Beauty and the Beast (1946)

Beauty and the Beast (La Belle et la Bête), Jean Cocteau’s follow up to his surrealist masterpiece The Blood of a Poet, is an astounding achievement in postwar filmmaking, which benefits greatly from Cocteau’s directorial tendencies and prowess. Incredibly vivid images permeate the film, as does Cocteau’s penchant for visual effects and beauty. Shot using a mixture of film stocks, as supply was limited after the war, and with a staggered production schedule due to an illness Cocteau suffered during filming, Beauty and the Beast somehow benefits from the reality-altering stock changes, and directorial stand-in (René Clément replaced Cocteau while he was in the hospital).

Beauty and the Beast is, of course, based on the story penned by Jeanne-Marie Leprince de Beaumont. Belle (Josette Day) lives with her struggling father, layabout brother, and two (this is a fairytale, remember) evil step sisters. When Belle’s father loses his way in the forest, he comes upon a slowly-decaying castle. Searching the premises, he picks a single rose to as a gift for his beloved daughter, when a Beast lumbers out of the forest. Threatening the man’s life, Beast (Jean Marais) proposes that either the old man dies, or he must send one of his daughters in his place. Upon hearing her father’s predicament, Belle makes the decision for him, and rides off into the woods to her unknown fate.

Cocteau brings Leprince de Beaumont’s classic fable to vivid life with a multitude of ingenious effects and camera tricks. The Beast’s domain is enshrined in a magical aura, and is entirely inhabited by invisible servants. Disembodied arms hold candelabras, pour drinks, and part curtains. Candles light themselves and smoke-breathing heads flank the fireplace. Cocteau works tirelessly to accomplish this magic; some are easily realized (people standing behind walls to hold candles), while other effects (reversing the film to light the candles) are more laboriously devised. In one spectacular scene, Belle puts on one of Beast’s gloves, and transports from her room in the castle to her father’s bedroom. In one, nearly seamless shot, Belle sinks into a wall, and comes out the other side. While another director might have just inserted a jump cut, Cocteau painstakingly concocts his shot and the methods necessary to achieve his lofty goals.

At its core, Leprince de Beaumont’s story (and all fables/myths/fairytales) is of a surreal nature, and one that is endlessly benefitted by Cocteau’s direction. At the onset of the film, Cocteau invites his audience to remember their childhood, and asks them to view his film as if they were still filled with their long-forgotten wonderment. It is at the intersection of child-like fantasy and high-art that Cocteau positions his film. Delighting his audience with both nostalgia, and his expertise behind the camera, Cocteau offers a completely original cinematic experience. By imploring his audience to abandon reason, he can dazzle them with his effects and camera magic. Framing a smoldering Beast in a backlit doorway, accentuating his halo of white smoke, transforms him into a truly intimidating figure – the fact that he is smoking almost becomes an unquestionable feature of his character (although, in his opening, Cocteau does debrief his audience on why the Beast has this peculiar tendency).

Josette Day and Jean Marais have some excellent on screen chemistry, and although Marais plays “three” roles, Belle’s disgust for Avenant does not affect her dealings with Beast or the Prince. Although Marais is behind pounds of fake hair for much of his time in the film, his fang-stunted speech is no match for the emotion he conveys through his eyes alone. Piercing in their clarity while surrounded by a “facial wig” (as his Beast mask has been described), the whites of his eyes pop even more, filling Beast with a very human side. As good as Marais is, if Michel Auclair’s Ludovic was given more screen time, it is he who would have stolen the show. As a sarcastic and brash younger brother to Belle and her two, genuinely awful sisters, Auclair’s wit is a driving force for the film beyond the majesty surrounding Cocteau’s castle.

Beauty and the Beast is a stunning achievement in film and special effects history. A fully-realized testament to Jean Cocteau’s brilliant vision, Beauty and the Beast reminds its audience to retain their childlike wonder, and to not take life too seriously.