M. Night Shyamalan’s ‘Trap’ Is a Juicy, Sinister Thriller

M. Night Shyamalan has made a career out of jaw-dropping twists , but the most surprising thing about his latest, Trap (in theaters August 2), is that it works better during its back rather than its front half.

Suspension of disbelief is an absolute must with this serpentine thriller about a dad and daughter’s trip to a concert that transforms into something far more deadly, and some of its conveniences are bound to elicit eye rolls and exasperated guffaws. As a pulpy game of cat-and-mouse, however, it provides enough thrills to compensate for its illogicalities, and in Josh Harnett, it boasts a star adept at locating the fiendishness in fatherhood.

“Don’t let people fool you,” says Cooper (Hartnett) to his tween daughter Riley (Ariel Donoghue) as they dismiss a scalper outside the arena where they’ve come to see a Taylor Swift-esque pop sensation named Lady Raven (Saleka Shyamalan) perform to throngs of adoring fans. This is a bigger red flag than Cooper’s prior announcement that “we’re not going to break any laws,” although Shyamalan doesn’t wait long before letting the cat out of the bag.

After making their way to their fantastic floor seats (a reward for Riley’s recent, stellar report card), Cooper retreats to a bathroom stall where, on his phone, he views a live video feed of a twentysomething man who’s chained to a metal pole in a dingy basement. If this footage doesn’t out Cooper as a malevolent psycho, the look of fascination and malice on his face does the trick. Once he’s returned to Riley, however, Cooper segues effortlessly back into dorky dad mode—a chameleonic trick that’s clearly the reason he’s yet to be caught.

Hartnett plays Cooper as a madman hiding in plain sight, his smile cheery but his eyes sharp and observant. Almost as soon as they arrive at the venue, Cooper notices an unusually large police presence, and his interest in this development goes from piqued to alarmed as the show gets underway and he sees officers literally pulling single fathers out of the stands.

More worrisome, the entrances are blocked by heavily armed SWAT members and cops appear to be lurking behind every off-limits door. As he fretfully tries to assess these circumstances, Cooper is distracted by Riley’s enthusiasm (which requires a passably excited response) as well as the mother of a girl who’s hurt Riley in some unspecified previous spat. Cooper’s curt treatment of this woman is another hint about his inner scariness, not to mention a wish-fulfillment delight for any parent of a young girl.

While Shyamalan doesn’t partake in the type of flamboyant formal showmanship that marked Brian De Palma’s arena-set Snake Eyes , his direction (aided by cinematographer Sayombhu Mukdeeprom) is sly and sinister, employing a bevy of striking close-ups (and one fantastic split diopter shot) to capture Cooper’s unease and, beneath it, frenzy.

Unfortunately, once the concert begins, Trap becomes unduly fixated on Lady Raven’s songs, which were written and performed by Shyamalan’s daughter and, despite paralleling some of the material’s underlying themes, prove largely generic and enervating. Shyamalan faithfully replicates the experience of going to one of these spectaculars, from girls shrieking at the artist as she exits her tour bus, to fans mimicking their idol’s dance choreography in the arena concourse. Too often, though, he sabotages momentum in favor of giving his offspring a main-stage spotlight for tedious routines.

( Warning: Some spoilers follow.)

As has been spoiled by its promotional trailers, Trap kicks into gear when Cooper impresses a t-shirt vendor (Jonathan Langdon) with his generosity and, having struck up a friendly rapport, asks about the law enforcement in attendance and learns that the entire concert is actually a trap that’s been laid to catch “The Butcher,” an infamous serial killer whose signature is dismembering his victims.

Cooper’s sunny on the outside, perturbed on the inside reaction to this news indicates that he’s the sought-after monster, thus motivating him to begin searching for a way out. Shyamalan does his best to sell this amazing bit of fortune for Cooper as a believable turn of events, and he almost pulls it off, in large part by barreling forward into ever more perilous terrain. Alas, he’s less successful with a subsequent incident that strains credibility past any reasonable threshold and, for a time, undermines the entire endeavor.

Thankfully, once Cooper, Riley, and Lady Raven manage to exit the arena, Trap picks up significantly, thanks to an unlikely war of wills (and wiles) that involves careful deceptions, colliding worlds, and social media ruses. None of it rings totally true, but Shyamalan consistently raises the stakes in order to escalate tension and drown out nagging questions about plausibility. In these passages, the younger Shyamalan acquits herself adequately opposite Hartnett, whose good looks serve as a perfect average-Joe mask, even if his dark, cold glares suggest the limits of his carefully manicured façade.

Shyamalan’s script is full of spot-on details (some having to do with Cooper’s OCD) which help outweigh a couple of hoary devices, the worst of which is the killer’s recurring visions of an old woman who stares at him with blank disappointment. The participation of Alison Pill as Cooper’s gracious wife adds another live-wire element to this mix, given that no matter her sunshiny brightness, the actress’ late appearance raises suspicions about Cooper’s entire suburban Philadelphia clan.

Shyamalan keeps things reasonably anxious as Cooper struggles to extricate himself from both a series of set-ups designed by the cagey FBI profiler (Hayley Mills) on his trail, as well as problems born from his sloppy inability to always see two steps ahead of his adversaries.

Best of all, Trap ultimately refuses to take the familiar Shyamalan route, opting instead to follow its premise through to the bitter end rather than introducing a last-second bombshell that reconfigures the preceding action or connects this saga to one of his earlier films. A self-contained potboiler that hits more right notes than wrong, it eschews the director’s trademark formula with satisfyingly self-contained results—and, with a final reveal and a devilish smile, implies that perhaps this is the start of a new era for the acclaimed auteur.

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