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Beauty and the Beast
Jean Cocteau’s Beauty and the Beast is one of the most magical films ever made. It dwells in the type of world where enchanted castles are lighted by candles held by moving, human arms that sprout from the wall; statues come to life; magic gloves can transport you from one location to another; mirrors cast a reflection of your true self; and a beautiful woman can fall in love with a hideous beast. Director Cocteau was primarily a painter and a poet when he directed this wonderful fantasy. After its release, he deservedly became ranked as one of the greatest French directors of all time. The story is familiar, of course, and has been told and re-told in so many different films and variations (see my review for The Trap) that more viewers will be able to recite the lines before the characters do: A Father gets lost in the woods, finds his way into a mysterious castle, plucks a rose from its garden for his daughter, and encounters a vicious beast, who informs the terrified man that he must either forfeit his life for stealing the rose or bring him back his daughter, Beauty, in exchange for his own life. Beauty is, of course, the fairest maiden in the kingdom, and the purest in heart. She agrees to live with the Beast, who she is naturally frightened of at first, until she learns to recognize him for his good heart. The story unfolds in the way that fairy tales do, and everything gets much worse before the characters earn the right to live happily ever after. Still, this was the first major adaptation of the children’s story, and it somehow manages to be as fresh and invigorating today as it was when first released. We might know the story, but it has never been told with such effective mood and surrealism. The images come to life like moving poetry, not only impressing us with its visual camera tricks, but embedding the atmosphere into our very souls. Observe those arms that hold the candles, which emit personalities all of their own. Consider the magic mirror, which Beauty’s evil sisters look into and behold monkeys staring back at them. Or even the smoke that billows off of the Beast when he is in despair, and the slow motion shots that so delicately enhance the film’s dream-like quality. These are simple special effects, but they manage to create a mystifying visual experience that perfectly sets up the world of the Beast. In a world of computer effects and digital filmmaking, these uncomplicated devices are refreshing in their effectiveness. The great Werner Herzog has said that for all of our big budgets, our generation is an age of filmmaking that starves for new images and ideas, and he was could have used Beauty and the Beast as a reference for this claim. In my review of Labyrinth, another film set in a magical kingdom, I complained that even though the setting was loaded with creativity and invention, because the main character never seemed to believe that she was in anything less than a soundstage filled with a crew making all of it work, the magic of the film was suffocated. In Beauty and the Beast, the characters are well drawn and the acting is very convincing. At all times, these actors truly inhabit this world, and they are as mesmerized as we are. As a hand sprouting from a table pours Beauty’s Father a drink, the perplexed man looks under the tablecloth to see if someone is hiding underneath. Beauty’s reaction to the Beast is one of sincere shock and horror, and her transition into sympathy and love are believable and poignant, and it compliments our own. The Beast himself is a wonderful creation—a sort of hybrid between man, werewolf, and saber-tooth tiger, and he is played as keenly aware of his monstrosity as the other characters are, yet determined to prove his gentle heart to a woman who he loves. The Beast is not without cleverness either: When a terrified potential victim addresses him as “Sir,” the Beast replies, “Just call me the Beast. I don’t like compliments.” Many critics and film historians read into the sexual and Freudian undertones of this film, and I confess that I certainly recognize their potential presence. However, that is another discussion for another essay. In a message before the film, Cocteau asks us to put away our adult minds and simply accept Beauty and the Beast with the innocence of a child. This is good advice, and it makes the viewing experience more pure and, yes, magical. Therefore, I choose not to read into the film’s undertones and simply allow it to carry me along with its enchanted images, wonderful storytelling, and simple idea of love conquering all. This is a film that was made to remind us of why we loved fairy tales as children: We could inhabit a magical world, encounter mythical creatures, cast spells, battle evil villains and witches, and still know that in the end, we shouldn’t be frightened by any of it because there will be a happy ending. Cast: A Lopert Pictures Production.
Directed by Jean Cocteau. Written by Cocteau, from the story by
Jeanne-Marie Leprince de Beaumont. No M.P.A.A. rated, but recommended
for the entire family. Running time: 90 minutes. Original year
of release: 1946. French with English subtitles. Questions? Comments? E-mail me: danel_the_tinman@hotmail.com |
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