Director: Jean Cocteau
Country: France
Year: 1946

BACKGROUND

“To enclose the collected works of Cocteau one would need
not a bookshelf, but a warehouse…”
W.H. Auden

Interesting facts about Jean Cocteau:

  • Father was a lawyer and amateur painter who committed suicide when Jean was 9
  • Left home at the age of 15
  • Published his first book of poetry (Aladdin’s Lamp) when he was 19
  • Was nicknamed “The Frivolous Prince” by his boho art friends (after the title of another book of poetry, this one published when he was 21)
  • Wrote a ballet (Parade), novels (including Les Enfants Terrible) and plays (La Voixe Humaine)
  • Designed the sets for an opera (Pelléas et Mélisande by Claude Debussy)
  • Co-wrote an opera with Stravinsky (Oedipus-Rex)
  • Wrote and directed a stage adaptation of Antigone, with sets by Picasso and costumes by goddamn Coco Chanel
  • Drove an ambulance on the Belgian front during WWI

  • Among his close personal friends/lovers: Edith Wharton, Andre Gide, Marcel Proust, Erik Satie, Edith Piaf, Man Ray, Jean Marais, Raymond Radiguet, Lee Miller (who warrants a whole article to herself; for one thing, she was the first human model to appear in an ad for tampons… see Man Ray portrait to right)
  • BFF: Pablo Picasso
  • Completed Jules Verne’s Around the World in Eighty Days itinerary, and wrote a book about it (My First Voyage), half a century before Johnny-come-lately Michael Palin got around to doing the same
  • Depressed over the death of a young lover (by typhoid fever, the most romantic of all fatal illnesses), Cocteau became an opium addict, then recovered and (of course) wrote a book about it (Opium)
  • Did I mention he was also a painter and illustrator of some renown?
  • Directed eleven films (including today’s Janus film, Beauty and the Beast) and acted in thirteen (according to IMDb, at least)
  • When ill health forced him into semi-retirement in 1953, Cocteau “had his face lifted and started to wear leather trousers and matador’s capes”
  • Declared “decadent” by the Vichy government during World War II
  • Elected in 1955 to Belgian Academy and the Acadèmie Française (as a side note, Picasso’s design for the sword hilt of the Academician’s traditional insignia was a drawing of a toilet seat, a flushing chain and a toilet-bowl brush)
  • Honorary President of the Cannes film festival
  • President of the Jazz Academy
  • Commander of the Legion of Honor
  • Painted by Andy Warhol as part of his “icon” series
  • Grand Master of a secret brotherhood, the Priory of Sion (which may ring a bell if you’ve read Holy Blood, Holy Grail or The DaVinci Code)
  • Painted frescos in the town hall of Menton and in the chapel of Saint-Pierre at Ville-franche-sur Mer… at the age of 70
  • In 1963, Cocteau was working on a radio tribute to his friend, Edith Piaf, when he received word that she had died. “Ah, la Piaf est morte, je peux mourir!” he exclaimed, and fell to the ground, dead. (Actually, he died a few hours later, but I prefer to imagine him crumpling to the ground and dying immediately; the trip to the hospital and the gradual sputtering fade-out spoils the poetic symmetry.)

As disclosed in previous articles, I CAN HEAR YOUR THOUGHTS, and can answer your next question before you have even posed it. The answer to your question is, “Yes, Jean Cocteau was also a manager of professional boxers.” I shit you not. As near as I can tell, Jean Cocteau was the bisexual Chuck Norris of the Surrealist movement.

Beauty and the Beast was Cocteau’s third film.

SYNOPSIS

The film opens with Jean himself writing the titles on blackboard, and a grip snapping the clapper thing, which announces clearly that we are watching a Movie with a capital “M” (or Film with a capital “F”). Either way: fantastic artifice, not pedestrian realism, is entirely the point of today’s exercise. Cocteau emphasizes this by (politely) asking us to suspend our disbelief: “Children believe what we tell them… I ask of you a little of this childlike simplicity…”

Our story begins with two young ne’er-do-wells (dressed in the latest Sherwood Forest fashions) carelessly shooting arrows at the side of a house. Soon enough, we shall be introduced to these two jackanapes and learn their names: Avenant, Belle’s gruff and manly suitor; and Ludovic, Belle’s drunken and dissolute brother. Predictably, some of the arrows fly through an open window and cause young women to shriek with fright.

The shrieking young women are encased in outrageously over-engineered dresses which manage – despite the several cubic yards of material, frill, and ornament involved – to frame and accentuate their ripe medieval bosoms. We immediately dislike these women, with their shrill complaining and sour faces, even before learning that they are the “evil stepsisters” par excellence: Felicity and Adelaide. They order Belle (our heroine!) to scrub the floors, even as they prepare to attend a society ball.

“May the devil himself splatter you with dung!” Felicity screeches at a footman, in the same tone that I imagine Courtney Love uses when screeching at a hapless manicurist.

Besides the already-obvious family dysfunction, there are some financial troubles: Belle’s father is an unskilled businessman, and has lost everything.

