Suspense and skill flood 'Dark Water'

In the case to persuade Hollywood studios to engage real directors more often, not just for their awards fodder, add "Dark Water" as Exhibit B, right after Christopher Nolan's "Batman Begins." Brazilian Walter Salles, who previously directed the Oscar-nominated films "Central Station" and "The Motorcycle Diaries," guides this stylish remake through treacherous territory to create a distressing, subtly suspenseful film full of emotional resonance.

Like "Batman Begins," "Dark Water" places a priority on character development and shuns the GameBoy/PlayStation pacing that plagues a lot of new movies. Salles walks a tightrope, balancing a serious, dramatic narrative involving a nasty custody case with anxiety-inducing themes. Right behind him on that tightrope is star Jennifer Connelly, whose nuanced performance never condescends to the genre and takes the audience along with her right to the edge.

Adapting the Japanese novel and film by the author and director of "The Ring," Salles and screenwriter Rafael Yglesias craftily reset "Dark Water" on New York City's Roosevelt Island, the long, narrow strip of land in the middle of the East River. The claustrophobic locale, soaked with rain and permeated with a sense of alienation, makes for a perfect environment to brew an intelligent, well-crafted thriller.

Connelly plays Dahlia Williams, a newly single mom struggling to find affordable housing for her and her 6-year-old daughter, Ceci (Ariel Gade). On the island, they find a place, liberally described as a two-bedroom, in a dank, deteriorating apartment building. Murray, the huckster building manager, played with smarmy zeal by John C. Reilly, assures Dahlia that a new coat of paint and other improvements will brighten up the creepy lobby and sinister ambience.

A furtive trip to the rooftop wins over an initially skeptical Ceci, and Dahlia's desperation to appease her daughter, coupled with Murray's snake-oil salesmanship, has them swiftly moving into apartment 9F, against the wishes of Dahlia's ex-husband, Kyle (Dougray Scott). Before long, a foreboding spot on the ceiling gives way to an oozing liquid the color of French roast, and Dahlia is enmeshed in renter's hell.

Described by Murray as having been built during the 1970s in "the Brutalist style," the building exhibits that approach's devotion to raw concrete and blockish, geometric shapes, spiked with Gothic oddities. Therese DePrez's ("American Beauty") noir-stained production design suggests urban decay fueled by industrial neglect. Shot by cinematographer Affonso Beato, a frequent collaborator of Pedro Almodovar, the visuals send a cold, wet chill down your spine.