Awards Columnist/Chief Film Critic

When it comes to M. Night Shyamalan, it’s a career that’s one of the most mixed bags in cinematic history. For every Sixth Sense, there’s a Lady In The Water. For every Signs, there’s a Happening. For every Unbreakable, there’s an After Earth. For every Split, there’s a Knock At The Cabin.

He started out with Oscar nominations early in his career, plus comparisons to Hitchcock and Spielberg. But his obsession with outdoing himself has too often led to disappointment. In the case of his latest film, Trap, he writes himself into a corner from which there is no escape, if not for his protagonist, then at least for himself.

Officially opening tomorrow, but in theaters tonight — where I saw the first showing — because the studio, in a rare move these days, hasn’t invited critics to see it ahead of time. I was initially intrigued by the amusing, if utterly ridiculous, plot twists Shyamalan has dreamed up for the main attraction here, a serial killer apparently on the loose at a crowded concert. Plot-wise, the authorities have been informed (exactly how is explained much later) that among the 30,000 people in attendance, mostly teenage girls, will be a man known as The Butcher, who has been in business for seven years and has murdered at least a dozen people during his crime spree. Their plan is to covertly transform the arena into a “trap,” with every conceivable exit guarded by SWAT teams who, I imagine, intend to search any adult male who tries to escape.