According to the original progression of Ring, it was still far too early for Sadako Yamamura to properly appear on screen.
Atlas Vance nevertheless had her dressed in her familiar white outfit with her long black hair hanging over her face and kept her around the set every day.
He had two reasons for doing this: first, he wanted the cast and crew to become accustomed to her appearance, and second, he wanted Sadako’s presence to naturally create the oppressive atmosphere a horror production needed.
After all, Atlas was filming Ring, not a romantic comedy.
If everyone on set already felt uncomfortable before the cameras started rolling, the actors would naturally find it easier to immerse themselves in fear once filming began.
With the genuine Sadako quietly standing somewhere nearby, Atlas barely needed to manufacture that atmosphere himself.
Atlas had also made several small adjustments to the screenplay.
The original Ring contained relatively few conventional jump scares, relying much more heavily on mystery, tension, disturbing imagery, and an increasingly oppressive feeling that something terrible was approaching.
Its most famous direct horror sequence came much later, when Sadako crawled from the television and approached Ryuji Takayama.
Since Atlas had the real Sadako available, however, it would be a waste to barely show her.
He therefore increased her screen presence in several carefully chosen scenes without changing the main story or mystery structure.
If audiences complained that modern horror movies weren’t frightening anymore, Atlas intended to give them a ghost movie terrifying enough to make them regret asking.
The scene being filmed today was the opening sequence involving Reiko Asakawa’s niece, Tomoko Oishi.
In the original version, Tomoko’s friend Masami goes to the bathroom, leaving her alone before the television unexpectedly switches itself on to a baseball game.
Tomoko turns it off, senses something horrifying nearby, and eventually dies from the curse without the audience directly seeing Sadako standing in front of her.
Atlas’s version would be slightly different.
He intended to let the audience glimpse Sadako.
The actress playing Tomoko had been recruited from among the local extras around the Atlanta production complex.
Calling her acting merely inexperienced would have been generous, and after watching another take through the monitor, Atlas finally raised his hand.
“Cut!”
The actress immediately stopped.
Atlas rubbed his forehead.
“Can you stop shaking before anything has even happened?
Sadako hasn’t entered the scene yet.”
The young actress nervously glanced toward the corner of the set.
Sadako stood there completely motionless in her white dress with her hair covering her face, and despite repeatedly telling herself that this was only another actress, the girl couldn’t shake the feeling that something was fundamentally wrong with her.
“S-sorry, Director Vance.
I’ll control it this time.”
Atlas sighed and patiently walked her through the scene again.
After several attempts, her performance finally began stabilizing, and the crew reset everything for another take.
Masami’s actress performed her part and left for the bathroom, leaving Tomoko alone inside the dimly lit house set.
At Atlas’s signal, the prop technician pressed the remote.
The television suddenly switched on.
The actress playing Tomoko was looking through the refrigerator when the sudden sound of a baseball broadcast startled her.
She slowly straightened, stared toward the television in confusion, and cautiously walked across the room.
After picking up the remote, she switched the television off and looked around uncertainly.
“Cut!
Good.
That’s a pass,” Atlas called.
The actress visibly relaxed.
Atlas, however, immediately stood because the next shot was where his modification began.
He walked toward Sadako, who was still standing silently in the corner, and stopped beside her.
“Miss Sadako, you’re up.”
Sadako slowly raised her head.
One eye became faintly visible between the strands of black hair.
Atlas instinctively stepped backward.
Several crew members nearby inhaled sharply at exactly the same moment.
Even though everyone knew Sadako was supposedly an actress, that single glance produced an uncomfortable chill throughout the room.
She had been standing silently in character for so long that several staff members had nearly forgotten she was there, and now they couldn’t help admiring what they believed was extraordinary professional discipline.
Atlas coughed awkwardly to cover the fact that she had nearly frightened him too.
Fortunately, his previous commands prevented Sadako from unleashing her lethal psychic effect against people on set.
Otherwise, filming Ring with the genuine Sadako might have resulted in a production casualty list before the movie was even finished.
Atlas leaned closer and whispered, “Sadako, if you want humanity to experience your terror, this is your chance.”
Sadako gave a small nod.
She immediately began floating toward her mark.
Walk.
Atlas’s mental command reached her through the contract.
Sadako’s body reluctantly lowered until her feet touched the floor, and she started walking normally.
Having the ghost visibly float through a scene that wasn’t supposed to contain supernatural movement would make the audience think Atlas had used cheap visual effects rather than genuine horror.
Sadako had already read the screenplay carefully.
When she first saw it, even she had been stunned because much of the story reflected events connected to her own existence, the cursed videotape, the well, and the fear surrounding her name.
For most of her scenes, she didn’t really need to learn how to portray Sadako Yamamura.
She simply needed to be herself.
Sadako looked toward the actress playing Tomoko.
