Catherine Chandler s White Dress Beauty and the Beast Linda Hamilton

Beauty and the Beast is far and away my most treasured fairy tale. It has shaped and informed the person I have become at a foundational level, and so absolute is my love for it that I've probably seen every iteration ever made across all mediums (even the Syfy channel one with Estella Warren! Now that's dedication…) If I had to narrow down the myriad versions to my own personal holy trinity, there are three adaptations I prize above all others: Jean Cocteau's dreamy 1946 feature film, Disney's 1991 animated classic, and 1987's urban fantasy procedural starring Linda Hamilton and Ron Perlman.

That last one arrived in my life only recently and it's already in my top three. I knew about it beforehand as I was a fan of both the lead actors, but it took me until earlier this year to to experience for myself what was ultimately an imperfect but elegant and emotional series that was engaged in a constant battle for beautiful strangeness against the network, the ratings, and even itself. Created by Ron Koslow and written by the likes of Game of Thrones scribe George R. R. Martin and Homeland dream-team Howard Gordon/Alex Gansa, the series shifted the classic fairy tale to modern-day New York City, reimagining Beauty as Catherine Chandler (Linda Hamilton), an Assistant District Attorney from the World Above (aka the world we live in), and Beast as Vincent Wells (Ron Perlman), a kind and noble lion-man who lives in the World Below, a hidden sanctuary in the tunnels beneath the city. Vincent heals Catherine after a case of mistaken identity leaves her severely wounded; she falls in love with him before she ever sees his face, and the empathic bond which develops between the two allows Vincent to sense when Catherine is in danger. 'Once upon a time is now' was not just the series' tagline but also its mission statement: it was a deeply sincere, achingly romantic show and it is glorious.

*SPOILERS FROM THIS POINT ON*

As Above, So Below

This is a world you really feel lives between the episodes; the World Above and the World Below are evocatively sketched and the obstacles to Vincent and Catherine's romance feel legitimate. Catherine has a life and a career in a world in which Vincent would never be accepted, and the secret of his own realm's existence is in constant jeopardy. It's this tunnel world which sets the show apart; co-founded and governed by Jacob Wells aka Father (Roy Dotrice), a doctor who was unfairly blacklisted by what is heavily implied to be the McCarthy regime, it is an enchantingly-drawn Utopian underworld which houses a Renaissance-esque community of outcasts from society. They rely on the assistance of 'Helpers', sympathetic people from the World Above who supply resources and safeguard their secret. (The gorgeous matte paintings bring the realm convincingly to life some thirty-odd years later).

A plethora of characters from both worlds flesh out the tapestry of this story, like Catherine's boss, Deputy D.A. Joe Maxwell (Jay Acovone), a lovable cynic whose initial scepticism at Catherine evolves into a moving friendship; Edie King (an underused Ren Woods), Catherine's best friend and the D.A.'s resident computer expert; and Devin Wells (Bruce Abbott – Linda Hamilton's husband at the time), Father's biological son, Vincent's adoptive brother, and a jack of all trades who flits between the worlds. The ragtag group of misfits who made up the World Below are also great across the board, from mischievous inventor Mouse (David Greenlee), to crossbow-wielding badass Jamie (Irina Irvine) and Laura Williams (Terrylene Sacchetti), a dynamic and wonderfully-written disabled character who features in some of the best standalone stories. And there are early appearances of future fan favourites like Deep Space Nine's Armin Shimerman as Pascal (supervisor of the tunnels' pipe-based communication system) and The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air's James Avery as Winslow (a blacksmith and the voice of reason/scepticism on Father's council). If you come to this show for the Law and Order-style legal drama, however, then just be aware that Catherine sees the inside of a courtroom about as often as Matt Murdock.

Given that the 'impossible' love of Catherine and Vincent was the cornerstone of the show, it's no surprise that challengers for the lovers' affections would naturally arise to throw a proverbial spanner in the works. Lisa (Elyssa Davalos), Vincent's unrequited childhood crush, returns years later a prima ballerina seeking sanctuary from an abusive husband, and dredges up the wreckage of what sent her away – namely, that Vincent accidentally scarred her back after she danced for him when they were teenagers. Catherine's most legitimate rival is Lena (Katy Boyer), a pregnant former prostitute who Catherine brings to the World Below, and whose earnest love for Vincent inspires in him a moment's sensation of being 'someone else's possibility' in another Catherine-less life, even if the thought is short-lived. Diana Bennett (Jo Anderson), a proto-Dana Scully, was introduced in season 3 as the new 'Beauty' and a potential love interest, but the pairing never held water for Vincent/Catherine devotees.

