Beauty and the Beast, On Screen and On Stage

The Christmas tree is still up; the younger servants don’t have the heart to take down such a beautiful thing.  No one roams the halls with heads filled with schedules and arms full of work; the more distant aides had traveled back to Paris to visit with their families.  Only a few familiar faces remain: Lumiere and Plumette have stayed, lighting candles in the night through windows, finishing up the cleaning in preparation for a party in three days.  Cogsworth is gone, as is Mrs. Potts.  The two could not escape their respective spouses begging for them to stay awhile at home for Christmas, and Chip was delighted to spend more time with his father.  Maurice has gone back to his old home for a little new year’s cleaning.  Cuisinier’s kitchen has not gotten colder, nor has Chapeau’s quiet step vanished from the corridors, but both of them are still too far away for their presence to be felt.

Adam finds her in the library working on a plan for the well.  Her gaze lingers on the window, past the last December snow and the trees–iced over for real–to the lights of Villeneuve that he thought he could see.  

She looks up and smiles, gesturing for him to sit.  Oh, what a time they’ve had.  So much has changed since that fateful June. Now the castle laughs in its windows and dances in its paintings, and every picture of the queen has been restored so that her voice sings through the castle’s heart every time someone passes.

He studies the sketch in her hands, admires the machinery–the brightest woman of her age, he’d reckon–but her hands are still over the thick parchment; the charcoal she’s using is still sharp to a point. Something is on her mind, and her thoughts are not here.  Curious, he shifts his head a little, so that they are facing the same way, glancing sideways at her, wondering what beautiful thoughts grace her mind tonight.  He’s seen this expression before, somewhere, but where?

She smiles.  She is far away, past the pillars and the forest, somewhere that fills her heart with joy.

Oh.

Suddenly he remembers.  It’s the same look–albeit softer and kinder–that graced her features after they had danced for the first time, when she thought of her father and how he taught her to dance.  The look that prompted him to show her the mirror.

The look that convinced him to let her go.

“Hang it all,” Adam exclaims, and pulls her along with one hand.  Belle looks up at him, a question in her eyes, and he grins.  "Quickly now; we have to beat the dawn.“

Within minutes, the other four staff are alerted and the six of them dress down, shedding the royal colors for winter cloaks as they whisk themselves away to the village, where the Scripture is being read to prepare for the new year and the villagers are singing in the square.

Mrs. Potts is beaming when she takes Adam’s hands in hers.  Lumiere produces a multitude of floating flames to illuminate the night.  Belle embraces her father, the two of them tears and kisses and laughter.

And Adam smiles as the villagers come up to him and ask so many questions, start so many conversations, and even gift him with a few of their wares.  He thinks he’s going to cry, and almost turns away.  He had been out of the castle a few times after June, but this is the first time he feels like he’s truly met these people.  He’s found a family with not only his staff but with this village–finally–and he couldn’t be happier.

“Quickly, now,” Mrs. Potts urged, and the whole company found themselves on the hill where Belle once sang of reveries and somewheres, far from the lights, high enough to see the sliver of blue along one side of the horizon.

“Resolutions, anyone?” asked Belle.

And they throw them out, here and there: Chip wants to learn to play an instrument, Maurice wants to be able to see more of the world.  Cogsworth has had enough of chaos and longs for order.  Belle wants to live more adventures, and Lumiere only wishes that he and Plumette will never suffer again.  Plumette wraps her arms around Lumiere and whispers that this is enough.  

“And no more curses,” Mrs. Potts grumbles, and the whole of Villeneuve seems to reply “Amen.”

And then the first crack of dawn explodes around the sky in red, orange, pink and yellow, the first beams striking Adam across the eyes.  He stares back without flinching, vowing to be unafraid and fearless, just like his wife.  There will be no more suffering.  There will be naught but joy, peace, happiness and love in his heart and the hearts of the people surrounding him.

“Bonne année,” he says, and the rest of the village takes up the call with tearful voices.  After all, they were all starting anew, now.  The darkness was gone.  The dawn has come.

And the bells in Pere Robert’s church begin to ring, soothing their ears and welcoming brighter years to come.

For both instances, the light is used to illuminate something horrific (in the eye of the beholder, at least).

