M. Night Shyamalan is one of the few filmmakers of his generation who has made himself a brand. If his surname were a bit shorter, he might even have made himself a household adjective by now. To buy a ticket for one of Mr. Shyamalan’s films is to accept an invitation to be wowed by a deliriously intriguing premise and, in the third act, to witness with delight the world being turned upside down. Mr. Shyamalan also carries the unfortunate distinction of having perpetrated more terrible movies than practically anyone else in his class of blockbuster auteurs: “The Village,” “Lady in the Water,” “The Last Airbender,” “After Earth.” This list is not comprehensive. Once he made a thriller about murderous trees (“The Happening”) whose script seemed as though it got lost on the way to Mel Brooks ’s office.

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