Bipolar disorder is the common ground that brings two opposites-turned-soulmates together in Touched With Fire, a cute but redundantly lyrical sanitarium romance inspired by Kay Jamison’s book “Touched With Fire: Manic-Depressive Illness and the Artistic Temperament” and the real-life experiences of writer-director Paul Dalio. Carla (Katie Holmes) and Marco a.k.a Luna (Luke Kirby) are manic-depressive poets admitted to the same psychiatric hospital where they at first can’t stand each other (naturally) but soon form a tight bond as they indulge in their shared mania and protect each other from unenlightened oppressors. The creative energy that forms between them is explosive and romantic, but when they choose to start a family, their manic tendencies begins to put their future in danger. Meanwhile, their stubborn, disapproving parents threaten to tear them apart for good.

In several ways the movie ponders the relationship between bipolar disorder and art, from Marco often referencing the legendary work Van Gogh did while manic to the couple explaining to their parents how they absorb the world in a deeper, fuller, more vivid way than normal people are capable of, which allows them to express themselves freely and unfiltered. Dalio also represents the disorder visually, using off-balance camera moves and surrealistic imagery to reflect our heroes’ mindstate. On occasion, the symbolism can be a little too plainspoken: When the couple are unwillingly separated and forbidden to see each other, Carla returns to the waiting room where they first met; we feel she’s missing Marco already, but suddenly an apparition of him appears to further emphasize her longing. The sentiment is nice and the device fits the artistry theme, but it’s a little excessive.

Dalio, who’s dealt with manic depression in his life, used battle rap as an outlet, performing under the name Luna. We see much of his personal struggle in Marco (who also battle raps under the Luna moniker) and the film’s greatest strength is that it feels passionate and personal throughout, evidently pulled directly from pivotal points of life experience. If there’s an issue with how the film ponders mental health it’s in the final acts, when the story starts to feel too studied, overly saturated by the influence of Jamison’s thesis. It’s especially jarring when the author makes an appearance as herself, meeting with the couple to discuss the dulling effects medication may or may not have on the creative process.

Movie romances often live and die by the actors’ eyes: If we don’t see that thirst in their eyes, we ain’t buying it. Holmes and Kirby, thankfully, are convincing in their desire, particularly early on in the film when they’re sneaking away to the hospital library in the middle of the night, going on manic adventures through time and space, unlocking the mysteries of the universe with childlike glee. The adventure’s all in their heads, of course, but Dalio does a nice job of bringing us into their headspace, sprawling projected images of Van Gogh’s “Starry Night” across the library walls to reflect the scope of the couple’s obsession. Moments like these, when Dalio’s visual style feels pitch-perfect, are magical.

On several occassions, Carla and Marco’s parents stage both planned and impromptu interventions, expressing insensitively their wish for the couple to stay far away from one another so as not to further enable their shared mania. The drama in these scenes sometimes works, but more often than not the confrontations feel too transparently educational, with the young actors essentially explaining their mental disorder for those of us in the audience who don’t understand it. Holmes is particularly good, though, at attempting to make the scenes feel natural with her facial expressions and subtle body movements.

When Carla and Marco are alone, running wild with the ecstasy of being unshackled from the doldrums of everyday life, Touched With Fire feels vital and flowing and engrossing. The filmmaking seems to dull, however, when the couple are on their meds and fall back down to earth. There’s no reason a film can’t stay cinematically interesting while still reflecting the internal repression of its characters and, unfortunately, coupled with the staged nature of the later dialogue, the sober segments of the story don’t quite hit home.

When, at the beginning of Miss Meadows, Katie Holmes as the titular character begins to tap dance while walking down a residential sidewalk while blowing kisses at watching birds, grazing deer, and curious squirrels it seems obvious just how silly this dark comedy is going to let itself get. And when a man pulls up next to her in a pickup truck telling her how pretty she looks before subsequently pulling out a gun and demanding she gets in the car, the extent of the film’s dark side is pretty obvious as well. But the extreme space between the silly and the serious is what unravels this schizophrenic film ultimately.

Miss Meadows is prim and proper, never leaves home without her tap shoes on and a book to read, she spends her free time gardening and works as a substitute teacher imbuing her positivity to young children. And when she encounters anyone with bad intentions, she becomes an angry vigilante, pulling out her tiny silver handgun from her purse and swiftly issuing her own form of justice. How she manages to encounter so much evil on a regular basis is a bit questionable, but more questionable is how her vigilantism seems almost always to be invoked in the heat of the moment, too un-meditated, and thus seemingly quite sloppy as far as crimes go. When she meets the local Sheriff (James Badge Dale) and finds he too is devoted to seeing the bad guys get theirs, she’s naturally quite attracted. Of course, their methods are invariably at odds with each other and romantic bliss is disrupted as the Sheriff grows more curious about his new girlfriend.

With cutesy dialog (Miss Meadows loves speaking in etiquette rhymes and says too-da-loo after every interaction), especially between Miss Meadows and her mother (Jean Smart) who are often on the phone with each other, the film can be tedious to endure. Somehow Holmes’s sweetness never seems genuine, and not just because she occasionally pulls out a gun and shoots people, but because writer/director Karen Leigh Hopkins tries to fully explain Miss Meadows darker inclinations as a result of a childhood trauma while giving her impassioned speeches of political reasoning behind her actions that seem almost sensible. She’s not fully sweet and she’s not fully psychotic, therefore she’s not fully interesting.

Some of the best scenes are between Miss Meadows and her students, portraying her as a terrific teacher and mother figure. The chemistry between Holmes and Dale is middling. Neither of them seem particularly to blame. Mid-way through the film when a sinister figure (Callan Mulvey) appears in Miss Meadows neighborhood and she takes it upon herself to warn him not to try anything foolish, the film seems like it might take a darker (and more interesting) turn, but the rest of the plot plays into expectations leading to a rather inevitable conclusion (though with an unnecessary and confusing epilogue that undoes some of the characters’ development.)

Having mostly written for TV movies, Hopkins gives off the impression she never intended for Miss Meadows to be truly dark, there’s too much safety written into the script. But Hopkins hangs out in too much middle ground. Her darkness isn’t dark enough, her humor isn’t funny enough. Even a twist in the third act doesn’t seem all that surprising. Katie Holmes can play it, but the writing isn’t strong enough to give her anything fun to run with.

Miss Meadows is the sort of psychopath you wouldn’t want as a neighbor. Not because she is creepy, but because her by the book manners and Snow White demeanor are so grating, exchanging pleasantries would be downright tedious. As far as friendly neighborhood sociopaths go, I’ll take Dexter Morgan over Miss Meadows any day.

Miss Meadows is now available to stream on VOD.