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The Beast/Prince: Jean Marais
Beauty: Josette Day
Felicie: Mila Parely
Adelaide: Nan Germon
Ludovic: Michel Auclair
The Merchant: Marcel Andre
Cowboy Pictures presents a film directed by Jean Cocteau. Written by Cocteau, based on a story by Jeanne-Marie Leprince de Beaumont. In French, with English subtitles. No MPAA rating. Running time 93 minutes. Opening today at the Music Box Theatre.
BY ROGER EBERT
Long before Disney's 1991 film, Jean Cocteau filmed "Beauty and the Beast" in 1946, in France. It is one of the most magical of all films.
Alive with trick shots and astonishing effects, it gives us a Beast who is lonely like a man and misunderstood like an animal. Cocteau, a poet and surrealist, was not making a "children's film" but was adapting a classic French tale that he felt had a special message after the suffering of World War II: Anyone who has an unhappy childhood may grow up to be a Beast.
The movie has long been considered one of the best ever made, but has been rarely seen in America--more rarely still since the Disney animated feature cornered the market in beauties and beasts. The Disney film is inspired, but so is Cocteau's, in an entirely different way. And now a newly restored 35mm print, with missing scenes restored, is opening at the Music Box for one week. There is probably no better film in town.
Filming at a time when Freudian imagery was cutting edge, Cocteau uses haunting images to suggest emotions at a boil in the subconscious of his characters. Consider Beauty's reaction to the first entrance of the Beast, which is theoretically frightened yet, it you look more closely, orgasmic.
The Beast's dwelling is treated in the Disney film like a vast Gothic extravaganza. Cocteau sees it more like the setting for a nightmare. And dream logic prevails in the action. The entrance hall is lined with candelabra held by living human arms that extend from the walls. The statues are alive, and their eyes follow the progress of the characters. Gates and doors open themselves. As Belle first enters the Beast's domain, she seems to run dreamily a few feet above the floor. Later, her feet do not move at all, but she glides, as if drawn by a magnetic force. She sees smoke rising from the Beast's fingertips--a sign that he has killed. When he carries her into her bed chamber, she wears common clothes on one side of the door, and a queen's costume on the other.
Jean Marais plays both the Beast and the prince who was turned into the Beast and is restored again. Odd, how appealing he is as the Beast, and how shallow as the pompadoured prince. Even Belle notices, and instead of leaping into the arms of the prince confesses she misses her Beast. (So did Marlene Dietrich, who held Cocteau's hand during the first screening of the film. As the prince shimmered into sight and presented himself as Belle's new lover, she called to the screen, "Where is my beautiful Beast?")
The film's devices penetrate the usual conventions of narrative, and appeal at a deeper psychic level. Cocteau wanted to appeal through images rather than words, and although the story seems to be masking deeper and more disturbing currents. It is not a "children's film," but older children may find it involves them more deeply than the Disney version, because it is not just a jolly comic musical but deals, like all fairy tales, with what we dread and desire.
Adapted from Ebert's essay on "Beauty and the Beast" in his book The Great Movies, and online at
www.suntimes.com/ebert.
Copyright © Chicago Sun-Times Inc.
It sounds mesmerizingly good. Has anyone here seen it already?