Cat Person

Exploring gender politics and sexual dynamics through a contemporary feminist lens, Cat Person provides an incisive if unsettling glimpse into relationship issues in the social-media age.

If that sounds like a boilerplate romantic comedy, it’s definitely not. However, as it probes deeper into paranoia and empowerment, this uneven low-key psychological thriller from director Susanna Fogel (The Spy Who Dumped Me) loses its narrative footing in a muddled and misguided final act.

On the surface, Margot (Emilia Jones) is a typical indie movie heroine — sardonic and outspoken, with a soft spot for animals and a cynical attitude toward men.

She’s a college student selling concessions at the local movie theater, where she meets Robert (Nicholas Braun), an older cinephile whose introduction ultimately leads to texting and to a full-blown affair.

For Margot, what seems like a healthy and burgeoning romance is gradually plagued by issues of trust and power. Her cynical best friend (Geraldine Viswanathan) sees plenty of red flags: “Why are you always apologizing to dudes?”

She seems drawn to the mystery. But what are his intentions? The film drops subtle hints about Robert’s creepiness throughout, and as he reveals characteristics of a predator, Margot unfortunately makes insecure prey.

At first, the screenplay by Michelle Ashford (Operation Mincemeat), adapted from the acclaimed New Yorker short story by Kristen Roupenian, generates a winning mix of quirks and charm, with scattered big laughs and a dash of surreal inventiveness.

Yet as the film inevitably transitions into a darker and more provocative cautionary tale, it never generates sufficient emotional investment to justify dissecting the relationship in this level of painstaking detail.

Their awkwardness is alternately endearing and cringe-worthy at first — feel the discomfort while they copulate to Depeche Mode — but eventually the film bogs down in analytical self-doubt. Cat Person ambiguously tries to rationalize its millennial angst, which in turn cuts into its credibility when it transitions into a thriller in the second half.

Jones (Coda) finds a winning mix of strength and vulnerability for a character that deserves a better job, better boyfriend, and a better movie — one that doesn’t fall apart when it should be tightening its grip.

Not rated, 118 minutes.