Catherine's would-be suitors were more abundant – including lovestruck tunnel-dweller Michael, psychotic ex Steven Bass, and even Joe Maxwell – but less interesting on the whole than Vincent's, except for the One Rival to Rule them All: Elliot Burch (Edward Albert Jr.). Burch was a capitalist with a heart (a rarer beast in reality than a poetry-loving lion-man who lives in the subway) who perhaps appealed to the socialite Catherine once was, and with whom she would be able to live a normal life. A self-made millionaire from humble origins, Elliot has wealth, status, and typically handsome looks – all of which make him the antithesis to Vincent and his foil in the World Above, especially when considering that they are, in effect, the princes of their respective realms.

Although Vincent is the titular Beast, it's interesting that he remains a rather static character (having arrived fully formed in the pilot as the Perfect Man) whilst Elliot is the one who actually undergoes a transformation of sorts. He starts out as a relatively one-note charming sleaze with whom Catherine falls in love before learning about his dodgy business dealings, but there's a spark of something decent in him that flourishes thanks to her influence. He grows and changes into a more sympathetic and well-rounded character because Catherine inspires him to be a better man – narratively speaking, Elliot is the modernised version of the fairy tale's Beast, and it is he –not Vincent – who is transformed by Beauty's love.

Tale as Old as Time

The division between the worlds lends this Beauty and the Beast retelling a distinctly Shakespearean quality, painting Vincent and Catherine's romance in vivid shades of Romeo and Juliet. Vincent's penchant for poetry also gives the series a classic feel, and the urban fantasy of the World Below embodies the magical air of a fairy tale in an appealingly realistic fashion. With Vincent as a kind of prince of the underworld and Catherine a sort of princess from the world above, they're a non-problematic reincarnation of Hades and Persephone. In a key thematic divergence from the original fairy tale, when Beauty and the Beast fall in love – by the end of the pilot – Vincent does not transform into the image of what society might view as a 'handsome prince'; instead, it is his inner qualities that make him beautiful. (The gorgeously-realised Rick Baker makeup doesn't hurt, mind).

The writing of their love story was often gorgeous, but the frustrating inconsistencies as to the exact nature of their bond (have they kissed? Have they gone any further? Can they?) were evened out largely by the stabilising effect of the two leads' amazing chemistry. It's difficult enough to sustain a romance across a single film, let alone across a number of seasons, which meant that Catherine and Vincent's relationship often felt somewhat static. Their connection is the true constant of the series, despite the best efforts of an interfering network who wanted to let the romance remain ambiguous even if the show was literally called Beauty and the Beast. Some fans felt frustrated by the lack of development (as did Linda Hamilton!) while others were concerned that consummating the relationship would ruin the show in the same way it had wrecked Moonlighting.  I personally liked that ambiguous framing lent itself to a reading of their relationship – in the first two seasons, at least – as a rare example of well-drawn asexual romance, though I realise that was almost certainly not the intention of the writers at the time. I also found it refreshing that Vincent and Catherine weren't forced into a box-ticking slog through the typical relationship stages like marriage, kids and a white picket fence – especially for a show from the 1980s. Theirs was a very modern relationship in that sense. But I do feel that it needed more episodes like 'Orphans' and 'A Happy Life' which interrogated the nature and potential of the relationship head-on.

There was no easy solution to the romantic situation. The sexual tension between the two added to the excitement and uncertainty, and yet they were already waxing lyrical about their impossible love by episode two. The delicate balance was not helped by a conservative network who didn't even want the eponymous lovers to kiss for fear of bestiality accusations. Season 1 ended in a consummation of sorts, in which the writers tried to balance the warring demands of network and fanbase with a few moments of physical affection, the result of which was the infamous 'soul kiss' in which Catherine and Vincent finally locked lips – but only in silhouette, and even the embrace itself was presented as metaphorical one rather than literal. The only other times they kissed onscreen were in the season 2 episode 'Orphans' and in the season 3 opener, the latter of which immediately precedes perhaps the cringiest lovemaking montage in visual media (featuring very little of the characters and rather a lot of roses bursting into bloom and volcanoes erupting in slow-motion as a syrupy song version of the series' love theme plays). I think it's because Beauty and the Beast wanted to have its cake and eat it too in regard to being both a family show AND a mature romance. It couldn't successfully be both, and at some point, they had to choose – when they finally did, it was too late.