The girl’s appearance naturally wasn’t identical to the real Tomoko Oishi from the story being recreated, but that hardly mattered to Sadako.
A familiar murderous impulse nevertheless surfaced as she remembered all the humans she had cursed before.
She wanted to frighten this one properly too.
Unfortunately, Atlas wouldn’t allow her to kill anyone.
“Everybody ready!” Atlas called as he returned behind the monitor.
“Three, two, one—action!”
Tomoko switched off the television and started walking away.
A faint rustling sound suddenly came from behind her, causing her steps to stop.
She slowly turned and stared into the darkened room, but there was nothing there.
Her breathing became slightly faster.
After several seconds, Tomoko convinced herself she had imagined it.
She released a nervous breath and began turning back toward the kitchen.
A curtain of black hair was suddenly inches from her face.
The actress’s eyes widened.
Her entire body froze.
Sadako had appeared directly behind her without making a single sound.
The terror on the girl’s face was so natural that Atlas’s eyes immediately lit up.
He allowed the shot to continue for another moment before raising his hand.
“Cut!
Perfect!
That’s a pass!”
Nobody moved.
The actress playing Tomoko remained lying on the floor.
At first, the crew assumed she was simply staying in character.
One assistant started packing nearby equipment while another called toward her, “Hey, the take’s finished.
You can get up now.”
Still nothing.
Someone walked closer and nudged her shoulder.
No response.
The crew member’s expression changed.
Several minutes later, the sound of an ambulance siren approached the production complex.
After the unconscious actress was taken away, whispers immediately spread around the set.
“Do you think she actually saw something?” one crew member quietly asked, while another looked toward Sadako and lowered his voice.
“I don’t know, but that actress playing the ghost seriously creeps me out.”
“Same here.
I don’t even like making eye contact with her.”
Atlas heard the discussion and could only sigh helplessly.
To make Tomoko’s reaction more convincing, he had mentally told Sadako to frighten the actress a little without genuinely harming her.
He hadn’t expected Sadako to interpret “a little” as “scare her until she loses consciousness.”
Atlas glanced toward Sadako.
She stood calmly in the corner as though nothing had happened.
He suddenly felt somewhat guilty about the poor actress.
Hopefully, the girl wouldn’t spend the next several years developing a psychological fear of televisions, long-haired women, or white dresses.
The following days of filming progressed much more smoothly.
Sadako didn’t actually have many scenes during this portion of the story, but Atlas deliberately kept her on set anyway.
Her silent presence acted like a permanent fear buff, causing actors to become tense naturally whenever the cameras started rolling.
The resulting footage looked surprisingly convincing.
Finally, on the tenth day of production, Atlas received a phone call.
“Director Vance?” Daniel Mercer’s anxious voice came through the phone.
“Are you still willing to let me play the male lead?”
Atlas immediately frowned.
“Where the hell have you been?
I’ve called you I don’t even know how many times.”
Daniel was silent for a moment before answering, “I beat up a director, got detained, and finalized my divorce while I was dealing with the aftermath.”
Atlas stared blankly ahead.
“…What?”
“It’s a long story,” Daniel said.
“Just send me the address.
I’ll come immediately.”
Although Daniel had effectively walked away from his marriage with almost nothing, Claire Bennett had eventually given him a considerable amount of money.
Daniel understood perfectly well that the payment wasn’t simply guilt or kindness.
Claire was terrified that he might publicly expose her affair with Martin Hayes, because a major scandal involving an influential married actress and a director could seriously damage her career.
A few hours later, Daniel arrived at the production complex carrying several large bags.
The moment he stepped onto the Ring set, however, he immediately noticed something strange.
Unlike most film sets he had visited, this place wasn’t filled with constant laughter and casual shouting between takes.
There was an inexplicable gloom hanging over everyone.
Crew members spoke more quietly than necessary.
Actors kept glancing toward dark corners.
And almost nobody seemed comfortable being alone.
“Daniel, perfect timing.
We’re getting close to your scenes,” Atlas said as he walked over and handed him a screenplay.
He didn’t bother with a long welcome because the production schedule was already tight.
“Get familiar with Ryuji again.”
Daniel briefly explained what had happened during the past ten days before opening the script and immediately beginning to study it seriously.
He no longer possessed the luxury of treating this project casually.
After being released from detention, his agency had contacted him with one final message.
His contract had been terminated.
That alone would have been bad enough, but Martin Hayes had far more influence in the industry than Daniel realized.
After Daniel assaulted him and exposed the affair, several producers and casting contacts suddenly stopped returning Daniel’s calls.
Word had quietly spread that hiring him meant offending Martin.
His marriage was over.
His agency was gone.
His career had effectively been blacklisted.
Daniel lowered his eyes toward the Ring screenplay in his hands.
This movie was no longer simply another acting job.
It was his last real chance.
If Ring failed too, Daniel genuinely didn’t know whether he would have enough strength left to start over again.
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