Even as many New Yorkers head to the shore or to cooler environs upstate, the city’s many cinemas offer bracing, sometimes even freezing, respite for those who can’t get away just yet. If one of the movies playing at a nearby theater is set in a summerhouse in the countryside near a beach — and the new German movie “Afire” is — then the clammy city dweller is really in luck. 

The director of “Afire,” Christian Petzold, is known for his tricky psychological thrillers. Playing at the IFC Center, his latest represents a departure from the propulsion of genre filmmaking and the exploration of tortured psyches, though the new film does feature a youngish author protagonist, Leon, who is filled with self-loathing as he works on his difficult second novel. 

When we first meet Leon, he is being driven by his friend Felix through pristine forest to a quaint house belonging to Felix’s mother near the Baltic coast. Expository dialogue establishes that Leon agreed to the trip so that he could write in a peaceful setting with no one else around except for his friend, providing the tranquility needed to put the finishing touches to his manuscript. 

Yet disturbances occur almost immediately: Felix’s car breaks down several kilometers away from the house, helicopters intermittently dart overhead, an emergency vehicle in the nearest town blares out warnings about forest fires, and, most inconveniently for Leon, another houseguest is staying at the cottage. 

This lodger is a young woman named Nadja and not only is she there for the summer due to a mix-up on the part of Felix’s mother, but she also flits about the house whistling and distracting Leon. Working as an ice cream vendor in the nearby town, Nadja is having relations with a local lifeguard — or ”rescue swimmer,” as the character Devid puts it. Felix becomes interested in Devid as well, and what had been indefinite homoerotic tension between Leon and Felix grows clearer. Leon, though, focuses his attention on Nadja, and the four of them enter into a sort of dance of desire, a “dance of looks,” by Mr. Petzold’s description.

If viewers expect a diverting variation of an Éric Rohmer film from this summery, potently amorous setup, one might be disappointed when events don’t quite pan out in the style of the French master. Yet a few refined elements do make for a pleasurable viewing experience, not least of which is the astute cinematography that elaborates on the spatial and relational contrasts between characters. There’s also a literary bent to the movie’s discourse, particularly when Leon’s editor comes to visit so that the two can review the changes Leon made to his manuscript. Nadja’s reciting of a poem by Heinrich Heine makes for an especially lovely, eloquent moment.

As Leon, Thomas Schubert wears uptightness like armor, and many writers might see themselves in his self-conscious mannerisms and moodiness. The actor is also very effective in showing how Leon is falling for Nadja, with each furtive glance and snobbish remark a further symptom of his inability to engage directly with her. In her third movie with Mr. Petzold, Paula Beer radiates intellectual and emotional intelligence as Nadja. Langston Uibel, Enno Trebs, and Matthias Brandt all have key moments as Felix, Devid, and Leon’s editor Helmut, though one wishes that Felix was a more fleshed out character, as it’s hard to believe he and Leon would be good friends. 

Given that “Afire” is fashioned as a German version of the summer love movie, Sturm und Drang soon makes an appearance via the aforementioned forest fires drawing closer and a medical emergency. Indeed, Mr. Petzold has so many different events come to a head at the same time that the movie becomes frantic and a bit awkward, betraying a structural problem with the screenplay. 

Yet the film’s coda combines literate narration and haunting imagery — a very Germanic duo — to transform the strained story of a smug, myopic writer into one of existential longing and human connection. Like an unexpectedly resonant beach read or all-night bonfire, the thematic embers of “Afire” burn on.