This Is the Hottest ‘Beauty and the Beast’ Adaptation, Period

Beauty and the Beast has always been a romance. Written by French author Gabrielle-Suzanne Barbot de Villeneuve, many historians interpret the original story from the 1740s as a metaphor for arranged marriages. The titular beauty of La Belle et la Bête must look beyond physical pretenses and realize that the “monstrous-looking” man asking for her hand in marriage is actually a kind, honorable soul. Beauty falls in love with this so-called beast because of his personality; cue the quintessential happily ever after. Thanks to its motifs and thematic implications, La Belle et la Bête has seen no shortage of adaptations and reinventions across the centuries (it’s a tale as old as time, if you’ll allow the reference). Most of these modernized takes have centered the romance appropriately. However, only one boasts a leading man so sexy he shames all others practically out of existence. This swoon-worthy goldmine didn’t emerge as a desperate marketing gimmick from a movie studio oligarchy — not even close. It’s an unabashedly romantic live-action television series from the 1980s anchored by the unlikeliest pair of actors.

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What Is the 1980s ‘Beauty and the Beast’ Series About?

CBS’s 1987 Beauty and the Beast series might be a mini-revelation for those who associate Ron Perlman and Linda Hamilton with their higher-profile movie roles as the titular Hellboy and The Terminator heroine Sarah Connor, respectively. The radiantly beautiful and ferociously badass Hamilton plays Catherine Chandler, a New York City socialite whom a group of criminally-inclined men kidnaps, brutally mutilates, and leaves for dead in the pilot episode. Perlman is Vincent, a six-foot-tall-and-then-some humanoid who couldn’t pass for human even in a dark alley between his furry claws, his lion-esque sculpted features, and his long mane of cascading blond hair. Vincent rescues Catherine and tends to her wounds in the subway tunnels underneath the city where Vincent, his adoptive human father, and a group of social outcasts live free from persecution.

Contrary to the Disney classic (and therefore more in line with the original story), Vincent is a tender and dashingly heroic figure. He boasts a naturally caring personality, a trait that his supernatural empathic abilities enhance. Yes, he can literally feel other people’s emotions — get you a guy like Vincent. Once Catherine recovers from her injuries and reluctantly returns to the “normal” world above, she becomes an Assistant District Attorney and commits her life to helping those on the surface just like Vincent helps the less fortunate below ground. All the while, the pair navigates a forbidden, angst-ridden, and heart-wrenching love affair that could give Romeo and Juliet some retrospective lessons in poignancy.

Vincent Is a Leading Man Like No Other in CBS’ ‘Beauty and the Beast’

Although CBS’ take on Beauty and the Beast preceded the Disney animated classic by several years, it turns the story’s cultural assumptions on its head. Instead of a kind woman inspiring a spoiled brat man toward self-improvement, it’s Catherine’s life that transforms after she meets this unsung protector of the helpless. And no wonder; Vincent is a flawless dream man from word one. You think I’m exaggerating? His first onscreen act is to comfort and reassure a terrified Catherine. He tends to her every need, reads aloud to her from Great Expectations, and implores her not to fear him. These first impressions hold true as the series progresses: the man wearing a “beastly” form is a philosopher with the deepest, gentlest soul. He’s the kind of guy who closes his eyes to savor the beauty of a Beethoven symphony, pens poetic love letters, and adores literature with a scholar’s vehemence. (Think: a sexy nerd in a sweater vest.)

Appropriately for the genre and his circumstances, Vincent is also a tragic figure. Despite living a rich social life surrounded by people who care for him, Vincent bleeds loneliness. He never mourned his appearance until he inadvertently frightened Catherine, the woman he fell in love with at first sight. That boy caught feelings with all the ardor of a doomed Elizabethan poet — he couldn’t live with himself if he abandoned a dying woman even though it meant risking ostracization and death from the world above. Vincent spends every opening credits sequence opining, “From the moment I saw her she captured my heart with her beauty, her warmth, and her courage. I knew then as I know now, she would change my life forever.” If a man doesn’t deliver a solemn soliloquy in a voiceover, I’m not interested.

If that wasn’t enough to tickle your fancy, Vincent loves Catherine so dang much they share an empathic bond that’s unbreakable across time or space. He feels everything she does, which means he knows when she’s in danger and valiantly races to her aid. They’re destined soulmates kept apart by circumstance. But that just allows the pair to share moonlit meetings on Catherine’s terrace and for Vincent to win an Olympic gold medal in pining. His longingly agonized stares and soft, mournful dialogue go so unbelievably hard: “My mind tells me to rejoice for her,” he says, “[but] my heart is dying.” He’s truly a tortured selfless paragon to end all selfless paragons, chivalrously telling Catherine to marry someone else and then weepily moping in isolation. And did I mention he kisses her hand after she pricks it on a thorny rose bush? Eat your heart out, Mr. Darcy.

The Beast Was Always Hot, Deal With It

Best of all for a certain demographic, Vincent never changes his appearance to conform to traditional handsomeness. Nope, this series said “the Beast was always hot” rights and never looked back. The concept of the gentle giant, the good monster husband, and/or the bad boy has always held a subconscious (or overt) cultural appeal. Vincent’s no reformed villain or antihero, but he samples from all three platters just enough to be a masterpiece. That voice alone is enough to hypothetically overcome any aesthetic obstacles — Perlman pitches his traditionally gruff tone into something silken and delicate, every word achingly reverent and like the warmest hug. The character’s beaming smiles are heartbreakingly rare, yet Perlman always infuses them (and his soulful, pained eyes) with the purest adoration.

What’s more, Vincent’s makeup design courtesy of Hollywood icon Rick Baker is incontrovertible evidence that someone on the Beauty and the Beast staff was a monster-lover. Baker evokes a lion’s physique, enhances Perlman’s lean, sharply defined bone structure and his pouty lip definition, and supplies the actor with a wig that’s long and wavy enough to make the cover of a classic bodice-ripper novel. Then there’s his height difference in comparison to Catherine and his fetching Renaissance Faire wardrobe. He’s just drop-dead sexy and the best humanity has to offer.

Looks aside, Beauty and the Beast‘s earnest and smartly rendered romance quadruples Vincent’s hotness quota. Once Catherine reconciles the heartfelt Vincent she knows with the instinctive fear his appearance evokes, Vincent’s unwavering belief in her capability carries Catherine through her darkest moments of self-doubt. His love equates to respect and equality, not possessiveness. In turn, Catherine provides him with the same support. Her faith in his prevailing goodness, despite his mournful protestations (i.e., “these hands were not meant to give love”), is both patient and tenacious. As friends and as star-crossed lovers, Vincent and Catherine bring out the best in each other with their intimate emotional honesty. Theirs is a healthy, mature relationship anchored in trust. And after many episodes replete with world-class pining, sensitive embraces, and restrained passions, Beauty and the Beast delivers the goods by letting Vincent and Catherine have sex. It’s sanitized for the tender eyes of 1980s audiences, but this couple actually makes a baby, thank you very much.

‘Beauty and the Beast’ Knows It’s a Tender Love Story

Beauty and the Beast does tend to put Catherine in danger so Vincent can rescue her in an atmospherically sweeping manner. The series values Catherine’s intelligence, aspirations, and contributions to the narrative, so it’s a trope done with good intentions. Should it be hot when a noble guy is enraged because someone hurt his beloved? No, but sometimes it still is, okay? Don’t come at me. Vincent dashing down dark tunnels with his long cloak billowing out behind him? