Posted by Jen
The first time I watched the movie, The Ring, I was not scared. I don’t know a single person who wasn’t affected by that movie in some way – covering their tvs with a blanket for a day, three days, a week; bouts of insomnia, being afraid to look in their closets in the chance they’d see Becky’s face from the beginning of the film. This is what makes this film a classic, the same status reserved for The Exorcist and Nightmare on Elm Street. It’s the kind of scary that keeps you up at night, makes your spine tingle, makes you afraid of being alone. I can’t even use a picture for this post because the movie bothers me so much.
The second time I watched The Ring was the first time a movie ever scared me (and it continues to do so). When Samara crawls out the tv and the screen turns to static, the tv I was watching it on suddenly turned off and enveloped me in darkness. I don’t know why, but we always feel safer when the sun is out. Have you ever seen a horror movie take during the day? It’s not scary.
Then, after the main character watches the video tape and the phone rings with Samara saying “Seven days,” the phone in my house rang. Coincidence? Yes, but I always attribute my fear to those two chance happenings. But it’s not true. There’s something about that movie that really gets to me. The movie itself plays out almost as a tragedy, with Samara being unloved and murdered by her adoptive mother. But there’s something more sinister at work there. She drives the horses crazy. Her mother starts having visions. She hides the remote – real evil stuff. And really, if she didn’t crawl out of the television, with one slimy, deteriorating arm sticking out, her nails broken and fingers swollen, that dress that used to be white but was tainted by murky water and evil thoughts, that black hair falling over her face like a mask, then the movie wouldn’t even be scary.
That little girl is a frequent character in my dreams. I can usually see her distinctly, with her soiled dress that used to be white, her long, black hair covering her slimy, corpse-like face and rotting skin. Every time I hear a noise in the house, I imagine it’s her. Whenever I go into the unfinished part of the basement, I can feel her eyes watching me. Whenever I’m home alone, she’s waiting for me down the hall. It’s a feeling I can never shake, and fills me with a constant dread of being home alone. I have never seen a scarier movie.