Despite the film's constrained plot, which doesn't move beyond the man-beast codependency, and occasional bouts of silliness (be it the erotic scenes of paw play or Daniels flying into a jealous fit when a he-cat comes calling to their little oasis), first-time director Lavinia Currie sustains a mesmerizing rhythm. As a visual stylist, Currie -- with the aid of her accomplished cinematographer, Andrei Rodionov (Orlando) -- captures the desert's delirious vastness with a piercing brilliance comparable to that of The Sheltering Sky or Walkabout. But as a storyteller, she reduces the spiritual intensity of Balzac's novella to a preposterously literal definition of "pussy whipped."