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At first, it's not clear what you're looking at. A camera holds steady on a quiet Parisian street. Cars and pedestrians pass through the frame, birds flit and traffic sounds in the distance. And then a man's voice from offscreen asks, "Well?" A woman answers: "Nothing."

When the video fast-forwards, you realize you're looking at a TV screen, watching along with Georges (Daniel Auteuil) and Anne (Juliette Binoche). The tape shows their home, shot from across the street, surveillance-style. It has arrived at their doorstep without explanation, an indication that they're being watched. By whom, they don't know. "Whose idea of a joke would this be?" asks Georges.

Figuring out the answer to this question becomes Georges' focus throughout Caché, Michael Haneke's latest unsettling look at the shaky foundations of bourgeois security. Many things are "hidden" here—the identity of the videographer, his or her motives, and perhaps most disconcertingly, Georges' part in the relationship that is so strangely established here. The camera takes up this theme, frequently watching Georges and Anne from a discreet middle distance, with only their backs or silhouettes in view, so you're left without the usual cues—probing close-ups, swelling music, meaningful glances—to shape your reactions.

As more tapes arrive, slipped into a plastic shopping bag and accompanied by childlike drawings of bland figures in duress (eyes wide, throat sliced, blood gushing), Georges and Anne wonder how to handle their upset. Should they speak with their 12-year-old son, Pierrot (Lester Makedonsky)? Tell their friends? Go to the police?

A television talk show host—the subject is books—Georges spends his days being taped, on a stage set where he and his guests are backed by shelves of fake books. Georges is used to knowing how much time he has, when to break, when to provide filler. In his new situation as a camera's object, he feels out of control, unknowing and increasingly angry.

The drawings disrupt his routine but are also oddly familiar, enough that he thinks the tapes might be related to his childhood. He dreams of these days, including a young Algerian boy, Majid (played in Georges' memories by Malik Nait Djoudi), whose parents worked for Georges' in the early 1960s, during the French war against Algeria. Georges becomes a kind of embodiment of historical guilt, unable to articulate his concerns or apologize for his own youthful abuses of Majid. He feels like the victim.

Seeking confirmation of his hunch from his elderly mother (Annie Girardot), Georges is disappointed: She barely remembers Majid, whom they sent away for an infraction Georges tricked him into committing. Tracking down the adult Majid (played by Maurice Bénichou), Georges confronts him. "Terrorize me and my family and you'll regret it," asserts Georges, posturing in his host's grim, dark kitchen. "Kicking my ass won't leave you any wiser about me," Majid retorts. "You have too much to lose."

It's hard to say whether Georges ever realizes that his own childhood lies were premised on fear of loss and tangled up in childish cruelty and racism. Threatening violence hardly appears easy for Georges, but even his uncertainty looks sinister. When Majid's son (Walid Afkir) comes to Georges' office, the older man is flustered: "You can't make me feel guilty," he insists. But you see the son doesn't need to.

Caché connects Georges' puny poses to those of world leaders by means of television news in the background referring to "coalition countries" and protests against a war. His actions all have consequences, much as he tries to repress them. Hiding his past from Anne leads to her distrust, and when his boss questions him (one of the tapes shows up at work), Georges confesses only partly, claiming Majid has a "pathological hatred of my family."

None of the crises will be resolved, as fear shapes all perspectives. The surveillance in itself becomes so threatening that Georges is unable to make sense of it as a "message." It's telling that when he and Anne attend a swim meet where Pierrot competes, another contestant's family is taping, all smiles and encouragement—but seen through Georges' eyes, they suddenly seem ominous. Georges falls into a metaphorical and literal darkness following one terrible moment of violence (to which he is invited to "be present"). His inability to make sense of his experience, to read it or even comment on it coherently, leaves him stunned and even more afraid. In a final, cryptic image, Caché connects fathers and sons, histories and responsibilities, fears and accusations. And you're left to do your own reading.

Caché

Written and directed by Michael Haneke A Sony Pictures Classics release Opens Friday at Ritz Bourse