Army Special Forces veteran and Heart of the Beast protagonist James Belmont (Brad Pitt) isn’t much of a people person. Hence his love for taking himself and his three-legged doggo Odin (who’s also an Army veteran) into a biplane and exploring isolated parts of Alaska. They’ve each seen enough turmoil and bloodshed to fill multiple lifetimes. Submerging themselves in nature is just what the doctor ordered. However, whilst flying back to civilization, Belmont has a heart attack and crashes himself and Odin in the woods. Allegedly, this isn’t the most traumatic thing to happen on a plane involving Brad Pitt.

The wounded pair have lost much of their supplies and are 58 miles from the nearest road. Thus, Belmont and Odin start on a trek across the natural world. Countless obstacles, like log bridges precariously placed over roaring rivers, promise endless problems for the pair. Luckily, Belmont’s got “the Air Jordan of dogs” at his side.

Cameron Alexander’s Heart of the Beast script is a mighty streamlined creation. Only three human actors show their faces the entire film. Flashbacks are almost exclusively confined to briefly seen visuals representing Odin’s nighttime PTSD horrors. Beast’s structure largely boils down to conjuring up new natural elements (like an unexpectedly flooded field) every 15 minutes for Belmont and Odin to confront. Committing to brevity is admirable. Throughout cinema history, such compact movies unleash the creativity in directors like Budd Boetticher. It’s fun watching talented artists cram as much entertainment and personality as possible into bite-sized packages.

Unfortunately, Heart of the Beast comes from director David Ayer. The man behind Bright, A Working Man, and End of Watch has a mixed artistic track record (to put it gently). Most of his films are hollow pastiches of better motion pictures. They’re also run-of-the-mill bro-movies for dads. In his hands, Heart of the Beast comes off thinly sketched, not keenly compressed. Minimal specificity or identity informs what transpires on-screen. Instead, Belmont and Odin’s obstacles kept making me go “oh yes, like in The Revenant/The Grey/Sorcerer.” Even before they crash in the forest, initial bonding scenes between the two characters register as dry, not movingly tender.

Save for wide shots emphasizing glorious natural New Zealand foliage (standing in for Alaska), Ayer’s visuals also lack idiosyncrasies. At least he eschews the sickening “serious movie” grey color grading that plagued his last Brad Pitt movie, Fury. Here, the bright hues of natural foliage sing on-screen. Unfortunately, they’re some of the only visual details to really soar here. Potentially imposing suspense sequences lose their impact through Ayer’s generic imagery impulses.

Ayer’s wisest visual tactic is keeping the central pooch front-and-center. There’s, thankfully, no self-consciousness over appealing to the dog lover crowd in Heart of the Beast. Images lingering on Odin eagerly awaiting Belmont to wake up in the morning or the canine tilting his head as he watches over his wounded owner are immensely endearing. Such shots are where Heart of the Beast’s streamlined aesthetic works best. Nothing distracts from Odin’s cuteness or lovable personality. Huzzah for that, even if, admittedly, that’s something I could get just from pulling up “awwwww”-inducing canine videos on YouTube.

Still, lots of screentime spent with Odin proves beneficial for Beast. That doggo spends the entire film bouncing off of Brad Pitt, whose performance is more interesting on a metatextual level than it is to experience in the moment. Pitt’s spent his whole year playing God’s gift to man. He’s the only suburban dad who can survive a zombie apocalypse in World War Z. He’s cool as a cucumber in the Ocean’s Eleven films or Moneyball. As late as last year, F1’s entire plot hinged on young whippersnappers needing to sit down and let Pitt dominate racing.

In contrast, Ayer and Alexander put Pitt through the wringer in Heart of the Beast. This isn’t a wish-fulfillment fantasy about a former soldier proving perfect to dominate nature. Instead, Pitt is constantly tossed around like a ragdoll. His head gets bashed in. His arm gets busted. He frantically scrambles helping an injured Odin, unsure if he’s doing everything right. Typically such deeply vulnerable Pitt turns materialize only in arthouse fare like The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford.

A profoundly aching mainstream Pitt protagonist like James Belmont is rare. In the context of Pitt’s career, this role is somewhat intriguing. On its own terms, though, this performance’s just serviceable. Like much of Heart of the Beast, Pitt’s competent but not especially memorable. Some actors work wonders keeping your attention and suggesting depth with understated, haunted performances. Pitt, meanwhile, often seems vacant when he’s not howling in pain. He’s a collection of tattoos and luggage stickers suggesting a personality.

It’s always weird when only half of the protagonists in a buddy duo movie work. In Heart of the Beast, Odin crushes it. Brad Pitt, meanwhile, admirably steps out of his comfort zone. However, he doesn’t deliver work as strong as his best performances in Babylon or Robert Ford. He and Ayer’s generic sensibilities keep this survival thriller from being more than fleetingly moving entertainment. Beast’s central dog will win over your heart. Its third act has temporarily poignant segments. However, little of it proves lastingly impactful. Odin deserved a more consistently successful feature to headline.

Heart of the Beast is now playing in theaters everywhere.