The Beast Within

Vincent's sex appeal was the talk of the town when the show premiered, and it's not hard to see why: he's a furry Fabio, a leonine Lord Byron, a hunky guy with the wardrobe of a medieval prince and the hair of Jon Bon Jovi. He reads poetry for fun. He gives his devotion freely and completely and asks for nothing in return. In an era in which romance had perhaps become mundane, even perfunctory, Vincent was demonstrative, attentive and overt in his affections – a knight in shining armour who scales buildings in the name of love. He is the melding of the mythic and the mortal, the non-toxic ne plus ultra of masculinity. He is basically the physical embodiment of those Ryan Gosling 'hey girl, I respect you' memes. In other words, he's kind of the Ideal Man.

Yes, he's unrealistically perfect, but that kind of wish fulfilment is the axis on which this series turns – his ability to sense Catherine's feelings and emotions without having to be told is arguably the most fantastical element in a show that features hot lion-men and sympathetic capitalists. He is quite literally attuned to her every need, and so one of the most complicated and essential aspects of a relationship – communication – is never really a struggle for them. Though he comes in beastly trappings kitted out with medieval notions of chivalry, the real fantasy of Vincent is that he is a man who truly sees Catherine for who she is, listens to her intently, respects her deeply, and always has time for her. The fairy tale of the show is building an emotionally-mature relationship with a person who loves and respects you. But mixed in with that is the impossibility of such a person existing in real life. Vincent's love is unconditional and indelible and, in many ways, his unerring devotion is unattainable to mere mortals, as Linda Hamilton attests: part of his appeal stems from the fact that he isn't constrained by the mundanity of modern life's demands. Vincent is the fabulously-coiffed, anti-capitalist magical stud-muffin you can only find Fridays at 8pm on CBS.

As the figurehead of the tunnel community, Vincent espouses and embodies that society's healing power of tolerance, acceptance and love – and yet he is a being of duality: his guileless goodness contrasted with superhuman strength and a capacity for violence he constantly battles to subdue. He only uses his superhuman abilities to protect the World Below and guard Catherine, running to her aid when the empathic bond between them alerts him to her imperilment. (Season 1 was notorious for almost always ending its episodes with Catherine being cornered by baddies and Vincent hopping on top of a subway train to come to her rescue). Despite the situations often calling for self-defence, Vincent does kill alarmingly frequently for a romantic hero, and his capacity for violence is never fully interrogated until the trio of episodes that close season 2. Episodes like 'Arabesque' had demonstrated just how dangerous a besotted Vincent can be; the end of season 2 raises the unthinkable by suggesting that with a bit of manipulation, Vincent could even be dangerous to Catherine.

Vincent's battle with his primal side is largely an internal one, the embers of which are stoked by an external threat in the form of Paracelsus. Played by Tony Jay, a veteran of stage and screen who is perhaps best known as the haunting voice of Frollo in Disney's The Hunchback of Notre Dame, Paracelsus is a chillingly credible threat to Vincent, Catherine and the tunnel community he co-founded with Father. Born John Pater, his lust for power leads Father to banish him from the World Below, at which point he renames himself Paracelsus (after a Renaissance-era alchemist) and makes it his life's mission to take back control of the world he helped to create.

He only appears in six episodes, though his presence permeates the series like an infection. In a series which usually operated on a baddie-of-the-week premise, his vaudevillian villainy loomed large over the story, not least in his obsession with Vincent. It was Paracelsus' wife Anna who discovered baby Vincent outside the hospital that would be his namesake, and Paracelsus views himself as a father figure to Vincent in a way that purposefully mirrors Vincent's relationship with his adopted father Jacob Wells. Vincent's two dads fight for dominance over their son, acting as the angel and devil on his shoulder and a manifestation of the choice he must make between fighting his bestial side or giving in to it. Vincent's true parentage is left ambiguous, though it is implied that he might have been born due a science experiment gone wrong, or – more intriguingly – that may be Paracelsus' biological son, thus explaining the possessive kinship he feels towards him.

