The forboding Drablow estate sits on a promontory rising from a marshland that floods daily, cutting it off from the outside world. Not that the outside world is any prize—the locals are paranoid and unwelcoming, reeling from a continuing series of mysterious deaths among the town’s children.

You see where this is going. Arthur goes to the house, alone, of course, to sift through documents that reveal the family’s darkest secrets. The paper chase gradually (and I mean gradually) provides a supernatural explanation for the chilling appearance of a stock-still silhouette of the lady in question that portends the recent deaths. All the while, the young lawyer does due diligence by slowly and inexplicably seeking out every creak and bump in the night. Flickering candle in hand, he pads slow as molasses down every hall, turning every doorknob and checking every closet. And so it is that much of the film’s second act feels like a dark, wordless episode of House Hunters International. (For what it’s worth, I’d go with the split-level closer to town.)

The Woman in Black clocks in at just over ninety minutes, which add up to a tense but somehow drab eternity. Remarkably long stretches of the film go on without dialogue. When words come, they tend to be of the famous-and-last variety. “It’s best if I work straight through the night.” Yeah, good luck with that. The kind of drawn-out suspense on offer is supposed to be a virtue in horror, but here it’s just tedious. Director James Watkins lays out the scare moments like a traveling salesman unfolding his wares in the parlor. “Can I interest you in some creepy dolls? This spectral rocking chair is fully automatic! All our mirrors are 100-percent guaranteed to have someone lurking behind you.” You’ve seen it all before, and you needn’t waste your money on it.

Daniel Radcliffe has spent the past few months on Broadway, singing and dancing partway out of typecasting purgatory. With his first post-Potter film role, he unfortunately doesn’t move far enough away from his old haunts. Because if there’s one thing we already knew about Radcliffe, it’s that he can walk through rooms with a lantern and look nervous. Arthur Kipps is a serious man, but this isn’t really a serious role. The script, written by Jane Goldman from a novel by Susan Hill, gives him very little to work with. Heavy-hitters like Ciarán Hinds and Janet McTeer do their duty with equally meager characters. As for Radcliffe, he has a long career ahead of him, and we can only wish him better luck next time.

There’s a fine line between suspense and waiting, and The Woman in Black simply stretches our attention and patience too thin. This morbid taffy-pull isn’t worth your time.