Even if you’ve never encountered it in writing or conversation, the phrase Spielberg Face probably doesn’t require further explanation. Into the mind flood images of Laura Dern gazing up at a brachiosaurus near the start of Jurassic Park, Richard Dreyfuss slack-jawed and bathed in light in Close Encounters of the Third Kind, or Roy Scheider realizing his need for a much bigger boat in Jaws. All these characters had a textual reason for their bug-eyed astonishment, but Steven Spielberg’s continued use of his signature money shot has always been more for us than any of them. Since ushering in the modern blockbuster half a century ago, audiences have arrived at his movies expecting grandeur and awe, even coming to cherish his patented cue for demonstrative amazement. That his later career has pivoted to more prestigious affairs makes sense; no one can be expected to approach the ethereal every time out, and situating your work inside the awards season apparatus is as good a way as any to communicate that blowing minds is no longer a top priority. Unless, of course, you make an alien movie.

Pavlovian training is hard to unlearn, and even at the age of 79, wading back into the extra-terrestrial waters, as Spielberg does with his latest, Disclosure Day, can’t help but raise the temperature. It’s a heat that’s keenly felt on the back of Daniel Kellner (Josh O’Connor) in the new film’s opening frames, though the exact nature of his predicament is slow to come into focus. He’s in deep with a shadowy government operation led by the menacing Noah Scanlon (Colin Firth), whom he quickly evades with stolen documents still in hand. The Virginia setting of his narrow escape is a far cry from Kansas City, but the predicament he’s in is soon shared by Margaret Fairchild (Emily Blunt), a local weather reporter who’s suddenly blessed with telepathic abilities beyond her control. No one knows what’s truly going on, but fortunately for the audience, they have no qualms about filling us in.

So it goes when mystery is so central to your premise, but David Koepp’s screenplay, which Spielberg commissioned after offering the scribe a story outline, is entirely too eager to explain itself. It starts as soon as Kellner reaches a safehouse, unloading reams of intel to girlfriend Jane (Eve Hewson) as an excuse to appease the paying customer. Margaret has her own sounding board in the form of layabout partner Jackson (Wyatt Russell), a two-pronged writing hack that’s hardly alone in Koepp’s bag of laborious tricks. Joining it there is a repetitive structure that sees our heroes run for their lives, locate safety, expound upon the goings on, and then escape long enough to repeat the same cycle beat by beat. It all works like gangbusters for a good hour or so, but engineering this naked has a dulling effect over time. The furniture is sturdy, but you can’t help but hone in on all the exposed nuts and bolts.

It’s yarn-spinning as problem solving, a blue-collar framework that lays the responsibility of engagement at the feet of the larger production, an arrangement to which Spielberg is no stranger. Even at its most laden and expository, the helmer finds ways to keep Disclosure visually involving, thanks in large part to the balletic, inventive framing of cinematographer Janusz Kamiński. Having worked together for decades now, the two have developed a short hand that keeps wooden dialogue from ever thumping too loudly on the pavement, swirling around rooms like a celluloid holy ghost. The tension they bring to the flick’s occasional set pieces, like a close call at the train tracks or the sudden vanishing of a horde of warehouse inhabitants, is even more marvelous, which is quite the accomplishment given these sequences’ lack of true necessity.

Much like Christopher Nolan’s Oppenheimer, Disclosure Day is a movie of conversations in rooms, shepherded by a creator who’s well aware of their fans’ periodic need for some pulse pounding red meat. It feels like a concession, though if Spielberg and Koepp are really more interested in relatable dramaturgy, a little more attention to character shading would have gone a long way. O’Connor, in particular, is in sore need of definition, a cybersecurity specialist whose every action feels dictated by the needs of the plot. He’s a square peg in a square hole, and even if Blunt is afforded a juicier part to play with, that distinction remains unmoved. She’s an ace at flipping from daffy everywoman to all-knowing conduit, but journeys to enlightenment needn’t be so schematic.

They’re pieces on a chess board, an analogy that already works for a flick that’s diagrammed within an inch of its life, but adds a second meaning when considering the end game. Wax poetic about the English Opening or Sicilian Defense all you want; the ultimate goal of players on either side of a checkered board is the same checkmate that concludes every match, and Spielberg is getting to his little green men by hook or by crook. We know the end game, which rids Disclosure Day of its ability to be cryptic or surprising right from the start. If his name were Steven Spielman or Scott Spielberg, this wouldn’t be an issue, but it’s not, and however unfair that may be, there’s no use in ignoring the implications of the name on the poster. In a vacuum, his return to tentpole filmmaking is a mixed bag of extraordinary craftsmanship, serviceable acting, and a true turkey of a script, but that’s just not where he lives in the popular consciousness. However misguided, our dreams are for him to open the heavens so we can all stare in wonder, Spielberg Face-style. Anything short of that, and he’d might as well settle for trying to win Best Picture instead.