ONE OF the characters in the original King Kong (1933) says that “it was beauty killed the beast.” This line is spoken after the magnificent ape is hounded to his death by buzzing planes that knock him off the side of the Empire State Building, so it’s not strictly true. Beauty is actually what he wanted to save; I guess we could say it was the military-industrial-special-effects complex that killed him.
It’s a nice turn of phrase, nonetheless, and it came to mind recently when two of the biggest-scale movies of the year were released a week apart. The enormous monkey homage Kong: Skull Island and Disney’s live-action remake of its own Beauty and the Beast don’t immediately invite comparison, but the stories they’re based on are actually about the same thing: finding vulnerability behind terrifying facades.
The tenderness of the original Kong’s approach to Ann Darrow (Fay Wray) and Belle’s openness to the light that might be hiding behind the Beast ’s frightening demeanor are mirrors. But it’s inaccurate to think that the transformation—or the risk—in these stories travels only in one direction. Ann gets rescued and the Beast turns back into a man. But Kong also experiences love and Belle undergoes a rite of passage that leaves her more whole than before.
What initiates these changes is the risk taken by the vulnerable to face something fearful and imagine that they might be looking at something more than just a monster. Behind every face, there’s always something that could lead us to empathize with even our worst enemies. (There are more cinematic examples in films as diverse as Short Cuts, Jean de Florette, Being There, Lone Star, The LEGO Movie , and the exquisite Academy Award Best Picture Moonlight, a movie that can inspire endless empathy.)
Today there are policies to resist, people to protect, and practices to embody that will nurture us for these challenging tasks. It’s popular to say “now, more than ever” to emphasize the current importance of the task of social healing. Because of the ease with which we can slip into dehumanizing talk, perhaps we need to turn our attention to beauty even more than opposition. To turn to beauty as part of our opposition.
One vital thing that any of us can do to help transform divisive aggression into passion for the common good is to ask strangers curiosity questions about their lives. We may all be invited to be Ann Darrow, or Belle, open to the hidden light behind a face that frightens us.
Gareth Higgins is an Irish writer and storyteller based in North Carolina. He is the founder of www.moviesandmeaning.com, and you can also find him at www.garethhiggins.net.
Got something to say about what you're reading? We value your feedback!