Director and writer Jérémy Clapin’s sophomore feature, “Meanwhile on Earth,” is as haunting as it is assured, and if you’re puzzled by how the story plays out — well, that’s the price paid for a popular entertainment powered by hard questions. It’s not every space opera that redounds to inescapable human truths. Mr. Clapin’s movie is furtive in its poetry.

The director’s debut picture, “I Lost My Body” (2019), passed me by, notwithstanding a nomination for Best Animated Feature by the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. Passages of animation punctuate the otherwise live-action “Meanwhile on Earth.”

Rendered in black-and-white and given to crystalline gradations of atmospheric space, these moments initially seem arbitrary — their inclusion being more a stylistic choice than an integral component of the story. But, who knew, patience is a virtue: Mr. Clapin proves a deft hand at weaving two strands of imagery: one is drawn; the other, photographic. The twain meet to necessary effect.

Our protagonist, Elsa (Megan Northam, lean and frazzled), works as an attendant in a facility for senior citizens with memory problems. She’s pretty good at her job, duly helping her wards with basic human needs. All the same, Elsa is preoccupied. 

At her side is a small journal, presumably for taking notes about the adults in her care. It is, in actuality, a sketchbook in which Elsa draws, both from life and her imagination. She’s as non-stop in her artistic pursuits as her work schedule allows, using even the briefest respite for putting pen to paper.

Elsa had better watch her p’s and q’s, though: The boss, Annick Martins (Catherine Salée), is a tough cookie who brooks no nonsense. Annick is also Elsa’s mother. Life at home is dolorous and catch-as-catch-can. Younger brother Vincent (Roman Williams) is given to sulking, but, then, he’s an adolescent. Elsa’s father (Sam Louwyck), bedraggled and seen-it-all, has squirreled himself away in the basement with his music. Elsa matches dad in lethargy and cynicism. Mom attempts to keep these ragtag temperaments on the one. Ennui reigns.

The lone family member not in attendance is the eldest son, Franck (Sébastien Pouderoux). The reason for his absence is the stuff of front-page headlines: Franck was an astronaut who disappeared under mysterious circumstances while on a mission in space. Enough time has transpired since the disaster that the rural French township in which the Martins family lives has placed a life-sized bronze statue of Franck at the center of a grassy traffic circle. The monument is the subject of regular defacement — by Elsa and her can of fluorescent green spray paint.

The closeness between lost brother and abandoned sister is underlined by the animated portions of “Meanwhile on Earth,” with the former represented in his astronaut gear and the latter by a sleek, elfin-like alien. As is suggested by the film’s title, Elsa is drifting through life with her dreams of being a comic book artist indefinitely put on hold. That is, until Franck contacts her from a galaxy far, far away. 

We hear his voice, often through prismatic distortions, and a conversation between siblings ensues. At which point, an authoritative alien voice overrides the reunion. It asks: would you like to be reunited with Franck? If so, Elsa, we have a job for you….

We never see these otherworldly beings and only sporadically visit Franck’s free-floating spacecraft. Most of our time is spent in the denser reaches of a forest in which Elsa must satisfy her interlocutor’s not-very-specific demands. Body-snatching takes place, as does attempted rape and human sacrifice. Special effects are primarily the purview of sound designer Vincent Piponnier, who creates a perturbing mood by navigating between the unknown prerequisites of otherworldly power and the nagging prerogatives of the psyche. 

In the latter case, Mr. Clapin’s allusive script is set into motion by Ms. Northam, who toes a line between the mundane and the fantastic with brilliant aplomb. The denouement of “Meanwhile on Earth” may leave viewers a bit flabbergasted — but, well, life is like that. It’s the rare genre picture that plumbs deeper than its resources would seem to allow. Here is one of them.