Joseph Ruben’s panning shots of New York’s rooftops are a subliminal nod to Rosemary’s Baby, but this workmanlike chiller doesn’t probe anywhere so dark. Softened by the relentless tinkling of James Horner’s piano, it has the safety catch on. Julianne Moore may have hoped for a role to match Kidman’s in The Others, but it’s Shyamalan-lite, not Polanski-pervy. She stresses out floridly, but isn’t helped by clumping co-star Dominic West, who does ‘alcoholic’ like he’s had too much toast. Moore believes her son’s died in a plane crash, but hubby Anthony Edwards and shrink Gary Sinise say it ain’t so. Is she going potty? Or just over-acting? When she meets an ex-hockey star (West) whose daughter’s missing presumed dead too, they pair up to investigate. Crack FBI agents, easily outrun by Julianne Moore and a lousy actor, give chase. Linus Roache creeps about, and Jools reckons alien abduction’s going down. That’s no more implausible than much of the plot. The special effect, when it comes, is a stunner. Slick hokum.