The Beast might as well be referred to as a slow twisting knife into the side of our existence, sharpened to a point by Bertrand Bonello and wielded with surgical precision so as not to nick any vital organs — we’re alive, but definitely hurting. Indeed, placing itself at a time when humanity is its most nervous, emotionally drained, and existentially fed up, the film offers no relief as it tackles love, death, and loneliness on a large scale. Yet for all that (and this is not premature exclamation), it’s also one of the most satisfying movies you’ll see this year.
The Beast stars Léa Seydoux as Gabrielle in what can only be described as an extremely loose adaptation of Henry James’ 1903 novella The Beast in the Jungle. Gabrielle chooses to undergo an emotional purification procedure that will prevent her from feeling anything too strongly. It’s 2044 now; feelings were decided to be detrimental to society’s progress so most people get them removed in order to attain better jobs. When we meet her, Gabrielle’s only responsibility is checking the temperature of an enormous piece of machinery every so often. It doesn’t get much more monotonous than that.
But since it works on the DNA level, Gabrielle gets hooked up to some kind of Matrix-looking machine for her emotional purification procedure. This sends her back to La Belle Époque in 1910 Paris and also some wealthy households in 2014 Los Angeles where she forms different relationships with Louis (George MacKay). Love and pain are two sides of the same coin no matter their dynamic across timelines.
Fate and doom are two central pillars of James’ original novella about John Marcher and May Bartram getting together again. A psychological tale if there ever was one, we watch John worry about a particularly tragic event which he believes will happen in his future — he calls it a “beast in the jungle,” waiting to pounce. The moral, of course, is that John spends so much time fearing for tomorrow that he forgets how to live today — the real “beast” being the belated realization that he’s wasted his life worrying over nothing.
If there’s one thing Bonello does well with The Beast it’s hitting these thematic touchstones while also expanding upon them; on one hand filling in some of science fiction’s more common blanks and other period romance’s expository gaps on the other. What results is a film that feels both lushly intimate and deeply sensual but is also shot through with paralyzing dread. La Belle Époque is maximalism at its height, unabashedly extravagant even as something sickening lurks beneath (not unlike thick pooling blood). 2044 by contrast couldn’t be more beige if it tried. And 2014, closest to us as viewers, straddles the two: a past-tense mausoleum pointing toward an unhinged future.
Because it is packed with ideas, The Beast is no cakewalk or leisurely stroll through the park, especially in its first 45 minutes, when the film throws us back and forth between past and future, demanding we scramble for expository breadcrumbs. But every minute counts; Bonello never wastes a frame to set up his story. Every timeline and place that Gabrielle visits — whether a doll factory in Paris, a club in L.A., or some blank non-space of identical-looking near-future everywheres — is treated as equally significant; all seem like they could be (and perhaps are) answers to some kind of existential question. If you can bear the thought, this movie asks you to believe that all will become clear if you’ll just stay still long enough to listen.
Lea Seydoux and Matthias MacKay are perfect together here. They’re both so watchable that each one seems to keep the other one (and by extension us) from ever being offscreen for too long. Of the two actors, MacKay has more drastic versions of a character: In 1910 Louis is an English aristocrat who seduces an already-married Gabrielle; in 2014 he’s an American incel-type creep who follows her around town; by 2044 he’s just some guy she keeps running into for whom she feels deep unseen connection. Each time MacKay appears opposite Seydoux he exposes a different raw nerve ending on his own character’s body; watching these performances makes you want to fall in love and flee for your life at once.
But ultimately The Beast belongs entirely to Seydoux: her performance here is Bonello’s greatest achievement. She has taken on three different Gabis across time and space (like MacKay), but where he gets to play three characters who are almost defiantly unlike one another — men who holler “Look at me!” — Seydoux has to navigate multiple versions of a woman whose differences are, for most of the film at least, all but invisible. Subtle does not even begin to describe what Seydoux is doing here; every one of her Gabi’s gets infused with such a deep, tender sadness that you want to reach out and hold them.
Which is interesting because in The Beast Gabrielle spends the entire movie trying not to feel anything. In fact, it’s her feeling-ness (or rather inevitability thereof) that seems to be the crux of Bonello’s story: Alas! Even the emptiest cup must have some potential for being filled—or at least spilling over. What then remains as the point of life, love, longing? This question hangs over the final image and beyond. Given where we find ourselves in history right now, I can’t help but think that answer (or lack thereof) might make me scream.
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