The new fright film “The Grudge” is exactly like “The Ring” – not to mention that film’s Japanese original, “Ringu,” and its sequel, “Ringu 2.” “The Grudge” is also, naturally, very much like it’s own Japanese original, “Ju-On: The Grudge,” not to mention that film’s sequel, “Ju-On: The Grudge 2.” And you know what? That’s a good thing.

Unlike American horror movies, moralizing affairs with a blood fetish that celebrate killers and luxuriates in the terror of a put-upon female, this breed of Japanese horror films feature threats that are vague, faceless, abstract. Its victims are random people whom the universe decides deserve a terrifying death just because they’re mortal.

“The Grudge” benefits from being a remake by the director of its original. Takashi Shimizu turns in a low-key, nonlinear movie that’s refreshingly short on special effects but long on suggestion. He is a master of last minute jolts and fast cut-aways. Horror movies don’t usually trade in subtlety, but “The Grudge” revels in being small. Its place seems slow at first, but it is calculated to set your blood rushing when you least expect it.

The movie opens curiously, with Bill Pullman mournfully sending himself over the balcony of his high-rise. This sets up a satisfying mystery (why he kills himself isn’t fully understood until the last act). It is followed by a scene that introduces us to a humble haunted house with murderous intentions, setting up the chills to follow.

Sarah Michelle Gellar plays an American exchange student living with her boyfriend in Tokyo. She volunteers as a caregiver: mistake number one, as she is sent to the spook house, where she meets the catatonic old woman who lives there. We meet a pair of underage spooks, including especially a young girl who hides her ghastly face behind a curtain of hair and who can catch you no matter how fast you run or how slow she crawls.

It seems that whoever encounters these creatures and survives is cursed to be hunted by them; those in their lives are consigned to the same terrible fate. At one point, a detective familiar with the house explains that spirits who die in a fit of rage return to kill. The advice is too late for everyone involved.

Mr. Shimizu works well here with a Hollywood cast and a couple of big names. Post-“Buffy the Vampire Slayer” Ms. Gellar doesn’t showboat, nor does she fail to be credible. The supporting cast is able, fully immersing themselves in the claustrophobic reality supplied. This film proves these icky little movies are importable, adaptable, and still enjoyable; let’s hope Hollywood is taking note.

***

“Saving Christmas” further cements Ben Affleck as the worst working actor in Hollywood. On television and in interviews, he can be a charming and affable presence; why he can’t seem to find the right vehicle for his talents is anybody’s guess. His name is synonymous with lackluster movies like “Jersey Girl,” “Gigli,” “Reindeer Games,” “Paycheck,” and “Pearl Harbor.” It’s ironic that a movie star who entered Hollywood with an Academy Award for screenwriting can’t tell the difference between a bad script and a good one.

“Saving Christmas,” a high-concept holiday film, plays like a poorly edited series of sitcom set-ups. It starts off promisingly, with a montage of scenes depicting people growing increasingly frustrated with various Yuletide tasks, but it climaxes with a scene where a granny puts her head into an oven. That gag, meant to seem “dark and edgy,” comes off as sad and pathetic – much like the rest of the film.

Mr. Affleck plays a wealthy marketing executive who’s dumped by his girlfriend because his Christmas tastes lean toward a week in Fiji instead of a week with family. A therapist, desperate to get away from him, offers a bit of armchair psychology: Seek out your childhood and let go of your issues.

Fulfilling this facile directive, our hero journeys to his childhood home, currently occupied by surly and distinctly unlikable James Gandolofini and Catherine O’Hara, who is criminally misused in this film. He makes them an offer: Pretend he’s their son, and he’ll pay them $250,000. Christina Applegate shows up to act as the romantic interest.

What follows are vignettes where Mr. Affleck asks his besieged yet irredeemably greedy family to perform ludicrous or embarrassing favors that they refuse, until he reminds them that he’s renting them. Along the way, he apparently becomes endearing – or at least that’s what the script indicates. Lessons are learned. Here’s mine: Save yourself $10.