La Belle et La Béte

"Beauty and the Beast" is my favorite fairtytale. I will not wax boring with the age-old arguments that it will build feelings of self-esteem in children, teach that beauty is on the inside, don't judge a beast by his fur, etc. My parents did not buy me that movie when I was a toddler for its Dr. Spok-ian qualities. They bought it because I was a girl, it had bright colors that would hypnotize me, and it would let my mother rest a while after her back surgery without my two year old self bugging her. I am sure that my parents did not anticipate me developing life-long obsession with that movie and fairytale. As it stands, I watched it multiple times a day, every day, for months. When I see it on my shelf in my dorm room (the 1991 VHS version, vintage and still working––with the original, non-blu ray rape of original coloring), I think about skipping all homework and snuggling up with some chocolate and blankets. When I watch this movie, if you talk or make fun of it, you will die. In my head or otherwise. I'm giving you fair warning here, so . . . now you know. My current pillowcase attests to my loyalty in a more tangible sense than murder: I have had the thing since I was three, and I still use it. Whenever I find the comforter and sheets, they will be on my bed. Yes.

I also love the French language (when I'm not doing the homework or taking an exam). Now that I think of it, I may just adore the language because "Beauty and the Beast" was set in France, but the psychoanalytic reasons for this preference are not the point of this blog post. I have taken Latin, Koine Greek, Spanish, and French, and French ranks just under Latin for my favorite. When I was homeschooled in first grade, I begged my mother to let me to take French, but she opted for the practical and bought me a Spanish program. I was a good little Belle and rebelled. I think the only thing I learned that year was how to count to ten; don't cross a five year old with a pouty lip and a stomping foot. Nope.

In my second semester of freshman year, I was trolling Netflix with my hippy music friend when I stumbled across perhaps one of the greatest artistic events of the movie industry. "La Belle et La Béte", it is named. The French film was produced 1946 and directed by Jean Cocteau, a legendary director. For an historical backdrop, WWII had just ended in 1945, and France was in shambles. Streets were covered in the detritus of war, France had only just reclaimed most of its territories (she lost even Paris during the war), and its economic independence was hopeless. She was starving in every possible way. Yet, out of this wasteland, Jean Cocteau managed to direct a film rich in chiaroscuro and plot, dialogue and set, special effects and innovation. Certain scenes are creepy by modern standards: human arms sticking out of walls hold torches and move to illuminate Belle's path and Beast has a disturbing, furry mask. Knowing this movie existed helped me survive during that year; it was a mating of my idealistic childhood to my more realistic college years.

The movie is all in French. Turn on the English subtitles, and I count it as studying for French. The dialogue is easy for beginners and natural for those more advanced. I love this story. I love this language. Together, I can enjoy two of my favorite things. Follow this link and (if you have Netflix) you too can enjoy this spectacular show: http://movies.netflix.com/WiMovie/Beauty_and_the_Beast/11519928?trkid=2361637.