Charles Schine (Clive Owen, “Closer”) takes the 8.43 into downtown Chicago to work every morning. The one day he misses the train is the one day that threatens to ruin his life, because that’s the day the married advertising director meets financial wizard (“I cheat people, it’s what I do”) Lucinda Harris (Jennifer Aniston, “The Good Girl”). She’s a good listener with a seductive smile and killer legs, and with stress upon stress (his job isn’t going great and his daughter’s diabetes is getting progressively worse) piling upon him the pleasant married executive proves to be a good friend. Quickly lunch turns into drinks after work, drinks become a stolen kiss between tequila shots, a stolen kiss ends up morphing into a taxi cab ride to the steps of a seedy motel.

But before the two can consummate their affair a man breaks into their room, steals their wallets, beats Charles to a bloody semi-unconscious pulp and then rapes a helpless Lucinda. Afterwards, he wants to go to the police, damn the consequences, and do what needs to be done to make sure this man is caught. Lucinda won’t have it. She’ll lose her marriage and her child, the trauma of concealing a rape easier then watching her family walk out the door in disgust. Charles hesitantly goes along, but when the attacker – a cynically smart Frenchman named Laroche (Vincent Cassel, “The Crimson Rivers”) – phones demanding money, everything changes. Now, not only is the executive’s livelihood in danger, so our the lives of his family, and the harder he tries to get out from underneath this man’s thumb the deeper the pit he finds himself stuck in.

Based on the best-selling novel by James Seigel, “Derailed” marks the English language debut of Swedish director Mikael Håfström who’s 2003 picture “Evil” was an Academy Award nominee for Best Foreign Language film. This time out, he’s crafted an unsettling and deeply uncomforting noir thriller, the coils of its story acting like serpentine constrictors crushing the life out of its protagonist. It is a twisty, sometimes surprising Mamet-like puzzle box, slowly building to a conclusion of brutal majesty that’s wonderful.

Three things here border on perfection. The first is Stuart Beattie’s (“Collateral”) complex and intelligently plotted adaptation. The second and third are the performances of Owen and Cassel. Each does stunning work, in the case of Beattie maybe some of the best this year, and all should look back on what they’ve accomplished in this with pride. Quite frankly, nothing about “Derailed” would hold a lick of interest without their talents, Håfström probably thanking his lucky stars he managed an American debut working with all three of them.

There are some other great things here worth pointing out, too, not the least of which is the funny and vibrantly alive deadpan supporting turn of multifaceted musical artist The Rza. He plays Charles’ mailroom clerk and friend Winston, a jovial lay-about who knows more about dealing with people like Laroche than he’d probably like to admit. He’s wonderful, adding a whimsical seriousness to the movie that’s a refreshing counterpoint to the almost unrelentingly grim and grimy atmosphere hovering around the rest of it. Academy Award-winner Peter Biziou’s (“Mississippi Burning”) cinematography is also worthy of praise, while Peter Boyle’s (“The Hours”) editing is so good the film wouldn’t be remotely what it is without his efforts.

So why do I have a bad taste in my mouth? Maybe it’s because, as good as much – if not most – of all of this is, a few of the late-inning twists aren’t as surprising as they probably should have been. It could also be that Aniston, who I really do believe is capable of far more than her “Friends” persona would lead a person to believe, doesn’t add enough heft to her performance to make Lucinda worth caring about. Her final scenes, in particular, just didn’t do it for me, making her ultimate fate a little bit of a ho-hum afterthought. Finally, it could also be that, for all of Owen’s steely resolve, the darkness inherent in every step of this noir mystery gives way to a peculiarly unearned happy ending, an ending that’s only missing a few tweeting birds and shiny multicolored rainbows to be completely insulting.

Still, enough of “Derailed” stays on the rails for me to be able to recommend it in good conscience. Håfström directs with assured sociopathic vitality, concealing some of the more odious twists as long as he possibly can, twisting the knife of suspense into the audience’s gut like Hitchcock on solid cruise control. Cassel, meanwhile, is easily the year’s iciest and most cold-blooded villain, and while this is a role he can do in his sleep that doesn’t make the actor any less effective in the part.

But, beginning to end, this is Owen’s show and the man who should have been James Bond (Daniel Craig – are you kidding me!?!?) dominates the screen like a Bengal Tiger slowly sharpening his claws. He’s sensational, and as long as he’s onscreen Håfström can do very little wrong. If the pieces don’t quite find a way to connect in this pulpy bit of B-movie suspense, it’s not because of Owen. On his own, he keeps “Derailed” riding on-track, and while I wouldn’t personally risk a rush hour ride to see it I wouldn’t begrudge others from making the commute.