The Ring 2

And This Week's Award for Instantaneous Franchise Slaughter Goes To...

Those cool customers who partake on occasion of the golden nectar of the gods, booze, know that one of the unfortunate side effects of the life's elixir is drunk sex.  Usually unprotected because... who realizes anyway?... drunk sex is an exercise in futility, a nonstop pounding, trying and trying and trying and trying and falling asleep for a little while and waking up and trying and trying and trying to, let alone finish, just feel something.  In its worst cases the pounder usually gives up (the poundee having probably finished counting the holes in the ceiling tiles) after an hour or so and goes to sleep, waking up the next morning hung-over and confused as to why, after all his trying and trying and almost being there so many times, nothing, at all happened.

And so is the experience of watching this completely worthless turd of a horror film, a film about as horrific as a plastic bag blowing in the wind... and about an eighth as satisfying.

What a pile of s**t.

Samara can also appear almost anywhere, coming out of dead bodies, bathtubs, men's rooms (too bad she isn't older) and maybe even out of  your popcorn which hopefully hasn't been doctored for your little lady with the old hole-in-the-bottom trick.  There are now two different plains of existence that one can travel and battle Samara through and none of this would make any more sense if I tried to explain it in greater detail than what I've just given you.

Even when Sissy Spacek does a cameo as the rule giver.

Her rules don't make any damn sense either.

Straying desperately from it's Japanese original, relying solely on strange images with nothing to back them up for its scares, and asinine decisions on the part of the characters to create scenarios, the film fails on every single level, not only making it an awful horror movie but inalterably changing the mythology in a way that doesn't add up at all, sapping it of all power.

DVD

SOUNDTRACK (CD)

An example of stupidity of characters is this:  Naomi Watts (don't worry 21 Grams fans, the only thing this movie has going for it is that her fantastic nipples do make an appearance - covered, but an appearance nonetheless - toward the - thank merciful heavens - end of the movie) is no longer, as this is the sequel, in the position to deny the existence of ghosts.  She knows Samara's real.  And yet, fantastic mother that she is, FOUR times she leaves her annoying little bastard of a 10 year old son alone "to take care of something".  And, of course, every damn time, Samara gets him!  OF COURSE.  I can't feel sorrow or terror for these people... they f**king deserve whatever they stumble into.  Even if it is a possessed bunch of ten point bucks for no damn reason.

I could go on and on about the amount of times nothing happened as the movie tried pounding and pounding on, or the severely low body count, or the retarded, frozen, stroke-victim like poses of the corpses or the fact that nothing mattered at all for one moment, but I won't.

If you like The Ring, don't bother with this garbage.  If you didn't like The Ring, don't bother with this garbage.  Either way you'll be better served, going out to your local bar, getting hammered, and attempting to finish getting laid.  Even if it doesn't work, it'll still be infinitely more satisfying.

Picture Gallery

Back to Top