The series demonstrates however that Vincent's lineage is unimportant: what matters is what he chooses to do, not how he came into the world or who he might happen to be related to. Paracelsus' twisted last act – taking on Father's visage and manipulating Vincent into killing him – ends with his dying declaration that 'At last you are my son', but in truth he just embodies the monstrous side Vincent fights to subdue within himself. If Vincent gives into his beastly side, then he would truly be Paracelsus' son in spirit; whereas Father appeals to Vincent's human side. In many ways, the duality in Vincent's psyche mirrors the duality at the heart of the show – the audience enjoys the sight of Vincent giving into his beastly side if it ends up saving Catherine and makes for an epic action scene, and so we are confronted with our own voyeurism just as Vincent is confronted by his dark side. Ultimately, Paracelsus represents one path and Father another. Father might be a secretive, complex man, but he has always encouraged Vincent to be a good person and use his strength to protect not to harm.

Missteps and Missed Opportunities

Outside of the story itself, the show is very much a product of its time, particularly in a visual sense. Vincent may dress like a medieval prince but that golden mane plants him firmly in the hair metal camp and Catherine appears to do a quick-change during the scene transitions which makes her less Disney Princess and more Corporate Barbie. The World Below has a more timeless aesthetic thanks to its Ren Fair dress code, but it still reads more 'New Romantic' than 'Ye Olde Pilgrim'. The series was practically tailor-made for seasonal episodes, but thanks to a shoot-delaying writers' strike during the production for season 2, the only Halloween-centric romp we got was the admittedly-excellent 'Masques' in season 1. The Winterfest episode was a neat bit of worldbuilding from George R.R. Martin and might have become a regular feature if the show had run for longer. And the music, composed by Lee Holdridge is gorgeous – perhaps the last lavish tv series score before Game of Thrones burst onto the scene), but jeez it gets involved a lot: every time Vincent and Catherine glance at each other the orchestra erupts in amorous paroxysms and tremulous crescendos.

As a haven for outcasts, the World Below was a beautiful concept in theory and often in execution; in many ways, it was a sanctuary for the 'broken things' that later graced the pages of George R. R. Martin's Westeros. Vincent's physical unusualness stood in for otherness in general, but the show was surprisingly ahead of its time in writing characters with disabilities and deformities which were not shied away from or painted as tragic, and which did not define the character. Laura Williams (Terrylene Sacchetti) gets to be a brilliant, dynamic, flawed, reckless character who happens to be deaf, and Charles (Kevin Scannell), cruelly labelled the Dragon Man by his abusive circus-owning brother, is a deformed man who gets to be just as kind, gentle and noble as Vincent.

But the World Below could have been so much more. I get that the writers were forced to work within the prudish constraints of a conservative network, but it seems a shame that the majority of the so-called social outcasts are white, straight, able-bodied men. There is absolutely zero LGBTQ+ representation onscreen – and yes, this was the 80s, but Beauty and the Beast was so ahead of its time in other aspects that there's no reason they shouldn't have excelled in portraying a more diverse cast of characters. This is especially true of a show about a relationship which defied the conventions and norms of its time (plus Catherine and Vincent's love certainly borrowed a lot of the same beats from LGBTQ+ romances).

Although the show strove to be inclusive, its treatment of race is even more dated than its fashion: for a show set in New York City, most of the main/recurring cast are white, and any people of colour who feature in the show tend to be either problematically stereotyped, randomly disappear from the plot or get killed off for shock value. As to the first, the show's racist portrayal of voodoo in the episode 'Dark Spirit' lives on in infamy, as do similarly dodgy cultural depictions in episodes like 'China Town'/'Everything is Everything', and the World Below's resident psychic Narcissa (Beah Richards) plays into all kinds of harmful stereotypes. To the second, promising regulars like Catherine's best friend Edie King (an incandescent Ren Woods) and her self-defence instructor Isaac Stubbs (played by Ron O'Neal in the pilot and Delroy Lindo in two subsequent episodes) disappear without mention by the midway of season 1 and are never spoken of again (despite Ren Woods' name appearing in the credits through to season 3). To the third, James Avery's Winslow is the first major character to die – adding insult to injury, he's replaced by a nearly-identical character (William) who is played by a white actor (Ritch Brinkley).

The flagrant underuse and casual disposal of Edie and Isaac rank high in list of the show's most egregious transgressions, especially because the actors' talent and charisma shone brightly despite the comparatively scant screentime they were given. It makes little sense to drop them unmentioned from the story, perhaps especially in the case of Isaac Stubbs given how he seemed poised to join Catherine as a new inductee of the World Below's helper network. I have no clue why they recast Ron O'Neal after the pilot, but he and Delroy Lindo are both excellent despite appearing in only a small percentage of the show, which makes it even more of a shame that Isaac was inexplicably dropped.