Avenant, he of the broad shoulders and majestically dimpled chin, proposes marriage to the long-suffering Belle: “Even the floor longs to be your mirror!” he booms, which is an odd sort of compliment, but Belle is having none of it.

“I couldn’t possibly leave my father alone,” she counters sadly, if sensibly. Stymied, Avenant challenges Belle to an impromptu wrestling match, but Ludovic intervenes.

Father (I never did catch his name) has a bit of hopeful news: One of his lost ships has finally come into port! All of their myriad troubles are about to end! “Bring us back some brocade dresses!” squeal Adelaide and Felicity with greedy delight. This proves to be only the opening gambit in an ever-escalating series of demands, which eventually include jewels, fans, ostrich feathers, and – inexplicably – a monkey. All Belle wants (thereby demonstrating her essential sappy goodness) is a single rose. A rose – what could be simpler?

All of their glittering visions of boundless wealth come to jack squat, since the ship’s cargo is immediately seized by the authorities to cover Ludovic’s gambling debts. Sounds like the intro scenes of a “very special” episode of Intervention; one that begins with the standard ingredients of alcoholism, sibling rivalry, and gambling addiction, but that eventually spirals out to include Werewolves with Magical Teleportation Gloves (more on that later).

After settling up with “The Taxman” at “The Port,” Father finds that he can no longer afford to stay overnight at “The TraveLodge,” despite the substantial Senior Discount. Despondent, he heads home through the haunted forest, in the gloom of night, during a force ten hurricane. In the uncharted depths of the forest, he comes upon a spectral, foreboding castle, which – in a surprising bit of good luck – is bounded by a garden of beautifully-tended roses. “At least I can bring Belle a rose!” he says to himself before plucking the brightest, most lustrous rose from the unholy rose garden of the ghost-castle in the demon-forest. Predictably, a monster appears (Beast, with facial hair like a member of Band of Horses), who informs him that the roses are his “special” roses, and no one – and I do mean NO ONE, not even a deer – is allowed to pluck those roses.

“The punishment for this simple theft: DEATH!” roars the Beast. And thus the central conflict of our story becomes clear, kinda. Turns out there is a loophole: “…unless one of your daughters agrees to pay your debt and take your place.” Father is given a horse named Magnificent, and allowed to return home for three days, during which time he can try to convince one of his daughters to gallop out to the Castle of Mordor in the Forest of Doom and die in his place at the hands of a flesh-eating werewolf-king.

Father returns home and tells his (admittedly bizarre) story to his gathered family. “That’s what happens when a fool asks you to bring her a rose!” harrumphs Adelaide, which is not very helpful. At least Ludovic and Avenant, lunkheads that they are, have a plan: Steal Magnificent, ride out to the castle, and Kill The Beast! Pitchforks and blazing torches optional.

Sad-sack Belle beats them to it, however, and presents her luscious self to Beast as a ransom sacrifice, in much the same way as Our Most Exalted Lord Jesus Christ died for your sins. You know, in that other fairy tale. Zing!

Belle is so radiant, so innocent, and such a goddamned “oh, don’t worry about my suffering” goody-two-shoes that Beast can’t quite bring himself to devour her flesh in a depraved orgy of crazed bloodlust, as is his custom. Instead, he promises to have a light dinner with her every night at 7PM, to be followed on most evenings by an aperitif, some specially-prepared French pastries, and a friendly proposal of marriage under threat of death.

Belle agrees (to the standing dinner date, not the proposal of marriage), and their relationship continues in this manner for an unspecified number of months. Oh, there’s also a standard-issue Magical Mirror that shows anything you want (which remains sadly unexploited for the purpose it seems clearly designed to fulfill: spying on medieval wenches in their dressing-chambers), statues with moving eyes, and the requisite “Room Which You Must Never Enter.” Perplexingly, there is no teapot with the voice of Jessica Fletcher, and no Maurice Chevalier-esque candelabra lothario seducing the cutlery.

Sometimes, Beast’s fur smokes.

As required by the story, Belle comes to see that Beast is not so much a vicious and satanic misanthrope, but more a misunderstood and emotionally stunted introvert in a shame spiral. Love soon blossoms, and the significance of this may vary depending on whether or not you’ve taken a Women’s Studies class.

Beast and Belle take romantic, contemplative walks through the grounds surrounding the castle; walks which are sometimes cut short when a deer runs past and Beast bolts off, slavering, to devour the helpless animal and howl at the moon, his beard stained with blood and viscera.

“I have a good heart, but I am a monster,” Beast acknowledges to Belle. “Besides being monstrous… I am not quick-witted.” If only I had a nickel for every time I’ve said that to a disappointed girlfriend or wife.

