I saw The Woman in Black last night for my reviews over at TYCP. They seem to be updating monthly, which means a big batch of reviews will probably go up next week. One thing stuck out for me like nothing else: the jump scares. That film's entire shaky foundation is built not on plot but on the efficacy of the jump scare. For some people, a horror film is automatically good if it can make people squirm, jump, or scream during a screening. I think that's a misguided look at the genre at best. However, a good jump scare can be the crown jewel in a solid horror film.

If you're not sure what I mean by a jump scare, perhaps it's best to define by example. Arguably the first jump scare in horror cinema happened in Cat People, one of my favorite films of all time. A woman is walking down a dark and empty street. She becomes convinced that someone is following her. She walks faster, trying to escape whatever she thinks is behind her. She pauses long enough to catch her breath and BAM!--jarring unexpected change of events onscreen.

Even without knowing the full context of the film, the scene is startling. That is the blessing and the curse of the jump scare. Chances are, if you catch the audience off guard, you will scare them. A cat jumping out of a dark hallway or a ghastly apparition appearing in a mirror is going to cause a reaction. But if you have no substance beyond the jump scares, you're doing nothing but jumping out of a closet and screaming "BOO!" for ninety-plus minutes like a four year old.

The problem with The Woman in Black is that director James Watkins is all too good at creating a jump scare. He's so good at it, he doesn't really do anything else. How he layers the jump scares once the horror element takes over the film is remarkable. He just opts not to do anything with the plot or characters beyond the boiler plate of the story. Yes, we know Daniel Radcliffe plays a widower/lawyer who has to take care of paperwork in a deceased client's haunted house. And? Anything else? Anything? Bueller? No. That's it.

Yet, despite its lack of narrative and character development, The Woman in Black has been getting disproportionately good reviews. It's the "I was scared, therefore it's a good horror film" syndrome that gives more nuanced horror films a bad name. Many people still think that horror only exists to scare and any plot or character development is secondary to the specter screaming "BOO!" in that dark closet.

When used correctly in the context of a solid film, a jump scare is a potent weapon in the horror filmmaker's arsenal. There are certain elements that are almost always present in a jump scare that all but guarantee success.

First, there's a music or sound cue. You would think telegraphing the scare with music/sound would hurt its efficacy. It doesn't. The point of the score/sound design in that moment is to set you up for...well, you don't know. It could be nothing. It could be another character coming in. It could be an attack or a flicker of lights or the beloved pet of the main character hopping out of a room. The music/sound plants the seed of the terror yet to come.

Second, there's a tightly controlled camera. The object of this is to make you think everything is safe even when the music lets you know it's not. If you can see everything in frame, where could the jump scare possibly come from?

Third, there's a pause in the action. Everything becomes too calm for its own good. You know as soon as that character stops moving or the camera comes to a halt that something--anything--will happen.

Fourth is the scare itself. At this point, if you've done everything right, you could have a paper airplane hit the central character and get a jump scare. It's not the cause of the scare but unexpected arrival that puts the audience out of its seats for that fraction of a second.

The most important element is the fifth element: the follow-through. It's not enough for the jump element to flicker into frame and disappear. That's too subtle to put the audience on edge. If you miss it, you're out of luck. The best jump scares see the central character reacting in some way. You see the scare happen, then you see how the scare effects the central character. If it's just their pet cat playing ninja, they'll scoop the kitty up, scruff up its neck, and send it on its way. If it's the film's villain, they'll recoil in horror, jump back, or try to get the image out of their head.

How the character reacts is not as important as having a reaction. The tone could shift suddenly--a character laughing would put the audience at ease while a character writhing in terror would ratchet up the tension--but the jump scare will have been cemented as effective. The reaction even forces the viewers who missed the jump to react to what happened onscreen. They know something bad happened because the character is responding in a different way to her surroundings.

From there, the director either throws another jump at the audience or continues the action from where it left off. The Woman in Black chooses the former approach for a solid twenty minutes of running time. That sequence is the highlight of the film and does wonders to wipe away the bad memories of the dull first half of the film where nothing happens.

Perhaps the most famous example of this approach comes from Stanley Kubrick's The Shining. Little Danny is riding around the hotel on his big wheel. He turns the corner as the music swells and BAM!--creepy twins appear out of nowhere. Does Kubrick let it rest on the sudden appearance of the ghostly figures? No. He turns the knife in the psychological wound four times before he pulls out of the scare.

In some circles, jump scares have a bad reputation. There's a good reason for this. All too often in big studio pictures, the jump scare is the only scare. The films don't even do anything new. How often have you seen a recent film where the cat jumps out into the hallway or the crow/raven flies in through the window/attack/fireplace? Too often. And did those films do anything else to scare the audience? No.

The jump scare is not a substitute for substance in a horror film. It is a tool to enhance the overall work. The Woman in Black does enough novel things with the device to temporarily cover for a lack of plot, but it all too quickly falls back into the limp puddle of dreary style over any substance that made the first half of the film a chore to sit through.

Thoughts? Love to hear them.