In his last appearance, Isaac helps Catherine track down a missing Vincent and rescue him from a gang of stereotypical thugs (one of whom eagle-eyed viewers will spot as genre stalwart and Deep Space Nine alumnus Jeffrey Coombs, oozing smarm and hair gel as if it's going out of fashion). Isaac decides to help Catherine locate Vincent despite minimal information (Catherine insisting on keeping the secret and all) and he even gets a glimpse of Vincent in the end as he and Catherine embrace – only to then to vanish from the story, absence unmentioned. I realise that Joe fulfilled the 'platonic male friend from the World Above' role, but one of the more troubling (and rarely interrogated) aspects of the series was the increasing alienation of Catherine from her own (non-tunnel-related) friends. This is compounded by the fact that no-one in Catherine's life (other than Elliot) ever finds out about the World Below. Yes, the secret is also known by Dr Peter Alcroft (an elegantly avuncular Joseph Campanella), but he was a helper before the series started, and their mutual connection to the tunnel world was not the twist it would have been if Joe, Edie or Isaac had been let in on the secret.

As for Edie, she was a wonderful presence who was so dynamic that her unmentioned disappearance left a hole in the series that it never quite filled. She was a character I desperately missed: in a world of histrionic love vows and an over-eager string section bursting into romantic refrains every two seconds, Edie felt like an actual person in amidst the high melodrama. Ren Woods brought a decidedly different energy to the show, and I was really looking forward to her wry commentary on Catherine's crazy fantasy double life – until the moment she disappeared without a trace, and my dreams were dashed. Woods seemingly clarified some of the reasons for her character's abrupt exit at a convention in 1995 (ED 4/7/22: though this might not quite be the case – see Marna K's comment below) – the part was originally a guest role that became a recurring one, and the writers only wanted her to appear during the first few months of the story. It was Woods who recrafted the role from an uptight straight woman-type foil to Catherine into the witty, fun and sarcastic Edie we know and love; although she enjoyed her time on the show, she had a previous commitment in Europe that prevented her from coming back.

I still feel the show did her a disservice by dropping the character out of nowhere – even the laziest of writers could have done the bare minimum and added a line that explained she got a promotion, or got married, or just decided to travel the world on a whim. Something, anything, that would have done right by the character. Worse still, Edie is replaced by a revolving door of Catherine's milquetoast and increasingly pale friends, culminating in the ostensibly psychic Jenny Aronson (Terri Hanauer) whose clairvoyance helps saves the day in 'The Watcher' but never has a vision of Catherine, Vincent, or the World Below, or actually anything else ever again. It's ridiculously convenient and also just plain ridiculous.

And let us have a moment of silence for Jay Acovone, who might have had the most thankless task of any regular/recurring character in the series. Jay, we did not deserve thee – but thank you for being consistently better than you had any right to be. As a tough, cynical-beyond-his-years boss with a heart of gold, Acovone's Joe Maxwell provided a welcome contrast to the softly-spoken, poetic and reserved Vincent. He also gets one of the most quietly effective and overlooked character arcs: initially sceptical of socialite lawyer Catherine slumming it with the 'good guys', he grows to respect Catherine's dedication, values and attitude, and the two evolve into believable, affectionately combative, friends. It's only unfortunate Joe was never let in on the secret of the World Below.

Beast – Beauty = ?

No season of the show was ever quite alike, even if the crux of each focused – as you might assume – on the central romance. Season 1 followed the tentative courtship of two people who felt a great deal for each other but who struggled to quantify that affection or actualise it into a legitimate relationship. The culmination of this reached breaking point in the finale 'A Happy Life', which centred entirely on the question of whether this relationship was worth pursuing; the stakes are personal, the drama is character driven, and it's easily my favourite episode the series ever produced. Vincent and Catherine decide that whatever they have is indeed worth fighting for, and their bond is a stable influence throughout season 2, which (mostly) drops the case of the week procedural format explores more of the tunnel community, to great success. Paracelsus rises as a literal and philosophical threat to their love, the tunnel community's way of life, and Vincent's battles with his beastly side – the season's cliff-hanger ending put all three in serious jeopardy.

