D/S: Rodrigo Cortés. P: Rodrigo Cortés, Adrián Guerra. Cast: Sigourney Weaver, Robert De Niro, Cillian Murphy, Toby Jones, Joely Richardson. UK dist (Blu-ray/DVD): Momentum Pictures.

Remember those heady days, pre-1999, when audiences could innocently enjoy a simple horror movie, without the fear of a game-changing plot twist barging into the arena at the last minute? Shyamalan’s The Sixth Sense made this practically mandatory, turning otherwise serviceable genre fare like Red Lights into an eye-rolling disappointment. A shame, as up to this point Red Lights is quite an absorbing little ESP thriller, boasting name actors, grown-up ideas and full-on hackle-raising scares.

Sigourney Weaver is a paranormal investigator, heading a small team of dedicated researchers including brooding young protégé Cillian Murphy (cheekbones freshly-sharpened for the occasion). Both have intensely personal reasons for pursuing their myth-busting crusade against parapsychological fraudsters. They happily trot from scam to scam, exposing swindlers big and small – from “hauntings” to glitzy showbiz “psychics”, Weaver’s merciless rationalism vanquishes them all. Well, almost all: to her considerable regret, Weaver was never able to skewer media whore Simon Silver (Robert de Niro), a blind Yuri Geller-style spoon bender and multi-purpose mystic who abruptly retired in the late 1960s after his most outspoken critic died of a rare heart complaint. But now, amidst a media blitzkrieg, the one that got away swims unexpectedly back into her sights: Simon Silver will emerge from retirement to perform a series of high-profile shows, and Weaver’s team prepare to take him down…

Red Lights does a lot of things right. Weaver is first-rate as the team’s inspiring leader: warm, charismatic and supremely intelligent, it’s easy to see why her troops show her such fierce loyalty. Murphy is also good as the enigmatic young blade; the surrogate mother-son relationship between the two is clear, but never overstated. The ubiquitous Toby Jones is on hand largely for comedy purposes, as the credulous head of a rival university research team (as eager to prove the existence of paranormal forces as Weaver is to rubbish them). And De Niro, a sepulchral figure in dark glasses and suit, is on fine form as the sinister Silver: unspoken menace lurking behind every smile. Is Silver a fraud, or are his powers genuine? Weaver’s team are confident of the former, until Silver apparently deals them a psychic blast with tragic consequences. (Buried director Rodrigo Cortés handles the grief with an expert touch; these are characters you actually care about.)

But the final act falls rather flat, the twist conveyed through a garbled voice-over that’s practically a masterclass in circumlocution. The big showdown between De Niro and Murphy consequently lacks oomph, closing the film on a note of confusion. (Ambiguity’s one thing, wilful obfuscation quite another.) But Red Lights is still very much worth a look: it’s chilling when it needs to be, the adults behave like credible adults, and the situation is genuinely intriguing. It’s just a pity the writer-director didn’t exorcise the spirit of M. Night Shyamalan before rolling the cameras.