In 2002, Gore Verbinski's American remake of The Japanese horror hit Ringu unnerved me. Today, it's easy to imagine current and future newcomers being less creeped out by the ghost girl emerging from a well than the archaic, analog technology that summons her--especially following a half-decade of J-horror imitators (some good, some garbage). Made on the cusp of a seismic shift in the way we communicate, think, and perceive the world, The Ring's reliance on haunted VHS tapes, landline phones, and physical data files plays like a holdover from the black-and-white era. This movie is soaked in blues and greens, presenting a dreary Washington State whose only sunshine emanates from the better-than-this Naomi Watts. She grounds the sillier elements of Ehren Kruger's screenplay (Brian Cox's surge protector necklace!) in a maternal concern that makes its mystery at least feel worthy of solving. In this minute way, The Ring is timeless.