A Hammer Horror Revival That Knows How to Creep, Not Leap
If Gothic horror had a Tinder bio, The Woman in Black (2012) would be its most alluring match — gloomy, mysterious, and probably cursed. Directed by James Watkins and adapted by Jane Goldman, this film takes Susan Hill’s ghost story and wraps it in layers of fog, cobwebs, and inherited trauma.
And somehow, it works.
This is the rare horror movie that doesn’t rely on buckets of blood or demonic clowns. Instead, it scares you the old-fashioned way — with atmosphere, dread, and a ghost so bitter she could curdle milk just by glaring at it.
It’s also proof that Daniel Radcliffe, fresh off his wizarding adolescence, can play a grief-stricken Edwardian lawyer without waving a wand or shouting “Expelliarmus!” Though, to be fair, one well-aimed Patronus might have saved everyone a lot of trouble.
Welcome to Crythin Gifford — Population: 67 and Dropping
The story begins, as all proper ghost stories should, with children dying horribly. Three little girls in starched dresses suddenly stand up mid-tea party, stare at something unseen, and leap out a window in perfect choreography. It’s like Mary Poppins directed by Satan.
From there, we meet Arthur Kipps (Radcliffe), a young London lawyer and recent widower with a permanent case of emotional anemia. His wife died giving birth to their son Joseph, which probably explains why he looks like he hasn’t smiled since Queen Victoria was in power.
Arthur’s firm, clearly mistaking his grief for competence, sends him to the cursed backwater village of Crythin Gifford to settle the estate of one Alice Drablow, deceased. What could possibly go wrong?
Everything.
Eel Marsh House: Real Estate from Hell
Arthur arrives in town only to find that the locals treat him like an infection. Everyone stares, no one talks, and even the bartender looks like he’s auditioning for “Most Haunted Pub Owner 1910.”
The only friendly face is Samuel Daily (Ciarán Hinds), a gentleman farmer whose smile is only slightly less haunted than everyone else’s. He gives Arthur a lift to Eel Marsh House — a place so isolated it can only be reached by a causeway that disappears underwater twice a day. Yes, it’s that kind of movie: even the roads are cursed.
The house itself is a Gothic masterpiece — the kind of decaying estate that looks like it was built out of despair and mildew. It creaks, groans, and sighs like it’s been reading Emily Brontë after midnight. Inside, Arthur finds more dust than human decency, a locked nursery, and the world’s creepiest collection of Victorian wind-up toys.
And then, of course, there’s her.
The Lady Herself: Mourning Never Looked So Murderous
The titular Woman in Black (Liz White) doesn’t mess around. She’s not the kind of ghost who rattles chains or says boo — she’s more the “stare silently from the corner until your soul shrivels” type. She’s pale, veiled, and perpetually disappointed, which, in Edwardian England, makes her indistinguishable from half the population.
Every time someone sees her, a child dies in some ghastly, self-inflicted manner. It’s less a haunting and more a supernatural pyramid scheme. She’s basically the world’s most homicidal nanny.
As Arthur digs deeper into the Drablow family history, he uncovers the tragic backstory of Jennet Humfrye — a woman declared insane, stripped of her child, and forced to watch as her son Nathaniel drowned in the marsh. Naturally, Jennet took this personally and hung herself, vowing vengeance from beyond the grave.
You know, the usual Edwardian coping mechanism.
Daniel Radcliffe vs. Motherhood, Grief, and Drafty Windows
Radcliffe carries the movie with a quiet, haunted intensity. Arthur Kipps isn’t a hero — he’s a man clinging to the last threads of reason while everything around him screams “move back to London.”
What makes his performance so impressive is that he manages to look believably terrified without overacting. His eyes do most of the work — those wide, shell-shocked orbs that say, “I’ve seen Voldemort, but this ghost is worse.”
As he explores the house, the tension builds beautifully. Watkins knows exactly when to let the silence linger and when to drop a thunderclap. The jump scares are sharp but never cheap — the cinematic equivalent of someone politely but firmly slapping your nerves.
And then there’s the nursery — a room filled with dolls that look like they’ve witnessed tax evasion. Every time a toy twitches, you half-expect them to unionize.
A Town So Cursed Even the Dogs Look Nervous
Outside Eel Marsh House, the village is in a constant state of emotional constipation. Everyone’s lost a child. Everyone blames everyone else. And no one, absolutely no one, wants to talk about the woman in the big black hat who’s making their kids jump into wells.
Arthur’s attempts to help are met with about as much enthusiasm as a door-to-door tax collector. When one child drinks lye and dies in his arms, the villagers look at him like he’s the Grim Reaper’s intern.
Even Sam’s wife Elisabeth (Janet McTeer) is unhinged, conducting séances at dinner parties like she’s auditioning for Downton Abbey: The Possession Years.
By this point, it’s clear that Crythin Gifford needs less divine intervention and more basic childproofing.
The Exorcism That Definitely Won’t Work
In the third act, Arthur decides to end the curse by finding Jennet’s dead son and reuniting them. It’s a sweet idea, except he does it with the same competence as a man assembling a flat-pack coffin.
He dredges the boy’s muddy corpse out of the marsh (because nothing says “closure” like a little necromancy), puts the body in the nursery, and buries mother and child together. Then he nods, satisfied, like he’s just finished rearranging furniture.
Naturally, this act of spiritual goodwill goes about as well as a séance on Zoom. Jennet’s ghost reappears, angrier than ever, and lures Arthur’s son Joseph onto a train track. Arthur dives to save him, and both are hit by the train.
You could call it tragic, but let’s be honest — by that point, death was the most relaxing thing that could’ve happened to them.
A Happy Ending (If You’re Dead, That Is)
The final scene is oddly serene: Arthur, Joseph, and his late wife Stella are reunited in a sunlit afterlife train station. It’s sweet, it’s sentimental, and it feels exactly like the ending a Victorian ghost story deserves — sad, poetic, and slightly ridiculous.
Meanwhile, back in the mortal world, Sam stares into the fog as the ghostly children of Crythin Gifford line up behind the Woman in Black, like the world’s most morbid parade. It’s a haunting image — the kind that sticks with you long after the credits roll.
The Verdict: Moody, Masterful, and Morbidly British
The Woman in Black isn’t just a horror movie — it’s a séance in cinematic form. Every frame oozes Gothic melancholy, every creak feels like a confession, and every candle flicker threatens to reveal something you’ll regret seeing.
Watkins resurrects Hammer Films’ classic atmosphere with style — all damp fog, decaying wallpaper, and tragic ghosts who could really benefit from therapy. It’s elegant horror, the kind that reminds you that sometimes, the scariest thing in the world is an unresolved family issue.
It’s not perfect — the pacing drags in places, and the final twist will either move you to tears or make you mutter, “Of course.” But for sheer craftsmanship and spine-tingling ambiance, it’s one of the best ghost stories of the 21st century.
Verdict: ★★★★☆
A beautifully crafted Gothic nightmare that proves Hammer Horror still has blood in its veins. Come for the ghost, stay for Radcliffe’s haunted cheekbones. Just don’t buy property near a marsh.