Lumiere may be human in the first gif, but there was a reason the servants were mere silhouettes and voices in the prologue; they still only added to Adam's conceited flame. Even in the second gif we can't see his face, which sells the fact that Belle doesn't see him as sentient.

That being said, in both gifs Lumiere still sheds light on the curse, and is summoned almost on instinct for both. You can even see him lighting up in the second gif.

Oh, that’s easy.  Devoted.  

I don’t even think I need to explain myself on that one.  Because of this switch from Lumiere’s original personality, we get to see their relationship more fully develop into something beautiful and full of feels. Plus, dare I mention…?

Oh yeah, and what about…

maurice was willing (and begging) to be the one locked in the beast’s dungeon instead of her.

maurice elected to be sent to an insane asylum rather than allow gaston to marry her.

I am on my phone so this gonna be shitty and probably w/o paragraphs or punctuation but EYYYYYYYY. I like both these characters a lot!

She doesn’t even notice he was hired until it’s been several months since he arrived. Oh, she sees him around; but he’s rather a perpetual guest: always polite, always on the outskirts of things, his manners making him half a courtier but his quiet attitude putting him higher in the servants’ regard than any King could be. It is only when she sees him blacking the master’s boots does she realize that he lives here now too, beside her, working as she does.

She is eleven. He must only be a couple years older—or a decade—or perhaps younger—it is impossible to guess his age. Chapeau is quiet, and keeps his secrets to himself.

He must loathe me, thinks Plumette. giggling and dancing! I am the opposite of him in all ways. He must think me so rude, so frivolous…

But he doesn’t think that, not at all. And she finds it out, through action, though never through words. She knows he is there because sometimes she is like to trip and fall and yet he is there, to steady her. He knows she is there because sometimes he hears a gale of laughter from another room, and the sound of it makes him smile too. She knows he is there when she hears a sneeze behind the curtains, or when her hat is just where she wants it, or when she stands beside him at the edge of parties and hears his fiddle and dances to the song.

“Yes,” Mrs. Potts urges.  The seven of them gaze out at the frozen garden.  The kitchen’s windowsill is now big enough to accommodate the entire heads of staff.  We can all stare at the snow together, she thinks, but she keeps it to herself.   "All we’ve been doing is moping around, halfheartedly trying to keep the mothballs out of the carpets.  It’s only been a few months, and a suitable young woman will be around before you know it.“

"Oh, of course.” One of Cogsworth’s gears grates against another.  Beside him, Chip winces.  "One of the countless ladies we’ve sent letters of courtship to will forget the…“ His voice lowers considerably.  "The monster that they’ve witnessed inside this castle.  They’ll forget and come back, struck by Cupid’s arrow.  The horns won’t matter, and neither will the fangs." 

"Now, now, old friend, don’t speak like that.”  Lumière lifts an arm to pat the majordomo on the shoulder, then lowers it, thinking better of the consequences.  "We have time.“

”Do we?“ 

Mrs. Potts had never seen a clock so uptight.  Then again, she had never seen a clock move, or speak, or keep its hands in the shape of a moustache. 

"That charlatan didn’t bother to give us a time limit, only that when the last petal falls the spell will never be broken.”

“The petals haven’t fallen yet.” Mrs. Potts cuts in, effectively bringing the conversation back to her.  She gazes at all of them, and Lord, she has never seen them looking so forlorn.  Some of them avert their eyes, and the ones that do look to her have a glazed emptiness in them; something is dead, or already dying, yet they have so much time left.  How can only a few months make Lumière’s voice so soft, Plumette’s face so withered?  Her darling Chip looks at her, and she can tell that he wants her to hold him, but she can’t even do that.

No.  This could be exactly what that witch wants.  If her spirits weren’t up, then neither would Chip’s, and neither would any of the others’.  Her job in life has always been to keep up morale.  She won’t let them fall into despair.  She won’t.

“That’s enough,” she continues.  "Now, I want you to each name one thing you’re grateful for.“ 

Silence.

"Go on, now, I’m not going to wait.”  Firm, but kind.  This is a kindness.

“Well…the bridge looks pretty.”

