The Beast

The Beast gives a sense of an artist burrowing deep inside his material (and his moment) and emerging with something vital. It’s fearless filmmaking.

About halfway through Bertrand Bonello’s insanely knotty new picture – a Spaghetti Junction of semi-discrete timelines – one version of Léa Seydoux gives in to frustration. “What the f**k are you talking about!” she yells into the ether. What indeed?

Against any rhyme or reason, it works.

The Beast won’t be for everyone, but submit to its looping structure and beguiling dream logic, and this extremely loose adaptation of a novella by Henry James weaves a bewitching, if a trifle head-swimming spell.

Like a painting, The Beast is best seen once, pondered and then left as a memory.

To paraphrase the smartest line from Tenet, don’t try to understand The Beast, you just have to feel it.

Bonnello’s formally daring dystopia pairs an equally chameleonic Léa Seydoux and George MacKay in a time-hopping puzzle box that’s as romantic as it is skin-crawling, constantly second-guessing us while staying three steps ahead.

It passes through my eyes like a QR code, one of those that you scan without feeling anything. [Full review in Spanish]

Although a cerebral film, it’s arguably Bonello’s most accessible. The compartmentalised structure makes the runtime more than palatable, and the repeated symbols and motifs he uses throughout are clear in their utility

Bertrand Bonello’s The Beast is a glorious and twisted century-spanning romance that is a playful, absurd, and utterly terrifying indictment on historical and modern societal issues.