A dark theater. A greasy, glistening hot dog nestled tight in a bun and slathered with ooey, gooey cheese and hot, thick chili. The March air was crisp, but inside? Mmm, inside is warm. I am ready to review. The live-action Beauty And The Beast promises something few other major movie releases can offer: a steamy gay subplot. I’m ready for this. In IMAX.
The previews roll and we’re treated to Transformers, Spider-Man and Pirates Of The Caribbean. The testosterone is practically dribbling onto the floor. There’s also a Wonder Woman preview, because you go, girl!
The film begins, and our first image is a man applying eye makeup. This is alright. Emma Watson is a vision. She also strolls out of a house past some chickens, and I’m excited to see the cocks are in beautiful form. Robust and chubby, as they should be. Sing a little song, lament a little lackluster existence, and suddenly here’s Gaston. But more importantly, here’s Le Fou. Oh, Josh Gad, that space between your teeth is wide enough to fit … well, something.
I bite into my hot dog, and in the darkness some of the cheese dribbles down my chin. Oops.
Le Fou is decked out in some golden finery and a jaunty red bow. He fits the Disney paradigm of the amusing chubby sidekick to a taller, less hilarious character very well. This is paralleled by Lumiere and Cogsworth, who are totally unimportant with the exception that Sir Ian McKellen voices the clock, and isn’t that something?
The candle is not Patrick Stewart, because that would make entirely too much sense.
Gaston is only interested in Belle, but Belle is only interested in not Gaston because he is such a cis hetero male. Go scrub your chest hair, you breeder.
Soon, Papa has to be off to work with the faithful Phillipe, the most tolerant horse in all of France. But alas, Papa is a bit of a dumbshit when it comes to travel, and soon enough he’s stumbled straight into the Beast’s beastly lair. He’s a bit of a lion and a big of a dog, but you can tell he has muscular haunches. Does that tail go all the way up?
Papa is in a pickle and Phillipe saves the day, sort of. Belle comes looking and presto change-o, she’s a prisoner of the big, bad beast. Yadda yadda, we’re in the local tavern and it’s time to sing about Gaston. Le Fou is in rare form. He rubs Gaston’s shoulders, then his ears. He sings about the unparalleled thickness of Gaston’s neck. He mentions how no one spits like Gaston. Or bites like Gaston as he raises his shirt and shows off a lower-belly bite wound. Gaston, how frisky! Behave!
Catch him … but not with your hands.
Gaston lifts Le Fou high in the air on his rippling, burly bicep. Le Fou is on top of the world, and so am I! No one has a smooth mushroom head like Gaston! No one will finish on your back like Gaston! No one can rearrange your guts until you can’t shit right for a week like Gaston!
And we’re singing and we’re dancing and there’s a teacup and won’t you please be our guest and it’s exhausting to wait so long for the climax of a film, is it not? The climax is what we’re all here for.
And then it happens. I want you to pour yourself a nice glass of zinfandel just now. Settle in to your plush, comfy chair. Is it leather? Feel the leather as it gives just so. Feel the cool, smooth texture caressing your back, your thighs. Feel yourself ease right in. Isn’t that nice? Now breathe. Long, slow breaths. Deep. Take it so deep down your throat. Let it fill you. Let it inside you. How do you feel? And we’ve only just begun.
Now unsheathe your other sword.
Le Fou. Gallant, loyal, conscientious Le Fou. You thought him a cad, didn’t you? A scoundrel when he turned his back on Papa and sided with vascular, veiny Gaston. But no. Le Fou has the heart of a lion. Or maybe even a bear, hmm? Brave Le Fou on the dance floor as the singing rises to a crescendo. It rises and ebbs and flows, it penetrates your very soul, so deep and powerful. More powerful than Gaston, no? It invades you. Look upon Le Fou. His lips painted just so, as was the fashion of the day. So dapper and refined. How he dances. How his hips wouldn’t dare lie to you, my friend.
And Le Fou dances with a man. A man! Two X chromosomes and two Y chromosomes and hands that meet and eyes that plead and lips that part in a halting, hot and moist exhale. Oh, the dance. Oh, the intimacy. Oh. It’s over.
And I sit in the theatre and my breath catches in my throat. I won’t choke, no. But I am perplexed. Prithee, where are the pulsating, bulbous cocks I was told would be in grand abundance? Where is Le Fou riding the meaty Pogo Stick like a desperate man, a thirsty, desperate man? Was this film not savaged by Malaysian censors? Have the Russians not forbidden any child from bearing witness? Did a theater in Alabama not go full Footloose?
A man goes into a live-action Beauty And The Beast with a certain set of expectations, one of those being a completely flaming gay tryst featuring Josh Gad and a chorus line of semen-soaked villagers. Instead, and do brace yourself for some fearsome spoilers, I had Josh Gad dancing in courtly fashion with another man for literally three seconds of screen time just as the end credits begin to roll. That was the gay? That was homosexual? My word, I’ve had gayer times at the county fair with a corn dog. Every single time a straight dude showers at the gym, he’s about 3,000 gay leagues deeper in the gay sea than this. You’re gayer by proxy just driving by a highway rest stop.
I too am outraged by the gayness in Disney’s Beauty And The Beast, because there is none. There’s a man who, if you read into the less-than-subtle subtext of the film, is quite possibly homosexual, but who commits about as many homosexual acts as the clock does. There’s no kiss, despite what you may have heard. And let me assure you that Gaston never once mounts Le Fou under the moonlight, his firm and steady hands parting his subservient’s buttocks with a sureness that only Gaston could have, his lips curling in that cocksure manner as he spits a gloopy bolus of saliva upon Le Fou’s recently shorn balloon knot before massaging it in with his thick, strong thumb, then entering his man decisively and with authority as he demands no eye contact. That never happens.
My God, you’d think this gay porno was some kind of children’s movie. I rate it a D+. No, that’s unfair. Emma Watson is breathtaking and the music is just so likable. B-.
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