Die Schöne und das Biest
Regie:
Christophe GansKamera:
Christophe BeaucarneMusik:
Pierre AdenotBesetzung:
Vincent Cassel, Léa Seydoux, André Dussollier, Eduardo Noriega, Myriam Charleins, Audrey Lamy, Sara Giraudeau, Jonathan Demurger, Nicolas Gob (mehr)Streaming (3)
Inhalte(1)
Nach dem Untergang seiner Schiffe ist ein Kaufmann (André Dussollier) ruiniert und gezwungen, mit seinen sechs Kindern auf dem Land zu leben. Unter diesen ist die fröhliche und anmutige Belle (Léa Seydoux), die jüngste seiner Töchter. Bei einer weiteren Reise gerät der Händler auf das Territorium eines bedrohlichen Ungeheuers (Vincent Cassel), das ihn für den Diebstahl einer Rose zum Tode verurteilt. Da Belle sich für das schreckliche Schicksal ihrer Familie verantwortlich fühlt, beschließt sie, sich an Stelle ihres Vaters zu opfern. Im Schloss des Biestes erwartet die Schöne aber nicht der Tod, sondern ein Leben, das Momente der Magie, Freude und Melancholie beinhaltet. Mit der Zeit kommen sich die Schöne und das Biest näher, und Belle versucht, die Geheimnisse des Biests zu lüften. (Concorde Filmverleih)
(mehr)Kritiken (2)
I truly don’t understand why France films so many remakes that have nothing to offer except for the actors. Purely because they attempt to film these classic themes in absolutely classic ways that someone’s already tried before and succeeded (since they were the first one to do it). Just off the top of my head, I can think of Fanfan la Tulipe or Angélique. This Beauty and the Beast hints at wanting to be different, but in the end, its fairytale-ness and its fantasy-ness don’t offer anything else other than a classic fairytale with a classic premise and a classic flow of storytelling. But Léa Seydoux has at least proved herself.
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Gans understands me. That his version of the classic fairy tale would be a ticket to the deepest hell for most lovers of understated minimalism was clear from the first blow of the clapperboard, which itself had to be set so cleverly set that the clapper didn't blow away the hundreds of rose petals on the powdered artificial snow. And truly, it dangerously often leaps several kilometers across the boundaries of ultimate kitsch to somewhere in the vicinity of Thomas Kinkade. But given the fact that we have an alibi from the start that this is going to be a storybook illustration, and we'll learn at the end that it was probably the imagination of a simple country woman who likes her bearded husband and a garden full of roses, I can actually sit back and enjoy every hideously over-stylized shot, looking exactly as I imagined fairy-tale realms as a little tyke. Which perhaps makes me a closeted gay, because that rubber tree for artificial flowers was for this film a bridge too far.
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