By far the most controversial step this show ever took was the decision to kill off Catherine at the start of season 3. In fairness, it wasn't a choice the writers took lightly. In the end, it was propelled by a combination of reasons. As ratings dwindled towards the tail end of season 2, the network was ready to cancel the series – cliff-hanger be damned – and would have done so, if not for a passionate letter-writing campaign from the comparatively small but dedicated fanbase. The network's meddling with time slots hadn't helped their viewing figures, and CBS wanted to inject more action into this otherwise rather contemplative and character-driven series so as to attract more (read: male) viewers. And the final nail in the coffin: Linda Hamilton, frustrated by the lack of development and the exhausting shooting schedule, and experiencing a difficult pregnancy in real life, decided to leave the show.

It turned out to be the right choice for Hamilton, who is rightly remembered for her iconic return to the role of Sarah Connor in Terminator 2: Judgment Day which cemented her as one of cinema's greatest action heroes. Beauty and the Beast meanwhile suffered a mortal wound from her loss; you simply cannot replace one half of what made the show what it was and expect to go on as normal. The macabre manner of her exit, however, only rubbed salt into the wound. The new villain on the scene is Gabriel (Stephen McHattie), an inexplicably callous mob boss (even by 1980s mob boss standards). He's chasing a pointless MacGuffin when he detects Catherine snooping around his operation and decides to keep her prisoner when security footage reveals that her baby daddy is a super-powered manimal. He detains Catherine long enough for her to come to term as Vincent searches fruitlessly for her (consummating their relationship had destroyed the empathic bond between them, which becomes more problematic the more metaphorically you interpret it). As she goes into labour, the bond reappears and he runs to her side, only for her to die in his arms from a fatal morphine shot.

'It's not a fairy tale anymore' warned the ads, and Catherine's grim demise secured the bleak new direction for a story founded on innocent ideals of chivalric romance. Vincent was no longer the amorous übermensch of past seasons but an avenging angel hell-bent on tracking down Catherine's killers and ripping them to shreds. This was Vincent in beastmode like never before, modelling himself not so much on William Wordsworth as Charles Bronson. The audience had invested two years into Vincent's tentative tightrope walk between man and monster, but now he was unleashing and weaponising it in the name of vigilante-style revenge, and no-one batted an eye.

Even the debonair mafioso Gabriel felt illogically vindictive. If Gabriel, for example, had been revealed to be Parcelsus' biological son (or even his evil protégé), I could understand his seemingly irrational ire towards Vincent, Catherine and the tunnel community. But if he's just a rando mob boss, as he appears, he just comes off as unjustifiably ruthless. Without that tie, there seems no motivation for him to kidnap a pregnant Catherine, lock her up long enough to come to term, and then lethally inject her post-natal, leaving enough life in her to die in Vincent's arms. You'd have thought Catherine and Vincent tortured Gabriel's puppy in front of him to earn that level of hatred. It all seems a bit too macabre for a show which – although it didn't shy away from violent death and unhappy endings – was built on the sweet foundation of fairy tale romance.

That said, it's difficult to know how else they could have believably written out Catherine without angering the fanbase or compromising the integrity of the narrative they had cultivated – though some of the writers admitted that their resentment at Hamilton's departure might explain the harrowing finality of her character's exit. I know hindsight is 20/20, but there were other ways to deal with Hamilton's departure – the ebbing ratings and reduced season order heralded the series' impending death anyway, and with the show doomed to die, what was the point in offing a beloved character along with it? I found a more personally satisfying alternative route for season 3 in a YouTube comment of all things: Randi Lacey, commenting on a clip from the season 3 opener, suggests two possible options that wouldn't involve Catherine's death. Option 1: Gabriel abducts both Catherine and her baby, and Vincent's season-long mission is to find them, which would have left the door open for Hamilton to make a brief appearance at in the finale when the family is reunited. Option 2: Catherine disappears mysteriously, and Vincent has to figure out what happened to her, which would culminate in him reuniting with her in the finale where she would either reveal she was pregnant or already have given birth to their son. Both options could involve Vincent revealing his existence to Catherine's friends from Above like Joe, Jenny, Elliot etc. Both of these options seem much better narratives than the route they chose and would also have upped the action quotient as the network wanted without compromising the integrity of the romance they had spent so much time crafting.

