Forty five years before Disney adapted "Beauty and the Beast" into an animated feature and hit Broadway play, Jean Cocteau brought to the screen a far more magical and visually stunning version. Photographed with stark black and white imagery without mountains of special effects, Cocteau's 1946 Beauty and the Beast (La Belle et la Bête) showcases his theatrical, ballet, and artistic talents in his finest creation.

Often more criticized for his drug use and homosexual lifestyle than for his actual work during his lifetime, Cocteau took on the fairy tale project at the urging of his lover, Jean Marais, who plays both Avenant and the Beast in the film. Many draw psychological interpretations of the film, partially based on Cocteau’s sexuality or on the fact that Cocteau was beginning to have skin problems (thus, the filmmaker could represent the ugly beast in search of love). Additionally, fairy tales are always ripe for psychosexual interpretations, so critics can have a Freudian field day with Beauty and the Beast, scrutinizing the visuals for phallic and vaginal symbols. The story itself is very faithful to the original fairy tale crafted by Jean-Marie Leprince de Beaumont.

Cocteau begs the audience to suspend belief, introducing the film and preparing us for some of its conceits with a title card that begins:

“Children believe what we tell them, they have complete faith in us.

They believe that a rose plucked from a garden can bring drama to a family. They believe that the hands of a human beast will smoke when he slays a victim, and that this beast will be ashamed when confronted by a young girl.

They believe a thousand other simple things. . .”

Business isn’t going well for the merchant, so he undertakes a desperate trip that promises riches. Returning home in the fog after great disappointment, he wanders into a magical castle literally illuminated hand held candelabras and watched over with living statues and table hands that pour wine for the guests. As the merchant prepares to leave, he plucks a rose for Belle, which causes the host Beast (Jean Marais in a mask incorporating elements of Wolfman and a Werewolf) to angrily appear to demand his death, unless he can supply one of his daughters to die in his place.

Of course, the loyal Belle willingly sacrifices herself. At first fearful, she grows to feel sympathy for the Beast and the story proceeds with inevitability. The Beast may look "horrible" (his words), but he has a heart of gold, contrasting directly with the two untrustworthy sisters and the greedy Avenant, who look fair enough on the outside but are far more beastly inside.

Cocteau has fashioned a beautiful poetic vision with his Beauty and the Beast that has now been restored and is preserved on a well-conceived Criterion DVD, complete with background information and commentary. Although the perfectionistic Cocteau wasn’t always satisfied with Henri Alekan's cinematography, the camerawork is remarkable with its contrast between the clear and realistic country mansion scenes and the dreamy castle scenes that immerse us intimately into the fantasy world of the Beast. Camera choices that Cocteau makes, like staying longer than expected on the castle steps when the merchant arrives and creating a larger than life shadow emanating from the merchant, add to the fantasy. One of the most memorable scenes effectively uses Day’s ballet experience to great effect as she glides along a castle corridor enhanced with billowing curtains—filmed in slow motion as she advances towards the camera using an invisible pulley on a skateboard type devise.

Credit production and set designer Christian Bérard with much of the magic of the film. Effectively using shadow and light along with creative living candelabras and statues (with their moving eyes), make the castle appear as vast as Citizen Kane’s Xanadu and playfully surreal, despite being filmed in a relatively modest locale. There is very little that Industrial Light & Magic could do to make this film more fanciful, and this 1946 is far more memorable than anything created by the Disney people.

Day personifies the virginal Belle perfectly and Jean Marais was never better in any role than he is as the Beast, especially remarkable since he primarily relies on communicating through his eyes. Marais does a nice job with body language inside the animal suit even though he had no ballet or dance training. Further testament to Marais' acting as the Beast is indicated by the fact that Cocteau once attempted to use another actor in the Beast outfit when Marais was ill, but junked that footage because it didn't work.

Above all stands the vision of Cocteau, who deftly combines all phases of his artistry to create a film masterpiece. Many of the scenes can stand by themselves as paintings—Cocteau had this in mind as he bases many of his choices specific artist's works. Those who want to research the filmmaker's thoughts on his masterwork can consult Cocteau’s own words in Beauty and the Beast: Diary of a Film. The Criterion DVD release contains a few excerpts.

Beauty and the Beast (La Belle et la Bête) by far the best adaptation of the well-known fairy tale, but unfortunately will not be watched as much as Disney's full color cartoon version. Adults who seek this out will be richly rewarded because its unforgettable imagery makes much deeper impact than more modern adaptations. Will children enjoy it? If you can train them to be film connoisseurs that appreciate subtleties and black and white cinematography, they will thank you in the future, for this is one of cinema’s great films—one that will be indelibly inscribed in your memory. That fact, alone, gives credence to the Freudian interpretations that you will read concerning Cocteau’s film.