quid pro quo
When I was 13, I had a pretty sweet deal going with the video-rental lady. I’d download songs for her MP3 player—procured from various shady sites in the public library computer—and in return, she’d look the other way when I rented horror movies. It was a wordless quid pro quo. I’d ask, “What are we listening to today?” and she’d hand me a list, and the device, without so much as a smile. I’d return with her music, and take home a stack of movies to watch in secret on my laptop.
That shop, which closed in 2009, provided much of my early cinematic exposure. I’d love to blame streaming for its demise, but the place was destined for failure. Popular titles were always out, leaving us with bizarre B-movies like Deadly Swarm, a 2003 film about mutated flies that kill you from under your skin. It holds a proud 12% on Rotten Tomatoes.
Yet, among those gems, I found a cover that captivated me: a woman’s face half-obscured by darkness, with a simple, three-letter title: Rec. The back showed a creepy kid, a screaming woman covered in blood, and various promises of it being the scariest movie of its kind. I was, of course, sold.
Released in 2008, this Spanish flick follows Angela Vidal, a reporter filming a light-hearted segment at a Barcelona fire station for a show called Mientras Usted Duerme (While You Sleep). What begins as a piece for bored insomniacs quickly turns into a nightmare, when she follows the crew into a residential building for a standard welfare check, only to find the building suddenly quarantined as a virus transforms the residents into violent creatures.
It was unlike anything I had ever seen. While found-footage was already an established genre, pioneered by The Blair Witch Project, and revitalized by Paranormal Activity, Rec felt uniquely grounded. Most of the actors weren't professionals. The firefighters, excluding the leads, were real-life first responders. The fire chief’s awkward delivery and nervous glances were genuine because he was the actual chief of the station. Most scares were unscripted; Angela jumps and screams as a door is kicked down, because she didn’t know it would happen. When a body falls through the middle of the stairwell, sending the entire cast into a frenzy, only the police officer leading them away knew it would happen. When Angela screams and curses, unable to find a set of keys that would lead her to safety, her swears and screams of frustration were genuine because she wasn’t told where they were.
That authenticity is irreplaceable.
For Iberian viewers, the horror hit differently. Most horror movies are American, set in American homes with American customs. While fear is universal, those scares often feel foreign, which provides a layer of subconscious solace; a distance to hide away in. With Rec, I had no such safety. The building was nearly identical to the one I was raised in. The fire station looked and sounded exactly like the one my grandfather, a volunteer firefighter, used to take me to, down to the specific bang of the old truck doors, the noise of the canteen, or the locker rooms.
These characters weren’t tropes, they were just like my neighbors; just like the bickering old couple from 3E, 2D’s overprotective mother, the older, poorly closeted, gay man living with his mom in 1C. This wasn’t a cabin in the woods; it was my world.
When it was revealed that the central figure, Niña Medeiros, was Portuguese (complete with the same creepy Fátima saint imagery we’re exposed to as children by our grandmothers) the deal was sealed. For weeks afterward, I ran all the way up to my fourth-floor apartment in terror of those stairs.
So, imagine my surprise when, years later, I discovered the American remake, Quarantine. Released less than a year later, it was a nearly shot-for-shot copy, right down to the lead’s name which the wonderful Jennifer Carpenter decided to pronounce as “AN-juh-luh VIH-dah.”
By every metric, the movie was atrocious. While Rec opted for the same camera regular news reporters use, Quarantine opted for a high-end cinematic camera, stripping away the grit and personality. The "building" looked like a cheap plaster set (because that’s what it was), and the natural awkwardness of the original cast was replaced by sexually inappropriate firefighters and residents who seemed merely… bothered by the apocalypse. It traded chaotic tension for stiff action and dizzying digital zooms.
Over the years, Rec went on to develop a cult following, while Quarantine is generally seen as a cheap cash-grab and managed a 45% on Rotten Tomatoes, compared to 90% for its Spanish counterpart.
