At first it seems a premise shamelessly lifted from Michael Haneke’s “Caché”: A couple is disconcerted to receive an unmarked DVD in their mailbox, playing it to find footage of themselves being unwittingly filmed as they go about their day. But just as Haneke’s film took what seemed like a starting point for an effective domestic horror movie and pushed it into thorny sociopolitical territory, the slippery, shape-shifting psychodrama “ Stranger Eyes ” likewise has more on its mind than just the question of who’s watching who. Solving one mystery unexpectedly quickly before diving into deeper, more searching uncertainties of human behavior and relationships, the third feature from Singaporean writer-director Yeo Siew Hua gradually reveals a broken heart beneath its sleek, chilly veneer.

Yeo’s previous feature, the neon-noir “A Land Imagined,” placed him on the map of auteur filmmakers in 2018 by winning the top prize at Locarno. It also revealed, after his more experimental 2009 debut “In the House of Straw”, an affinity for genre-driven narratives with intricate time-hopping structures and a touch of social consciousness. “Stranger Eyes”, with its shimmering atmosphere and elegant non-linear storytelling, continues in this vein, though it is a more accomplished and enjoyable film, prioritizing character development and emotional depth over convoluted storytelling. If “A Land Imagined” was captivating enough to secure a multi-territory Netflix deal, Yeo’s latest should receive at least as much international attention following its Venice competition premiere.

The densely populated island nation of Singapore serves as a perfect backdrop for a story about surveillance and private lives made public. Given the challenges of truly remaining unseen in such an environment, the film centers on Junyang (Wu Chien-ho) and Peiying (Anicca Panna), a young couple living in a vast, grid-like high-rise, facing another similar structure. This environment lends itself to a “Rear Window”-like scenario of peering through curtains on an almost industrial scale. Even at home, they are not alone, sharing living space with Junyang’s mother Shuping (Vera Chen) and their baby daughter Bo. This crowded arrangement, while not uncommon in this tightly packed society, has put Junyang and Peiying’s relationship on shaky ground.

And that’s before Bo inexplicably goes missing one day, a crisis that is quickly followed by the arrival of an ominous DVD, and then several more like it. The contents range from routine daily activities to highly personal moments. The couple is stalked, and their child is seemingly abducted. It seems like these events must be connected, but investigating police officer Zheng (Jeff Teo) offers only vague guidance, while arranging for the installation of a CCTV camera outside their door — another surveillance device in a city already saturated with them.

It’s no secret that this spy-versus-spy strategy leads them to Wu (Lee Kang-sheng), the melancholy, middle-aged man who lives with his elderly mother in the apartment across the way. While the eerie recordings are not exactly a red herring, they serve as the opening act in a strange, hesitant dance of human connection. This leads even Junyang and Peiying to cautiously view each other as strangers, while the ongoing search for their daughter brings their insecurities as partners and parents to the forefront.

However, just as you think you've grasped the film's essence, it takes another unsettling temporal shift. This shift, executed with such effortless skill by editor Jean-Christophe Bouzy (known for his more flamboyant collaborations with Julia Ducournau), leaves us initially uncertain about the passage of time and its direction. As a more complete timeline of family life unfolds, the intrusive gaze of a third party exposes how little Junyang and Peiying have truly observed each other.

The fact that Wu is portrayed by Taiwanese legend Lee, in arguably his most significant film role outside his longstanding collaboration with Tsai Ming-liang, is an early indication that there’s more to his character than meets the eye, or the grainy surveillance lens. As “Stranger Eyes” shifts its focus to Wu and his silent, stifling solitude — and the array of distant, one-sided relationships he forms to feel less alone in the world — the somber, sorrowful reserve of Lee’s presence adds a layer of emotional depth to the film beneath its sharp narrative structure, shimmering-cool cinematography, and timely technophobia.

There’s a larger social commentary at play here, of course, as “Stranger Eyes” thoughtfully examines the collective erosion of private life through numerous screens and lenses, and the resulting weakening of the social fabric. “You just have to watch someone closely enough,” Zheng advises the couple, “and at some point, even if they are not a criminal, they will become one.” Yet, amidst its consistently tense, paranoid thriller elements, Yeo’s film also functions on a personal level, as a bittersweet, somewhat melancholic character study, and a tribute to a bygone era of community and trust.