Norway has given us a number of great horror films over the last decade or so, from Dead Snow’s comedic take on Nazi zombies to André Øvredal fantastic found footage mockumentary Troll Hunter to the queer-themed Thelma to even the disaster film The Wave. Going all the way back to 1958, a horror mystery called De dødes tjern (Lake of the Dead) is said to have marked a turning point in Norwegian cinema and remains highly rated today. The same cannot be said of its remake Lake of Death which is now premiering on Shudder.

It opens on a lake that looks like a perfect place to remake Friday the 13th (one of the few films surprisingly not referenced in this film) with twins Lillian (Iben Akerlie) and mute Bjørn (Parick Walshe McBride) having a conversation in a rowboat. It’s a very Gothic opening as Kai seems to have more than a familial interest in Lillian, who, after telling him she’s leaving with Kai (Ulric von der Esch), appears incredibly agitated. We quickly cut to a year later, after Bjørn went missing and Lillian and Kai’s relationship fell apart. He stayed in the town while she left.

And now she’s back with a group of incredibly hot young adults in order to get closure. Her new beau (I think) Gabriel (Jonathan Harboe) gives us an exposition dump to catch everyone up to speed: Bjørn didn’t come back from a walk, they searched the forest for weeks, the two of them are orphans and the cabin is all they had, but now she’s selling it. Oh, and it’s been awhile since one of her “episodes,” he tells the group.

Aside from Kai and Lillian, the group itself is comprised of Harald (Elias Munk) and Sonja (Sophia Lie), a couple that can’t keep their hands off each other and Bernhard (Jakob Schøyen Andersen) a paranormal podcastor who wants to research the local lore surrounding this cabin. He’s the Randy of the group and spends most of his time saying things like, “Little did they know they were spending the weekend in the cabin of evil” and comparing spooky things to other (better) movies. Later, when they discover a secret basement, he’ll say, “Totally like ‘Evil Dead.’”

Kai meets them at the train station and drops them off at the cabin (he can’t stay, even though he shares a passionate kiss with Lillian), leaving them with their cellphones, a two-way radio and no car. But don’t worry. He’ll be back in three days to pick them.

And of course Bad Things start happening immediately. For example, when they wake up in the morning, their breakfast has already been set for them, including an extra place setting and partially eaten meal. Immediately, the group blames Bernhard for setting this up for his podcast, but then more weird things start to happen. You know how this is going to unfold. Phones will disappear, the radio will be broken and the group will start turning on itself in fear.

Honestly, for a movie that spends a good chunk of its runtime calling out genre tropes, Lake of Death sure is just one giant genre trope. Written and directed by Nini Bull Robsahm (who comes from a family of directors, producers and actresses), Lake of Death spends a lot of its time spinning its wheels. Because of the kind of movie this is, nothing frightening or life-threatening can happen until the third act, so it relies a lot on fake-out jump scares. The kind where a loud crash of music and sudden appearance is really just one of the friends or a character will see their reflection in a mirror and jump. Characters are so broadly drawn, the conflict so minimal that there’s nothing that keeps your interest between the nighttime jump scares and the central mystery surrounding Bjørn doesn’t provide much excitement, either.

Which is a shame because there’s some nice cinematic moments at play. Filmed on 35 mm by Axel Mustad, Lake of Death has a very classy look to it, helped along by some fantastic set and scene design. Some of the trippy moments are haunting, like a perfectly staged bathtub with oil pouring down the walls or the way the characters keep seeing things that aren’t there. Mirrors and reflective surfaces provide some compelling and thematically rich imagery that the narrative, unfortunately, doesn’t do anything with. The camera captures the melancholy of the woods and the large pond behind the cabin with such beauty that you want to visit. In a surprising turn, the film features Sam Raimi’s longtime editing partner Bob Murawski and it shows.

This is a well-crafted piece of filmmaking that doesn’t have anything to say.