obvious.

Happily -- if you can use that word to apply to something so grim-sounding -- they were successful. The soundtrack, while it lacks any songs as immediately catchy as Hefti's famous Batman theme or as universally recognizable as Elfman's, perfectly captures the tone and feel of the Christopher Nolan vision of Batman. The tracks (all of which are cleverly named for various species of bats) exactly invoke the right move, from the slow, magisterial main theme to the ponderous, somber music that accompanies the destruction of Wayne Manor to the mesmerizing, atonal shrieks that go along with the first attacks by the hideous Scarecrow. It's not quite strong enough to stand entirely on its own, except perhaps as mood music for a Halloween party, but it's still a terrific piece of scoring that illustrates the right way to make music and image mesh.

BEST TRACKS: "Verspertilio", the song that opens the film and the movie, shows how the main theme to a Batman film doesn't necessarily need to be bombastic or hummable to work well. "Molossus", which is the music by which the villainous Scarecrow terrifies his subjects, is both fitting and instantly recognizable thanks to its out-of-control slithering strings. And the climactic battle scene is accompanied by "Corynorhinus", which adeptly combines Howard's trademarked heavy, echo-laden piano chords and Zimmer's crushing percussion and taste for non-western tonal dynamics.

Related Posts:

OST: Enter the Dragon

OST: Repo Man

OST: Run Lola Run

Tartan Fades To Black

Leonard Pierce — Tue, 08 Jul 2008 14:55:00 GMT

One of the oldest and most respected independent distribution houses in the United Kingdom, Tartan Films, is taking down its shutter. Plagued by financial difficulties and distribution concerns, Tartan has closed down its offices, dismantled its American arm (Tartan Video USA), released all of its employees, and begun the process of selling off its highly respectable catalogue to other distributors. In recent years, Tartan had been best known for its "Asia Extreme" series, which brought movies like Oldboy and the original Japanese version of The Ring to the West, but the catalog of the 26-year-old company included everything from Bergman's Wild Strawberries to The Death of Mr. Lazarescu.

According to Screen Daily, other distributors are rushing to snatch up some of the prestige titles in Tartan's collection (handled currently in the U.S. by Palisades Media); elsewhere, Time Out takes time out to remember some of Tartan's finest releases (ranging from Jodorowsky's El Topo to Verhoeven's The Fourth Man). Although the company had been in dire financial straits for some time, no particular reason has been given by company founder Hamish McAlpine as to why Tartan went out of business so quickly (Geoffrey Macnab speculates in the Guardian, and lays some blame at the foot of McAlpine's desire to produce films himself; his first major effort was the disastrous English-language remake of Michael Haneke's Funny Games). This has no doubt got other indie distributors, especially in the U.K., wondering: who's next?

Attack of the Half-Assed Hollywood Remakes of Asian Horror Movies

Phil Nugent — Mon, 28 Jan 2008 21:00:00 GMT

With the new Hollywood remake of the Pang brothers' The Eye arriving in theaters this coming Friday — and with the new Hollywood remake of Takashi Miike's One Missed Call hustling out to make room for it — Terrence Rafferty ponders this thing called the glut of American remakes of recent Asian horror pictures. (Not everything gets a pithy term around here.) The success of Gore Verbinski's The Ring (based on the Japanese film Ringu, and Takashi Shimizu’s The Grudge, the director's English-language remake of his own Ju-On, guaranteed that there will many more films of this kind, even though, whether taken individually or as a singular continental phenomenon, adapting Asian horror movies for the Hollywood assembly line is a precarious business. Not that there aren't worse ways to go about it: as Rafferty notes, back in "the Stone Age of exploitation-movie history, shrewd Hollywood producers would simply have done what they did with the Japanese monster movies of that era: chop them up, hastily dub them into English and — if the repackagers were feeling particularly frisky — shoot a few minutes of new footage with a minor, familiar and presumably desperate American actor. Say what you will about remakes, they seem, all in all, a better option than Raymond Burr in Godzilla."

What neither remaking or recutting can easily finesse is the special mood — a haunting, eerie gloominess that seems to link a familiarity with ghosts to a lack of faith in any long-term future on this earth — that permeates so many of the original films. When Takashi Shimizu agreed to go through the chore of making Ju-On again — a task that he must have found to be a congenial one, since he's also made sequels to both the Japanese and American versions and is about to bring forth The Grudge 3 — he was canny enough to have Sarah Michelle Gellar, Bill Pullman, Clea DuVall and William Mapother come to Japan, rather than risk trying to make the story's underpinnings take root in, say, Boston. (Rafferty singles out Dark Water starring Jennifer Connelly and directed by Walter Salles, as a rare example of an uprooted Asian ghost story that works rather well in its new setting — a damp, crumbling fortress of an apartment complex on Roosevelt Island.) Then there are the special idiosyncrasies of some of the filmmakers who have been drawn to this material. There has to be an easier way to make a living than trying to render a Takashi Miike screenplay clear and understandable to a mass audience — didn't it ever occur to Eric Valete, the director of the American version of One Missed Call, that he might be happier walking through open fields in Eastern Europe, to see if there were still active land mines in the area? Nor is there any need to translate the remarkable work of the Japanese director Kiyoshi Kurosawa, who is less a formulaic genre filmmaker than a nightmare poet (and a disciple of Val Lewton) working out his own fantasies of isolation and apocalyptic loneliness, into incoherent junk like the recent Pulse, with Kristen Bell.

As for The Eye, Rafferty detects "a half-detectable increase in optimism" in the new version, which means that the haunted quality that makes the original so hard to shake off may have been lost in translation: "That stranger-in-a-strange-land feeling might be induced by, say, the production values of the American version of The Eye, which, in their relative luxuriousness, suggest a happier, more hopeful view of the world than the starker sets of the Pang brothers do; or by the casting of sunny-looking Jessica Alba as the heroine, played in the original by the beautiful but grim-faced Lee Sin-je. The role is essentially the same: A young blind woman has her vision restored by cornea transplants and begins to see, along with the ordinary sights of everyday life, disturbing, unaccountable visions of shadowy afterlives. Ms. Alba looks unpleasantly surprised; Ms. Lee looks shaken to her core (though somehow less surprised)."