NEW YORK, NY.- “Dad, this is the literally the best day of my life,” teenager Riley (Ariel Donoghue) beams to her doting father, Cooper (Josh Hartnett), in the opening minutes of M. Night Shyamalan’s “Trap.” That feeling won’t last — but for the first half of this mischievous thriller, we’re also having fun.

Riley is ecstatic to have stadium floor seats for her favorite pop icon, Lady Raven (Saleka). The child’s attention is on the stage. Ours is on her father who is having visible difficulty concentrating on the show. He’s clocking the cameras, the exits, the unusual number of cops, the no-nonsense FBI profiler (Hayley Mills) muttering into her walkie-talkie. The police are hunting a serial killer named the Butcher, but all they’ve got to go on is that he’s a middle-aged man in this majority girl crowd. Underneath the thumping bass and the squeals, Shyamalan wordlessly clues us in that the unassuming Cooper is also a slayer desperate to escape.

Instead of telegraphing evil, Hartnett cranks up that gee-willikers likability that once trapped him as one of Hollywood’s factory-stamped generic leading men. At his most devilish, he’s all apple cheeks, grinning so amiably that a merch seller (Jonathan Langdon) reveals that the Butcher has his own obsessives. When no one’s watching, Cooper’s eyes narrow at whatever is on his mind. Should he pull the fire alarm? Slip through the hydraulic lift in the floor? Can his daughter tell he’s acting weird?

It takes cleverness and control to pull off this unspoken tension. Shyamalan boasts the former and feigns the latter for a while before his hot-dogging impulses take over. He’s like a guy who karaokes Hitchcock and then starts ad-libbing his own tune. We’re never onboard with the premise that a 20,000-plus crowd is the perfect place to arrest an unknown man. But we’re willing to play along until it starts to feel like Shyamalan so enjoys being inside Cooper’s head that he doesn’t want to leave. One fairly satisfying ending launches into encore after encore, with Shyamalan holding court past the time the audience is antsy to wrap up.

The plot is at its best when it’s simply a dad, a daughter and the puzzle he must solve to stay in her life. Hartnett and Donoghue have an affectionate, believable chemistry that’s boosted by the young actor’s natural charm — she doesn’t hit a phony note. To root for Riley’s happiness means rooting for Cooper’s, so every so often, particularly after we’ve cheered his latest brazen bit of genius, we’re reminded there’s a victim (Mark Bacolcol) handcuffed in his murder house. Worse, whenever Cooper needs a diversion, he’s willing to send a stranger’s daughter to the ER.

The bigger the scope and the more Cooper’s psychology is explained, the less taut the film feels. There’s too much unnecessary trauma talk and hallucinations. Better is the tragic beat when Riley has a once-in-a-lifetime moment but her dad is too distracted to be present. Restless thoughts ripple underneath Cooper’s skin. Then he feels guilty, then he realizes smiling publicly at his daughter will help him survive. It’s pure silent comedy pathos.

Shyamalan captures the rhythms of a modern arena show, even squeezing in a dig at an egomaniacal surprise guest, a zesty bit of mockery by Scott Mescudi, aka Kid Cudi. Parents of Swifties will get déjà vu from the pretzels, the folding chairs, the Jumbotron and the church-like spirituality of a mass of fans holding up their lit phones to make something beautiful out of their shared pain.

Lady Raven’s groupies are called, naturally, “The Flock,” and they have a fancy for feathered wings and glittery mesh sleeves. Shyamalan’s eldest daughter, Saleka, plays the star and wrote and performed original songs in the film. She’ll probably take some nepo baby grief for it, especially since Shyamalan was a producer on a movie by her sibling, Ishana Night Shyamalan, this summer. But Saleka’s music is pretty good, a kind of ethereal Goth powered by her husky voice and a propulsive beat. Executing Cora Kozaris’ choreography in thigh-high boots, she’s a convincing pop star — and underneath her croons, you can practically hear Shyamalan whisper, “I love my daughter, too. Is that a crime?”

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‘Trap’

Rated PG-13 for bloodless violence and brief strong language. Running time: 1 hour 45 minutes. In theaters.

This article originally appeared in The New York Times.