Her bright blue eyes met mine as I slid into my seat. “You’re beautiful,’ she said in an innocent and matter of fact voice. I was both flattered and taken back, she must have been six or seven years old.
“Why thank you. You are beautiful too.” She nodded but seemed unsure.
She looked back at the stage, at the dress made of roses projected on the curtain, as we awaited the start of Beauty and The Beast at Queensland Performing Art Center in Brisbane. My 21-year-old daughter had wanted to go, and I managed to get tickets last week after their run was extended. My daughter had grown up with the story, but when it first appeared well before she was born, it troubled me.
The narrative of a young woman who is trapped by an irascible beast in his castle and is expected to change him into a respectable man, always felt a bit off. Disney has not always gotten it right, but this one seemed more wrong than usual. I tried to enjoy it.
The production itself was spectacular, filled with some of the best talent and stage management I have seen here in Australia. Still, I winced as the Beast first raged at Belle, his booming voice filling the theater, his threatening presence looming over her. She recoiled and put her arm up in a defensive gesture.
Everyone was silent, transfixed by his brutality, he was someone to be afraid of. He forbade her to leave, and she calmly accepted her fate, because she was saving her father, and ultimately him. The Beast continued to have choleric outb.
