The Beast review – a mind-bog­gling, sprawl­ing roman­tic epic

Of the many pop cul­ture assets that Bertrand Bonello’s The Beast calls to mind, per­haps the most obvi­ous is Michel Gondry’s Eter­nal Sun­shine of the Spot­less Mind, about a cou­ple whose dev­as­tat­ing break-up prompts them to erase all mem­o­ry of each oth­er. Despite this, the pair are des­tined to reunite, with the now-icon­ic instruc­tion: ​“Meet me in Mon­tauk.” Gondry’s coun­try­man Bonel­lo shares an inter­est in the cos­mic nature of des­tiny and love – but takes a wild­ly dif­fer­ent approach to it all. Based on Hen­ry James’ novel­la ​‘The Beast in the Jun­gle’, the film is a reflec­tion on fate and emo­tion; what we choose to express and suppress.

Across decades we wit­ness Gabrielle (Léa Sey­doux) and Louis (George MacK­ay) enter into each other’s orbit – in 1910, 2014, and 2044. When we watch them meet at a par­ty dur­ing the Belle Époque, Louis informs Gabrielle it’s not the first time they’ve met, and she pre­vi­ous­ly told him some­thing that dis­turbed him. It is revealed that Gabrielle is plagued by a sense of extra­or­di­nary fear, as though some­thing ter­ri­ble lurks right around the cor­ner (the ​‘Beast’ from which James’ sto­ry and Bonello’s film draw their title). Despite this fear and her mar­riage to an earnest doll­mak­er, she is drawn to Louis.

Mean­while, in 2014 Gabrielle is a mod­el in LA, attempt­ing to tran­si­tion into an act­ing career. Louis is a bit­ter, misog­y­nis­tic and enti­tled young man who despis­es women due to his lack of roman­tic suc­cess. He vlogs about how unfair­ly the world has treat­ed him. In the future time­line, an unmen­tioned plague has dec­i­mat­ed soci­ety and AI has tak­en over. The few humans left work menial jobs; Gabrielle applies for a more chal­leng­ing posi­tion, only to be told she must under­go a pro­ce­dure to con­front her past lives, which the AI claims are mak­ing her unbalanced.

Over the course of two-and-a-half hours, we accom­pa­ny Gabrielle on a tour of her past lives, as she con­fronts potent feel­ings and the cru­el­ty of fate. Despite being a sort-of love sto­ry, Gabrielle is often alone, and the film leans on Seydoux’s excel­lent per­for­mance. She dif­fer­en­ti­ates between the three ver­sions of Gabrielle in the most sub­tle ways, so that they avoid feel­ing like the same woman but also resem­ble one anoth­er. MacK­ay – who arrived at the film after the trag­ic death of Bonello’s close friend Gas­pard Ulliel – makes for a great foil.

Recur­ring motifs – pigeons, dolls, for­tune tellers, Roy Orbison’s ​‘Ever­green’ – fur­ther thread the trio of nar­ra­tives togeth­er, cre­at­ing a coher­ence despite the out-there con­cept. These totems both ground and haunt Gabrielle as she realis­es she must choose between repres­sion and expres­sion of her emo­tions in a world where it’s con­sid­ered detri­men­tal. But Bonello’s imp­ish sense of humour means love is nev­er quite as sim­ple as find­ing the per­son you’re meant to be with.

Although the first 40 min­utes in the but­toned-up peri­od set­ting do drag a lit­tle, once The Beast finds its groove, its imag­i­na­tive and melo­dra­mat­ic spir­it are hard to resist. It’s a big swing for the fences from a sin­gu­lar French film­mak­er, and one that absolute­ly pays off.

Lit­tle White Lies is com­mit­ted to cham­pi­oning great movies and the tal­ent­ed peo­ple who make them.

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