But this is far from unique; in fact the term “American remake” is rarely used as a term of endearment for a movie—Oldboy, the 2003 South Korean cult classic, boasts a 93% on the site, whereas its American remake has 37%. The original Wicker Man has 82%, the US version has 17%. The French movie The Intouchables has 73%, whereas its American remake squeezed 43%. Goodnight Mommy, the 2014 original German version, has 85%; the American remake in 2022, 37%.
But why?
Not “why are remakes done,” because the answer is obvious: you have a ready-made script, a tested product, and a built-in audience composed of those who missed the original and those eager to see how the American version compares.
We must also consider that a significant portion of the American public still dislikes watching foreign films. The increasing curiosity of Gen Zers toward foreign media makes this less of a hurdle, which poses interesting questions about the future of direct American adaptations, though perhaps that is a discussion for another time.
Also, in fairness, not every adaptation is a failure. The Ring, The Departed, Insomnia, and The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo were both commercial and critical successes. Even Quarantine proved profitable, largely due to its barebones budget, pulling in $41.3 million on a $12 million investment.
My question is instead: why do some remakes flop so badly?
Spanish-ish
Let’s ask the question another way: what makes their foreign counterparts successful?
You might answer “the story,” and while that is certainly a factor, merely transplanting a plot into an American setting, as we have seen, often spells disaster. Instead, I believe the secret lies in the unique cultural environment where that story was born. Meaning, its cultural context.
Let’s return to the example of Quarantine vs Rec.
Rec was filmed on the heels of the bird flu, an influenza strain that spread mostly through Asia in the early 2000s. While it had minimal physical impact in Spain, daily reports of deaths, overrun hospitals, and pandemic fears dominated the media, creating a wave of fear across Europe, and that fear of “illness” is central to the story. The movie also touches on the abandonment of the elderly (the first victim is an older woman referred to in less than polite terms) tapping into a visceral Southern European social anxiety regarding aging urban populations. Finally, it reflected the tensions surrounding the influx of Chinese immigrants in the early 2000s; in the movie they are accused, more than once, of being the cause of the outbreak by the Spanish residents, and mocked for their lack of Spanish fluency.
These issues aren't exclusively Spanish, but the way they play out within this specific cultural framework is unique. They resonate with those who identify with these themes or those curious to see how they manifest in other cultures. When you simply transplant these stories to a different cultural environment, they lose their cultural identity. They become movies for no one, stripped of their original meaning and offering nothing inherent to the new audience.
Successful remakes understand this perfectly. The Departed took the Hong Kong-based Infernal Affairs and made it deeply, specifically Bostonian. The American reboot of The Ring provided unique insight into American repatriation and the hereditary consequences of ancestral actions. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo proves that a complete cultural transmutation isn't always mandatory, as the story remained in Sweden, portraying Swedish characters. The most important aspect, clearly, is respecting a story's relationship to its own culture. That is what makes or breaks an adaptation.
Greek-Ish
When I found out Hollywood was adapting the Greek epic The Odyssey, with Christopher Nolan directing, I shuddered. Nolan is a blockbuster director defined by high action and high concepts. In his pursuit of intricate stories and fast-paced spectacle, he’s never been shy about discarding logic; his inconsistencies are usually obscured by the next explosion, upgrading from cars (no-cgi) to hospitals(no-cgi), to aerial battles (no-cgi), and finally to a full nuclear detonation (no-cgi). His scripts often fall apart under the lightest scrutiny, but Nolan maintains such a consistent pace that the films support their own weight just long enough to avoid collapsing before the credits roll. Interestingly, Nolan’s claim to fame was Insomnia, an adaptation of the Norwegian movie of the same name, but the inkling of hope that gave me was quickly snuffed out.
In the age of the internet, the word “Epic” has drifted far from its Greek origin. "Epic fail" or "epic battle" conveys a sense of a grand, high-stakes event. However, in Greek, epikos simply means “story.” The Odyssey is epic by virtue of being a narrative, just like the Dune books or the Twilight series. If you read that ancient poem expecting a non-stop tale of battling gods and monsters, you will be sorely disappointed. Those elements are secondary to godly bickering, Odysseus pleading for help to get home, courtly etiquette, bureaucracy, rude guests and negotiations.