The Unremarkable Remake

The CW's 2012 remake, starring Kristin Kreuk and Jay Ryan, was my introduction to the original source, and I managed to wade through three and a half seasons of watchable mediocrity before tapping out midway through the final season when it became too meanderingly bland even for a hatewatch. It's a shame it fizzled out so quickly and so completely because it started out with a lot of promise: a diverse cast (it was led by two women of colour, whose friendship was easily more compelling than the central star-crossed romance), shifting Catherine's job from Assistant D.A. to N.Y.P.D. detective (which made her crime-of-the-week investigations more believable and upped the ratio of Vincent and Catherine saving each other to a solid 50:50), and the way that the first season maintained a convincing will they/won't they dynamic that culminated in Vincent and Catherine going steady by the finale. It was less a fantasy than it was a comic book-style action-adventure, with the Beast as a sort of Batman analogue painted in shades of Wolverine, the Hulk and Edward Cullen.

It also devised a potentially interesting twist on the original, in that Vincent's beast side is a product of shady military experiments during his time as a soldier, a neat way of literalising the notion that war makes monsters of the men it trains to kill. It was different enough from the original to warrant a remake on this scale, especially in the politically-charged landscape of post-9/11 America. But the show wasn't interested in that, it was interested in convoluted relationship drama that would have seemed juvenile if it was taking place between high school sweethearts, let alone literal adults with careers and rental obligations (in other words, it was the most CW show to ever CW). Kreuk and Ryan had chemistry, but the iffy writing made their star-crossed lovers seem aggressively incompatible. Vincent's behaviour here also gave rise to some disturbing parallels with domestic violence that the original series never strayed into even during its meditations on the 'beast within'.

The 2012 series was very much a product of the post-Twilight era; a time in which its "monstrous" love interests were hunks with hare-trigger tempers signalled by a switch to Angel-style contact lenses. That the 2012 Beauty and the Beast fell victim to this trope undermined the story's core theme of finding the beauty within: here, the Beast is essentially a male model with a tiny scar on his face (which disappears entirely in later seasons), and, on the rare occasions he beasts out, he briefly gains yellow contacts and retractable claws before quickly shifting back into a stock hottie from The Vampire Diaries. This Vincent's visible beastliness is minimal, and the expansive, magical tunnel world is whittled down to an apartment populated only by Vincent and his hacker best friend J.T. (who ironically looks more like a Beast than Vincent ever did). Instead of promoting tolerance, inclusivity and inner beauty like its procedural predecessor, the 2012 series was more mean-spirited and narrow-minded (in one episode a character tells her traumatised boyfriend to 'get off [his] damn pity pot and grow a pair'). Its small central group closed ranks, and characters with potential were written badly, written off, or unjustly demonised (I will never not be salty about how the show treated Gabe). And though its racially-diverse cast was a huge improvement on the original, the show sadly dropped the ball regarding any other kind of representation (it was able-bodied, cisgender and straight across the board).

Happily Ever After

Even if Vincent and Catherine didn't get their much-deserved happily ever after onscreen, their story lives on in (and gets enthusiastically ret-conned by) the thriving fandom that continues to celebrate the little show that could. The series could have easily been just another schlocky rom-com, and though it joyously embraced melodrama when it wanted to, Beauty and the Beast was always better than it needed to be. For better or worse, it was very much itself and tried to stay true to its style and vision even in the face of unexpected obstacles. That the fanbase survives to this day is a testament to the way in which the worlds above and below captured the hearts of its audience, which still regularly produces fanfiction, fanzines and annual fan-run conventions, one of which is named Winterfest in honour of the World Below's yearly get-together. It has already outlived its less magical remake, and the dedication of its relentlessly supportive fandom speaks for itself. Ultimately, Vincent and Catherine's bond demonstrated my long-held belief that love is not what you feel but what you do; not a belief but an action, with the power to unite worlds and the people who live in them. 'Once upon a time is now' indeed…

If you'd like more perspectives on the series and its legacy, I'd encourage you to explore retrospectives by Scott Weller, the Daily Geekette, Christopher Bennett, the Pandora Society, 25 Years Later, Den of Geek's Caroline Preece, and the Atlantic's Megan Garber.

If you're still smarting from the cringiness of 'The First Time I Loved Forever', you might want to check out my Vincent & Catherine Playlist which is guaranteed to be at least 15% less cringey. You know a show's hooked you when you're compiling a themed playlist.

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Source: https://thelawlass.wordpress.com/2019/09/22/once-upon-a-time-is-now-looking-back-at-beauty-and-the-beast-1987/

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