Few things are as disappointing as revisiting a saga that once left a mark on you, only to find that nothing remains of what made it special. Rings tries to bring back the myth of Samara by adapting it to today’s codes, but the result is a film that never truly finds its own identity. The fear that permeated The Ring here dissolves into predictable jump scares, forced twists, and characters who seem to move out of obligation rather than logic or instinct. The script wavers between repeating worn-out formulas and adding “new” ideas that, far from enriching the story, make it confused and disjointed. There’s no leading role with the dramatic weight Naomi Watts brought to the original, and the threat of the cursed tape loses its edge by being wrapped in a teen package that lacks real tension. Visually, the film delivers without impressing: dark photography, a closed-in atmosphere… but everything feels too calculated, without the genuine discomfort a story like this needs. The suspense is weak, and the few scenes that aim to shock stand alone, without a build-up to support them. Perhaps the most frustrating thing is that Rings fails to justify its existence. It adds nothing new to the universe it borrows from and, in its attempt to “modernize” the tale, forgets what made it a phenomenon: that creeping sense of imminent terror that stayed with you long after turning off the TV. Here, the only thing that lingers at the end is indifference.