By Brooks Barnes / New York Times News Service
BURBANK, California—The mood at Walt Disney Studios here last spring was euphoric: A risky live-action remake of one of Disney’s most beloved animated films, Beauty and the Beast, was coming off without a hitch. Disney had assembled an all-star cast led by Emma Watson as Belle. A bet on untested technology to create a brutish, yet empathetic, Beast had paid off. A 90-second teaser trailer had generated a record 92 million views in its first day online, leaving Hollywood slack-jawed—not even Star Wars: The Force Awakens had attracted as much interest.
But then came a tempest in an actual teapot.
Disney released a video showing Watson and her Beauty and the Beast cast mates at an early rehearsal. In the background, behind Luke Evans (Gaston) and Josh Gad (LeFou), was concept art of a white teapot with a human face on its belly. That was Mrs. Potts, housekeeper turned enchanted kettle? She didn’t look a thing like the one from the 1991 cartoon version
Where was her spout nose? The Internet delivered a not-on-my-watch foot stomp.
“We wanted to keep the spout nose, we really did,” Bill Condon, who directed the new film, said recently with a sigh. “But no matter what we tried, she just looked like a pig.”
For Hollywood, it’s a tale as old as time: Mess with memories, even with the best intentions, and face the consequences.
Usually these brouhahas quickly blow over, as was the case with Mrs. Potts. In other instances—the recent dust-up over a gay supporting character in Beauty and the Beast comes to mind—online consternation can snowball into a potentially damaging news story. Why did Disney decide that modernizing Beauty and the Beast was a risk worth taking? And what is behind the studio’s plans to do the same with The Lion King, The Little Mermaid and a host of other animated gems that fans hold near and dear?
Some people see a cynical money grab, a way to keep those theme park turnstiles clicking and little girls begging their parents for princess gowns. But the answer is actually a lot more complex.
Hollywood loves to revisit hits in ways that can be maddening—oh, that old script was wonderful; we’ll change everything—and Disney has a particular tradition of mining and remining the same stories. But the company’s movie studio usually does not return to classic characters in a willy-nilly manner. Walt Disney himself gravitated toward Cinderella and other fairy tales largely because he saw a way to use an innovative cinematic art form (in his case, hand-drawn animation) to bring the characters to life in an engaging, contemporary manner.
Condon’s Beauty, set for release on March 17, had the same mission.
The story is essentially the one you know. A bookish young woman, an outcast in her small-minded French village, is taken captive in a castle, where the servants have been magically turned into household objects (a feisty candelabra, a fussy clock). An arrogant prince, transformed into a monster, must find true love to reverse the spell. Yes, Belle wears a flowing yellow ballgown in the ballroom scene, and the “Be Our Guest” dancing-cutlery sequence is still a Busby Berkeley-inspired showstopper.
But screenwriters Stephen Chbosky (The Perks of Being a Wallflower) and Evan Spiliotopoulos (The Huntsman: Winter’s War) added depth—what happened to Belle’s mother, more about why the prince got zapped—and a new household character, a touchy harpsichord (Stanley Tucci). Condon also pushed for modernizations, including making Chip (Nathan Mack), the teacup son of Mrs. Potts (Emma Thompson), more of a skater dude. Gad’s comedic manservant, LeFou, is now gay.
Most important, this Beauty and the Beast mixes live-action filmmaking with digitally rendered characters and backdrops—the cinematic language of the moment—to bring the tale to life in a fresh way, much as Disney did last year with The Jungle Book. Condon’s Beast, for instance, is a fully digitized character. Phosphorescent makeup that appeared blue under ultraviolet light was applied to Dan Stevens (Downton Abbey), and cameras tracked every pore of his face as he performed; special software then converted his expressions into data and the furry, horned Beast.
“We never want to say, ‘Well, here it is again,’” said Sean Bailey, president of production for Walt Disney Pictures. Beauty and the Beast, produced by the team of David Hoberman and Todd Lieberman (The Muppets, from 2011), may seem like a no-brainer now, with advance ticket sales via Fandango outpacing those for Captain America: Civil War. (That superhero film took in $179 million over its first three days in May.) But Condon’s musical was actually a major risk.
