The Beast is like a slow-twisting knife to the side of our existence, its point sharpened with care by writer-director Bertrand Bonello and guided with the utmost precision so as to not puncture any vital organs — we are alive, but in undeniable pain. Indeed, arriving at a time when humanity is at its most anxious, emotionally exhausted, and existentially frustrated, the film offers zero reprieve as it deals with grand questions of love, death, and loneliness. Yet, at the risk of premature exclamation, it stands as one of the most rewarding movies you'll see this year.

Loosely adapted from the 1903 Henry James novella, The Beast in the Jungle, The Beast stars Léa Seydoux as Gabrielle, a woman who decides to undergo an emotional purification procedure that will eliminate her ability to experience any and all strong feelings. It's the year 2044, and it has since been deemed that humans' capacity for feelings has been a deterrent to progress, so individuals largely participate in this procedure in order to secure more substantial jobs in society. When we first meet Gabrielle, her sole responsibility is to periodically check the temperature of a massive piece of machinery, which is as monotonous a job as it can get.

The emotional purification procedure is achieved at the DNA level, so Gabrielle finds herself hooked up to a Matrix-looking machine. Here, she is thrust back to two important time periods: La Belle Époque in 1910 Paris, and the modern mansions of 2014 Los Angeles. In both pasts and the present, we follow the differing relationships Gabrielle forms with Louis (George MacKay). Though their dynamics may be distinct in each timeline, the unifying quality is in how love and pain are inextricable from each other.

A Conceptual Jungle That Requires Patience

Fate and doom are two pillars of James' original novella, which follows the reunion and relationship between John Marcher and May Bartram. Psychological in nature, the story focuses on John's anxiety over the belief that an especially tragic event will happen to him in the future, which he likens to a "beast in the jungle" patiently waiting to strike. Of course, the moral of the story is that John is so preoccupied with worrying about the future that he fails to appreciate the life that he has in the present — the real "beast" is the all-too-late realization that he has wasted his time fretting over nothing.

Bonello successfully adapts these core themes in The Beast, but also expands the scope by, on one hand, infusing familiar science fiction tropes and elements of period drama, and, on the other, amping up the romance between Gabrielle and Louis. The result is a film that feels sensual, lush, and intimate, but is effectively laced with a crippling foreboding. La Belle Époque is a maximalist's dream, unabashed in its extravagance, and yet something dark and sinister creeps underneath (not unlike thick, pooling blood). By contrast, 2044 is definitively beige in every sense of the word. And 2014, which feels closest to us as viewers, straddles the two: a mausoleum of the past that gestures towards a deranged future.

Because of the conceptual density, The Beast is far from a walk in the park, particularly in the first 45 minutes of its two-and-a-half-hour runtime, as we are unmoored in both the past and future, clamoring for expository clues. However, Bonello milks each minute, and no time is wasted as he sets the stage. Each timeline and setting Gabrielle finds herself in — whether it's a Parisian doll factory, a Los Angeles nightclub, or a future where everything looks and feels the same — is treated with equal importance, as if the answer to every existential question can and will be found there. The price of admission, here, is patience, and those who are willing to pay will benefit the most.

Léa Seydoux's Best Performance to Date

With Seydoux and MacKay, Bonello couldn't have cast better actors. The pair is magnetic on-screen, each drawing the other (and, as a result, us) into their orbit. Of the two, MacKay is afforded the most noticeable differences in his character: in 1910, Louis is an English aristocrat who charms an already-married Gabrielle; in 2014, he is an American incel-type who stalks her; and in 2044, he's a mere stranger Gabrielle keeps running into and can't help but feel a connection. MacKay is excellent at exposing the most sensitive nerves of each of these characters; you can't help but want to fall in love and run for your life at the same time.

With that said, The Beast's biggest triumph is ultimately Seydoux's performance. Like MacKay, she takes on the task of playing three different versions of Gabrielle across time and space, but arguably has the more difficult task of navigating her subtleties, imbuing each with heartfelt nuance and tragic grace. Throughout her on-screen career, specifically within European arthouse cinema of the last decade, Seydoux has consistently established herself as one of the most soulful performers of her generation. Her signature sad eyes and soft vocal tenor are used to great effect here, anchoring us into everything Gabrielle is feeling.

This is an interesting dichotomy when you consider that Gabrielle spends the entirety of The Beast trying not to feel anything. In fact, it's this inevitability of feeling on her part that gets to the root of Bonello's film: alas, even the most hollow cup possesses the inherent potential to be filled — and, by extension, spill over. What is the point of life, love, and longing, then, seems to be the question that hovers over the final moments of the film and beyond. Thinking about where we are in the world right now, the answer — or, perhaps more correctly, the lack thereof — is enough to make you want to scream.

From Vertigo Releasing, The Beast opens in select theaters April 19.