Cocteau’s 1946 classic has a stagy quality at times that can be off-putting to today’s realist audience, but there’s so much else that’s worthwhile. I don’t know another film that that creates such a lush, original, atmosphere of magic – of fairy tale – while getting at serious yet barely ineffable wisdom. Like the prelude says, we children have to believe what Cocteau tells us and we have to have complete faith in him. Our reward is delight and an experience of beauty.
Much of the magic of Beauty and the Beast comes from the visuals. The arm sconces that move and even point directions are certainly suis generis – original and vaguely disturbing as, on some level, it’s disquieting to think of amputated arms that move and even have will and purpose. Likewise, the faces on the caryatids with eyes that follow the action suggest a haunted, profoundly disturbing rupture of reality. The hand that serves wine, the mirror that shows truth, the glide down the hall that doesn’t require Belle to move her legs, the statue of Diana coming fatally to life – all these elements exist at the fine juncture of fairy tale and surrealism, an art movement that Cocteau was involved in. Added to all this originality are lavish costumes, extravagant furnishings, hedges that open and close, unique garden statuary and volumes of smoke. There are few times in Beauty and the Beast that the eye isn’t ravished.
Then there’s the Beast himself, who manages to seem appealing when he drinks from Belle’s hands yet menacing as he struggles to control his animal element with his hands steaming from the kill. You can feel the Beast’s inner tension as he restrains himself at Belle’s door, and you sense his need as he makes tentative advances at offering himself to Belle. Jean Marais deserves credit for creating such a compelling character under all his make-up and exaggerated costuming; his character becomes the narrative center of the film.
In addition to these physical elements, Cocteau avails himself of contemporary special effects in creating this tale. We see a magical transformation when the Beast carries Belle into her room and her clothes are daily peasant outside the door and elegant aristocrat inside. Other striking effects are Belle emerging from the wall when she uses the glove to transport herself home and the transformation of the Beast into the Prince at the end of the film. Even the Baroque ending with Belle and the Prince seen from below as they ascend into clouds relies on double exposure. Such filmic elements add to the fairy tale atmosphere.
But what to make of this ending? The handsome though vaguely unsympathetic Avenant pursues Belle in her home, but she rejects him to stay with her father. When Belle later tells the Beast of Avenant’s proposal, the Beast is pained by knowing about his rival, who ultimately conspires to follow Belle to the Beast’s castle to kill the Beast and steal his treasure. Gallant or not, Avenant isn’t easy to like in this film. So when Avenant is killed by Diana while he is trying to rob the palace and the Beast is transformed into an Avenant lookalike, it’s hard to know exactly what’s happened. You can certainly understand Marlene Dietrich’s famous reaction ("Where is my beautiful Beast?"), and that is perfectly part of the effect. Jean Marias plays Avenant, Beast and Prince, and all of these are bound together in the film in a poetic way that doesn’t lend itself to analysis. This linkage is another part of the elusive beauty here.The magic kingdom of Beauty and the Beast is the most interesting part of the film; the dull causality of Belle’s home only serves to make the Beast’s palace more wonderful. It’s very worthwhile to spend time in the lair of the Beast, even if you have to abide the duller fairy tale reality outside.