Watson, known for playing Hermione in the Harry Potter series, was not seen as a strong singer. Beauty and the Beast cost more than $300 million to make and market, and Disney—despite concerns about a live-action musical’s appeal to men and boys—committed to that megabudget before La La Land demonstrated renewed interest in the genre. (Disney initially planned to remake Beauty and the Beast without the songs, but “they saw with Frozen that there could be a massive international audience for musicals,” Condon said.)
And there was the issue of fandom. Disney already had other live-action remakes of animated classics on its assembly line, including Cinderella and The Jungle Book, which would both become critical and commercial hits. But Beauty and the Beast was special. The imagery and music from the 1991 version have never faded, in part because Disney used the Howard Ashman-Alan Menken score as the foundation for a blockbuster Broadway musical that ran for 13 years and toured 20 countries. Beauty and the Beast also parted with Disney’s princess formula—she saves him—and it has come to symbolize a creatively fertile period from 1989 to 1999 known as the Disney Renaissance.
“We feel a pretty tremendous obligation to the animated classics,” Bailey said, “and part of that means asking ourselves, before work even gets started on the new films, ‘What is the contract each one has with the audience?’ With the older classics, what people seem to remember are emotions. But Beauty is the first from the renaissance. People really know it chapter and verse.”
Disney’s live-action adaptations list now includes Dumbo, with Tim Burton directing; Aladdin, directed by Guy Ritchie; The Lion King, with Jon Favreau behind the camera; Cruella, starring Emma Stone; and The Little Mermaid, with Lin-Manuel Miranda coming aboard with Menken to write additional songs. The strategy, set by Alan Horn, Disney’s movie chairman, replicates what Disney-owned Marvel Studios has done with superhero films—take characters that have permeated popular culture and elevate them by bringing on top stars and serious filmmakers.
Condon, whose directing credits include the musical Dreamgirls, which was nominated for eight Academy Awards in 2007, winning two, was not especially keen to take on another computer-generated world. He had done that with the final two installments in the five-part Twilight vampire series. His two-part Breaking Dawn (2011-2012) was a commercial smash, but most critics were not kind. Even Condon, who won an Oscar in 2003 for his Chicago screenplay, winces at the memory of using computer-generated imagery to create a half-human, half-vampire baby. As he recently told The Hollywood Reporter, “That was a disaster.”
Condon was intrigued by the tonal challenge of making a grown-up movie starring talking furniture, and he said he loved the idea of melding the most advanced filmmaking technology with a lavish, old-fashioned musical. While certain characters were digital creations, Condon placed them in ultra-real settings. The scene that opens the film—Belle walking through her rural village and pining for something “more than this provincial life”—included 150 extras, 28 wagons and hundreds of live animals.
“What I loved the most was the opportunity to reclaim some of the musical traditions of Hollywood,” Condon said. He even tucked in allusions to song-and-dance extravaganzas, like Singin’ in the Rain and The Sound of Music.
Initial Beauty and the Beast reviews have been mostly positive, with critics praising Watson’s strong-willed Belle; Sarah Greenwood’s sumptuous production design; and Condon’s vivid handling of the household objects—even Mrs. Potts.
“Mrs. Potts, the poor darling, she was almost more complicated than the Beast,” Condon said. “We went through a lot of trial and error to make her appealing in three dimensions. I think people will be happy.”
And if they’re not?
“Someone, somewhere” will surely be in a snit about something, he said, with a laugh. The trick with social media flare-ups, Condon added, is not to overreact—or react at all. (Disney never publicly commented on LeFou’s sexuality, which helped douse that uproar. No fresh fuel.) Within a day or two, people almost always forget about it: Ho-hum, on to the next outrage.
“I’m glad that people are protective,” he said. “That means they are invested.” Beauty and the Beast, with its Rockette-kicking forks and canoodling feather duster, Plumette, may strike non-fans as a silly thing to obsess over, he added, “but for a lot of us those characters are family.”