I don’t like Daniel Radcliffe (he’s just so pasty – he’s a pasty tool – and I don’t mean pale when I say pasty [that would be like the milk calling the snow white], I mean that he always looks vaguely…moist), but I do like a good ghost story, so I went to see The Woman in Black, the movie based on the long-running London play based on the book. (A friend of a friend of a friend had been to see the play and, from her reports, Steve, Liz, and I were all very jealous and had a few conversations about how nice it would be to be rich enough to take an impromptu trip to London just to see it.)
It’s definitely creepy and plenty atmospheric! The fake jolts of fright definitely got me a few times and one particular actual fright COMPLETELY got me. I wasn’t thrilled with the Hollywood “happy” ending, but up until then I was satisfied with it for what it was.
Also…it turns out I HAVE actually seen the play in London – saw it with my parents when we went to London for Christmas in 1996 or so. *facepalm* I even read the plot because I remembered seeing a play called The Woman in _____, but I really thought it had been a play of the Wilkie Collins novel The Woman in White not in Black and STILL didn’t remember that I’d seen it. But there was two recurring things in the movie that gave me a moment or two of “Wait a minute…” and sure enough!