I love Beauty & The Beast. I love everything about it. And not just the twinkle-eyed, magical musical Disney version either, albeit truth be told it may have started with it. I love the gritty, original French tale, I love Carol Ann Duffy’s amusing “Mrs. Beast” written from the POV of Beauty herself. I even really enjoyed the fairly recent Beastly, despite the questionable cast choices.
The thing is, people always assume I love Beauty & The Beast so much because I relate so strongly with Belle’s need for adventure and something different from life. With her sense of outcast and not quite fitting in with the people around her, which don’t get me wrong, I do. But originally I fell in love with the tale of Beauty & the Beast due to the Beast himself. This ugly person, both inside and out, whom felt that nobody could ever or would ever love him. Because who could ever love a Beast? Truth be told, that’s how I’ve felt pretty much my entire life.