Robinson Devor's Zoo investigates a tabloid story about a Seattle man who died of internal bleeding after having sex with a horse. A "zoo" is short for a zoophiliac, defined by an interview subject as "someone who feels they have an affinity for un-human animals more than mankind." As shocking as the subject matter may sound, it is dealt with in a sensitive and enlightening manner. The overall style -- from the dreamy blue-tinted visuals to the patient, even-sided investigatory techniques -- is directly indebted to Errol Morris' The Thin Blue Line. The main footage is comprised of reenactments shot with studied and rigid compositions, extreme jumps from wide to close-up, sharp lighting contrasts, and a menacing floating feeling reinforced by a pulsing electronic and classical score. Devor's impassive treatment of the case is disturbing not for making bestiality sympathetic but for attempting to make sense of it and failing. Zoo is really about the limitations and vagaries of interaction between living creatures and our grasping across these communicatory gulfs. (Contrasts are routinely drawn between solitude and connection, primarily through the Internet.) As the veterinarian who seized the horse says, "I'm just on the edge of being able to understand it." Devor does not gloss over the subject matter, it is often bewildering and surreal, but finds some sort of hope by revealing the vulnerable humanity within each of his subjects.