The year 1983 was a blinding year in the Dayglo Decade. The Gipper was warning of Evil Empires and dreaming of Star Wars weapons systems, while the Gloved One claimed that Billie Jean was not his lover. Ling Ling gave birth to the first Asian-American panda, and Barney Clark was adjusting to the first artificial heart transplant; both died soon after. The Brooklyn Bridge celebrated its centennial with an official poster by Andy Warhol. There was “Flashdance” – what a feeling! – and famine in Ethiopia.

The compact disc was introduced in 1983, but the videotape was king of all media. David Cronenberg immortalized its supremacy in his nasty, McLuhanesque head-trip “Videodrome,” the story of a beta tape that amuses itself by driving people mad and stimulating grotesque anatomical mutations. “Long live the New Flesh,” declared this most visionary of 1980s movies – then shot itself in the skull.

Nowadays, the president has not proposed a “Phantom Menace” to thwart his enemies (Karl Rove notwithstanding). Billie Jean is the least of Michael Jackson’s problems. DVD has dethroned the videotape, which is fast going the way of acid wash denim. But unlike the tony laserdisc, the grubby VHS is not leaving the scene without a fight. Having forged the New Flesh in “Videodrome,” it is now attempting to haunt us in the “Ring.”

The last-ditch revenge of an obsolete technology was the secret theme of Hideo Nakata’s original Japanese horror film, “Ringu.” Released in 1998, the creepy, clever ghost story made buckets of yen, inaugurated the wildly popular J-Horror subgenre, and spawned several sequels and a prequel. By the time the director of “Mouse Trap” helmed a Hollywood remake in 2002 – the first year DVD profits eclipsed VHS – whatever zeitgeist zest adhered in the original concept was fading fast.

In its place you had Naomi Watts fresh off her star-making performance in “Mulholland Drive,” however, and that’s not such a bad deal. Improbably enough, Ms. Watts is back for “The Ring Two.” More improbable still, Mr. Nakata has been asked to direct. There’s a built in fear-factor right there: genuine talent in a cynical sequel. Will anyone survive?

In the first “Ring,” by which I mean the second “Ring,” journalist Rachel Keller (Ms. Watts) and her young son Aidan (David Dorfman) survived the Seattle-based outbreak of a killer, rather corny avant-garde video. On popping the spooky samizdat into your VCR, the screen flickered with grainy gothic cliches that suggested a cross between “Un Chien Andalou” and the credit sequence from “Six Feet Under.”

There was, however, an exceedingly gnarly bonus feature. Seven days after watching the images, an unkempt zombie would crab-crawl out of your television, pee on your carpet, and kill you.

This ghost had a name (Samara) and a complicated backstory (whatever). But the novelty of the original “Ringu” lay not so much in its savvy fusion of ghost tale to detective story as the dread-inducing terror of the filmmaking itself. As in the best J-Horror flicks (I’d shortlist “Cure,” “Pulse,” and “The Grudge”), the composition, camerawork, and sound design were booby trapped with unnerving effects and diabolical possibilities. Not since “Halloween” had off-screen space thrummed with such panic.

Mr. Nakata has forgotten all this infernal craftsmanship. “The Ring Two” is less scary than “Scary Movie 2,” and only marginally more ambitious.

All you need to know of the plot is that the evil tape is back, doing its evil thing. Having killed a jock moron for no apparent reason – other than pandering to an audience demographic – Samara sets her sights on possessing Aidan. Apparently, she’s desperate for a mommy, though all she really needs is an afternoon at Bumble and Bumble.

It takes Rachel ages to figure all this out. In the meantime, she busies herself being the Worst Mother Ever. At the local antique fair/carnival, she lets Aidan wander alone through what appears to be a crowd made up entirely of pedophiles. Later, after it becomes clear that Samara is on the scene and up to no good (having sicced a pack of rampaging CGI deer on their sedan, and whatnot), Rachel drives Aidan over to stay with the local hunk (Simon Baker). Naturally, she leaves him in the most horror-prone place in any house (the bathtub) and drives off to go back home and “get some things.” Uh, like maybe a clue?

Up to the last half hour, Ms. Watts does little more than be blonde. Later, when it becomes clear that “The Ring Two” isn’t really a horror movie at all, but some kind of pretentious, implausible parable about motherhood, she is allowed to turn up the Wattage and cry. Boo-hoo: By the time you reach the first, second, third, fourth, and fifth ending, the movie has less in common with “Ringu” than with the silly supernatural psychodrama “Birth.”