Review: Literary scheming will only get you so far. So endeth ‘The Lesson’

“Average writers attempt originality,” declares Richard E. Grant’s fictional acclaimed author J.M. Sinclair — more than a bit smugly — in the prologue to “The Lesson.” “Good writers have the sense to borrow from their betters. Great writers steal.”

Adhering to Sinclair’s philosophy, this neo-noirish literary thriller cribs rather liberally from other examples of the genre, from Ira Levin’s “Deathtrap” and Stephen King’s “Misery” to the more recent “Intrigo: Death of an Author,” with above-average results.

Enlisted to tutor the renowned writer’s teenage son, Bertie (Stephen McMillan), at their idyllic, sun-drenched family estate, aspiring scribe Liam (Daryl McCormack) figures he’s landed a dream gig.

But as he preps the sensitive young Bertie for his entrance exams at Oxford, Liam soon realizes that the Sinclair household harbors more than its share of dark family secrets, starting with the tragic drowning of another son, Felix, several years earlier.

Daryl McCormack in the movie “The Lesson.”

(Anna Patarakina / Bleecker Street)

As tensions between the creatively impotent Sinclair and his French artist-wife, Hélène (Julie Delpy), grow more palpable, it becomes apparent to Liam that he isn’t the only one with a hidden agenda.

The always-up-for-anything Grant (who made an Oscar-nominated impression as hard-living Lee Israel confidant Jack Hock in Marielle Heller’s “Can You Ever Forgive Me?”) plays Sinclair with an ideal blend of pretention and barely contained desperation.

He proves well matched with handsome Irish actor McCormack, recently cast as Emma Thompson’s attentive male escort in “Good Luck to You, Leo Grande.” Liam’s wide-eyed, eager-to-please demeanor serves as a handy front for some decidedly more calculated deeds.

Together the pair proceed to smudge the dividing line between mentor and protégé, while Delpy’s tight-lipped Hélène patiently keeps to the sidelines, awaiting the perfect opportunity to contribute a wily plotline of her own.

In her handling of a screenplay by Alex MacKeith, British TV director Alice Troughton (“Doctor Who”) has done her homework, tapping into Hitchcock and Polanski for stylistic, elegantly photographed inspiration. Meanwhile, MacKeith’s script takes a page from Patricia Highsmith when it comes to character dynamics and matters of social climbing .

Those influences can’t help but draw unfortunate attention to the predictability of a story that could have benefited from one more twist, especially during a languid third act, which needed to ratchet up the tension by several notches.

But in the thoroughly capable hands of Grant, Delpy and McCormack, whose interplay has been playfully choreographed to the 1-2-3 tempo of a waltz-infused score by composer Isobel Waller-Bridge (Phoebe’s sister), the film proves as pleasingly undemanding as a typical summer read: neither a legit page-turner, nor easy to put down.