But as to what it means, at its core, the text was foundational for Ancient Greeks. Delivered from memory by rhapsodists, these poems educated audiences on traditions and social expectations; on how to address elders, treat women, receive guests, pray, and fight. As Greek education and influence spread through the Aegean, then to the Romans, then to the entire European continent and North Africa, it solidified its position as the foundational text of Western cultural society. It endures through its immense influence and powerful stories… not flashy fights and “epic” battles.
My fears were confirmed when the first trailer dropped.
The most obvious issue was the return to the “swords and sandals” trope. Instead of period-accurate Late Bronze Age gear, Odysseus wears Hoplite armor from the Classical period. Since nearly 700 years separate the two eras, this makes as much sense as a WWII soldier entering battle in a suit of medieval plate armor. Then we see Agamemnon in bizarre, matte-black armor, adorned with a human spine at the back, that transcends "inaccurate" to the plain ridiculous.
We then see Odysseus kneeling to Agamemnon like a medieval knight to a king, forgetting that the Bronze Age was not feudal Europe. Agamemnon was not the “King” of Greece; Greece did not become a unified country until 1832 and its current borders were only established in 1947. Instead, Late Bronze Age Greek states were tribes and Agamemnon just so happened to control the larger force. His title was Anax, or High Lord, but commonly translated as King because it is easier to simplify Bronze Age dynamics this way. Odysseus is Agamemnon’s ally, not his servant, and is usually referred to as “basileus,” translated to “chieftain” or “prince.” Also, to the Ancient Greeks, kneeling or prostrating oneself before another person—a practice later called Proskynesis—was deeply offensive. Greeks famously mocked the Persians for kneeling before their Great King. To a Greek, a man who knelt before another man was acting like a slave, not a free citizen or a hero; certainly not as a prince.
And finally, the inclusion of various Black cast members as Greek Gods and troops, and the heavy rumors that Lupita Nyong’o is set to play Helen of Troy… born in Therapne, Greece. Helen’s Greekness isn't incidental; it's central to why her abduction matters, why Greek kingdoms unite, why the war happens.
The defense for these choices is usually that because the story is fantastical, featuring sea monsters and cyclopes, accuracy regarding armor or the ethnicity of Helen of Troy doesn't matter. This argument seems to apply only when a director’s ignorance, and lack of respect for the original material, comes into focus. If we accept this argument, where does it stop? If historical accuracy is of little importance, due to the fictional nature of the source material, why not give Odysseus a motorboat, set it in Appalachia, and supply him with an AR-15 to fight the cyclops?
The goal here is ultimately to appropriate cultural heritage and evoke what the average American conceives as “Greek-ish.” Just like with Quarantine, it takes a story, shaves away the complexities, and “Americanizes” it, losing its essence in the process. This risks a complete misunderstanding of the text's importance to western society.
It also paints a target on the backs of Black actors cast in these roles, who will undoubtedly face racist backlash in online discourse, a controversy that benefits the studio’s marketing more than the actors themselves, and the shielding it provides for any criticism of the movie.
Accuracy is vital when you tie $250 million to a project titled The Odyssey. This isn't just a story about a guy going home and fighting monsters; it is a specific cultural text that draws its significance from the environment in which it existed. The wonder of the rhapsodists’ recitation wasn't just the monsters, but the fact that it depicted the audience's world, their people, and their myths.
The film will likely make a bajillion dollars and be praised by those defending it before they've even seen it, simply because of Nolan’s name. Yet, I find this intersects interestingly with the latest U.S. National Security Memorandum claiming Europe is on the brink of “societal collapse” due to Islamism. It is ironic, considering that were it not for Muslim scholars preserving ancient Greek texts—including the epics and Plato’s dialogues—they would not have survived the collapse of the Roman Empire. It seems the “Muslim Threat” has historically shown far more respect to Western heritage than the U.S. film industry has ever mustered.
We shall see what the final product looks like as more trailers, and the movie itself, arrive. For now, I am not hopeful.