Mounting dread palpable throughout ‘Split’

Much like the premise of “The Accountant,” you must put aside a measurable amount of good taste in order to enjoy “Split.” Director M. Night Shyamalan has decided to dive into some pretty dark waters with his latest, perhaps his most twisted tale to date. It really shouldn’t be considered “entertainment,” but it does indeed feature some spectacularly crafted suspense and visuals within its overlong two-hour runtime.

Starting with expert economy of staging, “Split” opens with Kevin Wendell Crumb (played by James McAvoy) abducting three teenage girls in the parking lot of a crowded mall. It’s a scene that seems almost lifted from the Hitchcock handbook, revealing just enough and allowing tension to mount by what it does not display.

It’s sophisticated minimalism at which the director excels, with only a handful of words uttered collectively by its cast. But, as has been the case in past films by the director, Shyamalan is also its writer. And as poetic he can be with the lens, words fail him when he picks up the pen.

This has hobbled such past films as “The Village” and in particular “The Happening,” but he has actually fared even worse when he handed the writing duties over to others in films like “The Last Airbender” and “After Earth.”

After 2015’s modest hit “The Visit,” he was once again emboldened to tackle both duties here, resulting in the usual mixed bag of exquisite cinematography, somber storylines, graceful construction, sketchy content, superior set design and forced twists.

Anya Taylor-Joy, Jessica Sula and Haley Lu Richardson play the trio of teens taken by Crumb and stashed in a dingy basement with little explanation as to why, but hints of everything from sexual assault to sacrifice.

These outcomes are all introduced to them by Crumb, or rather one of Crumb’s apparently 28 personalities, nine of which McAvoy so expertly introduces in scene after scene. At one moment he’s a haughty British schoolmarm, another he’s a foppish fashion designer, and yet another he’s a 9-year-old lisping lad, but all warn the girls of an impending personality that is preparing for its debut in a most horrid fashion.

McAvoy gets to flash his strengths in each role, allowing himself to embody each and throwing himself fully into whoever’s turn it is at the wheel of Crumb’s brain.

It is when we learn, through flashbacks, of the story’s central conceit that things start to devolve into rather unsavory territory.

It leads the film to a questionable conclusion that involves child rape and how the effects of such an atrocity can actually “save” someone. It’s also presented with such thudding obviousness that even though nothing is ever actually shown, it’s discomforting enough to make the viewer want to look away.

Shyamalan’s grasp of the actual science of personality disorders makes it all the more offensive, as he posits this condition may in fact be one that makes mankind “superhuman” and might lead to some evolutionary breakthrough (harkening back to his second film, “Unbreakable”).

And as poorly as all this is written, he still manages to tell it with exquisite craftsmanship, which is the most frustrating part of “Split.”

Featuring long takes, meticulous staging of scenes, and atmospheric lighting, the film’s mounting dread is palpable throughout.

The result is a pretty picture that ultimately cannot dramatically deliver on the promise of its style.