Verity

There are few things less exciting than watching someone read. And yet that’s the device that Verity uses to sustain almost its entire plot.

In this lurid blend of domestic melodrama and throwback erotic thriller — adapted from a novel by Colleen Hoover (It Ends With Us) — such a literary strategy doesn’t translate well from page to screen.

Instead, the film’s narrative momentum is uneven, and it bogs down in exposition rather than building suspense prior to the obligatory late twists.

Lowen (Dakota Johnson) is a fledgling author whose manager (Ismael Cruz Cordova) proposes a unique opportunity for a possible breakthrough.

She meets with Jeremy (Josh Hartnett) and the publishing team of his wife, Verity (Anne Hathaway), who apparently has become incapacitated due to a recent car accident. They claim to be fans of Lowen’s work and offer a lucrative deal for her to finish Verity’s bestselling book series. Of course she can’t refuse.

Jeremy suggests that Lowen move into their remote house in snowy Vermont for a few months to review Verity’s manuscripts and notes. While there, she bonds with the couple’s young son (Brady Wagner) and uncovers what appears to be a draft of Verity’s autobiography.

Lowen becomes fixated on the secrets revealed about Verity’s relationship with Jeremy — further illustrated through flashbacks — while becoming strangely drawn to him at the same time. But how much of it is truth versus fiction?

As directed by Michael Showalter (The Eyes of Tammy Faye), the film is visually striking while incorporating the ornate house as a somewhat menacing character in itself.

The setup is compelling enough. However, attempts to ratchet up the sizzle with multiple rolls in the sheets don’t add substance to the thin screenplay.

Even those unfamiliar with the source material will know not to expect depth and subtlety as the film becomes progressively more ridiculous. Still, it doesn’t provide sufficient incentive to sympathize with any of the characters as your eyes roll. The performers aren’t given much room to stretch themselves.

As this case of fatal attraction goes off the rails in the final act, at least Verity mostly embraces its trashiness instead of taking itself too seriously. However, it’s not edgy or steamy enough to match its genre ambitions.

Rated R, 114 minutes.