Mrs. Potts smiles at her son, who’s avoiding her gaze now with a slight movement that could have been a shrug, sliding his hands into his pockets. 

“Yes, well done,” she praises, and they all look out at the bridge across the lake.  The snow sparkles in the fresh sunlight; though the icicles don’t melt, they twinkle and reflect the frozen water below.

“I’m still able to cook to my heart’s content,” boomed a voice from the far wall.  "Can’t taste any of it, but the master finishes every crumb and that’s enough.“

"And isn’t that the best?” she responds.  "Getting to do what you love despite the obstacles?“  I’m sure that, were the musicians here, they would feel the same.  

Another sentiment with sad thoughts attached, so she does not say it.

"I think I would already be dead without you by my side, cherie,” Lumière says and wraps an arm around Plumette.  She rests a wing where his elbow would be, and Mrs. Potts glimpses a hint of a smile.

“I feel the same,” Plumette whispers. “I would be lost without you, mon coeur." 

"Ah, young love.” Cuisinier sighs, and Lumière’s answering smile, though tired, could have lit up the room.  

Yes, she thinks, progress.

A few chords are plucked somewhere above her, and she looks up to see Chapeau hovering close by.

“I haven’t forgotten about you, love,” Mrs. Potts exclaims.  "Go on, what are you grateful for?“

The design at the top smiled and gestured with one of his hands, sweeping across the stove, the windowsill, and everyone on it.

"Me too.”  She grins.  "I’m grateful we’re together.“

Chapeau always did have a way with words–now they were all naming things left and right.

"I can reach the higher parts of the ceiling without a ladder.”

“We’ll have the kitchen all to ourselves…”

“And the library–master never goes in there anymore…”

“We can play outside–”

“–climb the tallest tower–”

“–arrange our own midseason balls–”

“I can visit all the secret passageways!”

“Chip!”

The only one who hasn’t said anything is Cogsworth, who twitches every time a new suggestion was thrown out.  However, the maitre d’ has always been quick to notice trouble in any situation.

“Mon ami, don’t ruin the excitement,” Lumière encourages.  "There has to be something.“

"Yeah, don’t be boring,” Chip adds.  Plumette stifles a giggle.

“Oh, all right, then!” Cogsworth’s so irritated, and Mrs. Potts can’t help but smile.  "I’m grateful that we can still maintain a sense of order despite being crippled like this, and that you–“  He jabs a hand at Lumière. ”–aren’t as loud as you used to be!“

At this, Lumière’s candlelight triples in size.  There is an uproar of laughter from him; the sound echoes off the topmost parts of the ceiling.

Then they’re all laughing.  Plumette dances in the air, Cuisinier bangs his pots and pans together, Chapeau hides his face, and Mrs. Potts thinks tears might spill from her eyes.  Cogsworth stamps his foot, and the gears grate again.

"Oh, very funny!  You lot are all so...so…!”

But whatever he is about to say dies before it can be said; despite his demeanor, he is grateful–above all–to see them in such high spirits again.

—-

Far up, high in the West Wing, Adam rests on his bed, curled up under the covers.  In his dreams, he’s a little boy again, having dinner with his mother.  She laughs her golden laugh, and he remembers how good the food was.

He’s grateful, he thinks.  He’s grateful that he remembers her so clearly.

Belle: Belle's so pretty, what a shame that she reads.

HDAMLF (Music Box): Have some really vague exposition.

Belle (Reprise): Gaston sucks, this town sucks, I just want an adventure, is that too much to ask.

Gaston: "Who can make up these endless refrains like Gaston?" LeFou can.

Be Our Guest: AH SOMEONE TO TAKE CARE OF THATS NOT THE BEAST EVERYONE BE EXTRA AF.

Days In The Sun: Hope conquers all, except when it doesn't.

Something There: Chip's too young to know about love.

HDAMLF (Montmartre): No Beast, Belle's not trying to be a tourist.

Beauty and The Beast: Mrs. Potts ships them.

Evermore: THE LOVE OF MY LIFE JUST LEFT ME TIME TO SHOW HOW DRAMATIC I AM.

The Mob Song: When Gaston's jealous, he creates a giant angry mob.

And Lumiere’s like