In the Magical “see-anything-you-desire-with-the-glaring-exception-of-Belle-in-her-undies” Mirror, Belle sees that her beleaguered Father is dying, and begs permission to return home. On that note: Does anyone else think that Belle’s father is kind of a jerk? He loses all the family’s money, his only son (Ludovic) is a 12-step program dropout, two of his three daughters (Felicity and Adelaide) are scheming banshees and the third (Belle) is a passive-aggressive holier-than-thou “purity pledge” Christian who probably listens to Michael W. Smith. The whole household is one step away from appearing on Dr. Phil. Beast’s predilection for kidnapping, murder, and witchcraft seems almost charming by comparison.

Getting back to the synopsis, Beast allows Belle to return home for one week, with an entirely fair and undeniably reasonable pre-condition: she must marry Beast upon her return, and submit willingly to his carrion-breathed and hirsute love-making.

Before Belle leaves, Beast shows her Diana’s Pavilion – which no one may enter! – and also gives Belle the Golden Key to unlock its door… if she (or anyone else) enters the Pavilion, Beast will die, and, under Massachusetts Common Law, ownership of his estate will transfer to Belle, unless said transfer is contested by next of kin. As a final demonstration of his trust for Belle, Beast reveals the five secrets of his power: Rose, Mirror, Golden Key, Horse, Glove, Enthusiasm, and Name Repetition. Wait… the SEVEN secrets of his power: Rose, Mirror, Horse, Positive Attitude, Bejeweled Glove, Izod Shirt with Popped Collar, Book of Cheat Codes for Half-Life… wait…

So Belle returns home, using Beast’s previously-mentioned Magical Teleportation Glove. Her Father is healed by her glorious presence, and her sisters rub onions in their eye sockets causing their noses to run, which convinces Belle to stick around past the clearly-stated One Week Deadline. Also, Belle now cries diamond tears, which conveniently resolves the financial difficulties outlined in Act One. Because she is an insufferably selfless paragon of saccharine goodness, Belle also offers to give to her cruel sister a priceless gift that Beast had previously given to her: A Pearl Necklace (stop snickering). As she hands it to her wretched, greedy sister, however, the Pearl Necklace transforms into a Rotten Vine. Make Of That What You Will.

Ludovic and Avenant snatch the Golden Key and ride Magnificent to Beast’s castle. Belle follows, but via the Magical Teleportation Glove route (less traffic at that time of day), only to find Beast dying of a broken heart.

Soon after, Ludovic and Avenant arrive, and break in to Diana’s Pavilion, causing Beast to die immediately. In the Pavilion, a statue of Diana awakens and shoots Avenant with some sort of specially-tipped arrow, which causes him to turn into a beast (just like Beast). By the inscrutable rules of a child’s fairy-tale, Avenant’s transformation causes Beast to be resurrected and transformed in reverse, from hideous Beast to sexy, sexy golden-haired Prince Ardent. Confusingly, he now looks just like Avenant (same actor [and Cocteau’s lover]: Jean Marais), which causes evident disappointment to Belle, leading me to speculate that she had formed a kinky fixation on his former Grizzly Addams look.

“Love can turn a man into a beast,” declares The Artist Formerly Known As Beast in dulcet, princely tones, “but love can also make an ugly man handsome.” After delivering this pithy summation for those of us who just walked in, the loving couple leap into the air and fly to Beast’s far-away kingdom, where Belle will be reunited with her father, and where her sisters will pay for their misdeeds.

Oh, how they will pay.

WHAT I LIKED

I enjoyed the winking nods to the audience, like Cocteau writing the titles on a blackboard. The sets, particularly the castle exteriors, were stunningly realized, ominous and eerily beautiful. The film was full of low-tech, but surprisingly effective special effects, like the branches that would slowly part to reveal a footpath, or the statues with roving eyes, or pearls and jewels spontaneously gathering in Beast’s paw to form a necklace. The romantic score by Georges Auric perfectly matched the sumptuous, poetic visuals. I expected Beast’s hairy face mask to look silly, but it did not. Jean Marais, who I have never seen before, was excellent as Beast; moody and petulant one minute, malevolent and slightly crazy the next, and genuinely heartbroken near the end.

WHAT I DIDN’T LIKE SO MUCH

Cocteau claimed that the ending of the film, where Belle and Prince Ardent (nee Beast) fly off to his kingdom, was supposed to represent the inevitable triumph of banal, disappointingly conventional marriage over magic and romance. That may be what he intended, but the film doesn’t really play that way, and that’s too bad; I would have welcomed a little more ambiguity. Alas, Beauty and the Beast is a fairly standard fairy tale with Good Guys (Father, Belle, Beast) versus Bad Guys (Felicity, Adelaide, Avenant) and not much room for shades of gray.

SHOULD YOU SEE IT?

I enjoyed the film immensely for its technical ingenuity, its poetic visuals, and the performance of Jean Marais as Beast. If you enjoy beautiful classic black-and-white cinematography, if you are a fan of the darker strain of fairy tale, and especially if you are a student of French cinema or admirer of Jean Cocteau, I recommend you see Beauty and the Beast. If the previous sentence does not describe you, I predict that you will find this week’s Janus film pretty to look at, but underwhelming as a narrative.

Next: Black Orpheus