As a result, the current popular conception of Beauty and the Beast<\/em> is that it is a children\u2019s property, as soft and harmless and sexless and simple as that label implies. And that\u2019s why, in this cultural landscape, it\u2019s so shocking for the first-time viewer to stumble upon Jean Cocteau\u2019s 1946 adaptation of the tale, La Belle et la B\u00eate<\/em>, which conjures up a world of darkness, dread, and sensuality unimaginable within the connotations of the story today. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cChildren believe what we tell them. They have complete faith in us.\u201d So begins the faux-handwritten rolling text that opens the film, and to which Cocteau literally signs his name – a kind of direct address, from artist to audience, that’s disarming in its ingeniousness. His approach was unusual, telling a story of fantastic beasts and fairy tale princesses in a relatively realistic manner; at least, it was in contrast to the already ubiquitous Disney style, which assumed such stories must be hand-drawn and aimed squarely at the rugrats. Previous attempts at live-action fairy tales had suffered from the sheer difficulty of creating a fantasy world on a nuts-and-bolts soundstage (exhibit A: Norman Z. McLeod\u2019s all-star, borderline-surrealistic 1933 take on Alice in Wonderland<\/em>).<\/p>\n\n\n\n It was a big ask for his audience – a post-war audience, keep in mind, so one that was all too anchored in cinematic reality and naturalism (the year\u2019s most commercially successful film, and<\/em> the winner of that year\u2019s Oscar for best picture, was the PTSD melodrama The Best Years of Our Lives<\/em>). So Cocteau made his pitch plain: \u201cI ask of you a little of this childlike simplicity, and, to bring us luck, let me speak four true magic words, childhood\u2019s \u2018open sesame\u2019: Once upon a time.\u201d And so he begins.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The story, in its rough outlines, is the same: we have Belle (Josette Day) and her eccentric father (Marcel Andr\u00e9) and the big galoot who wants to marry her (Jean Marais), and her father\u2019s wayward journey through the deep dark woods that lands him, unexpectedly, at the castle of the Beast. (Said Beast is also played by Marais, underneath heavy make-up, and exquisite character design that makes him seem either vulnerable or horrifying, depending on his body language and the burning intensity of his eyes.) <\/p>\n\n\n\n His feast at the Beast\u2019s castle is both terrifying and beautiful, a dual act that gets plenty of play throughout the picture. But that implies that Cocteau is only working in two modes here; what\u2019s most striking about La Belle et la B\u00eate <\/em>is what an all-around entertainment<\/em> it is, with fantasy, romance, adventure, familial drama, and even horror. Much of this will come as a surprise to viewers who\u2019ve come to the story via Disney (most, at this point); there are additional characters (like Belle\u2019s brother) and story threads that take this well-worn narrative into all sorts of other directions, into strange nooks and crannies and off on unexpected flights of fancy (literally, at the end).<\/p>\n\n\n\n But what\u2019s most astonishing about the picture, from that vantage point at least, is its eroticism. The scene in which Beast tells Belle that he\u2019s thirsty (I mean<\/em>) and she commands him to drink from her hands is a scorcher, as is the exchange that follows: <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt doesn\u2019t repulse you when I drink from your hands?” Elsewhere, when he worries that his looks and demeanor may have frightened her, she replies, \u201cI don\u2019t mind being frightened\u2026 with you.\u201d It\u2019s a little kinky! None of this is meant to imply that Cocteau went off and made a 1940s furry fantasy, but to underscore that as far as the lush romanticism of the story goes, La Belle et la B\u00eate <\/em>sees that idea in all of its intricacies and iterations. The intensity of those feelings, and how they\u2019re manifested on screen, were carried over in the picture\u2019s most direct descendant on our shores: the late-\u201980s network drama version of Beauty and the Beast<\/em>, with muscle-y action heroes Linda Hamilton and Ron Perlman in the title roles, the latter in character make-up clearly inspired by the Cocteau film. Viewers gigglingly confessed to finding the Beast sexy, in spite of (because of?) his lion-like appearance, and the longing and love that made that show such a hit with the romance-novel set are very much present here (mostly notably in the genuine pain, and feeling of betrayal, that overtakes the Beast when Belle doesn\u2019t return).<\/p>\n\n\n\n Above all else, the filmmaking is extraordinary. It\u2019s a genuinely gorgeous movie, the luminous black and white photography lingering lovingly over the (deceptively makeshift) settings, and Cocteau\u2019s blocking and composition are sort of astonishing. Watching him place and move his camera in these spaces, it\u2019s like you can feel him crafting an entire cinematic language – a new way of thinking, seeing, and dramatizing. And, bonus, no one sings.<\/p>\n\n\n\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/crookedmarquee.com\/stage8\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/03\/La-Belle-et-la-Bete1-1024x646.jpg\")
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\u201cNo, Beast. I like it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n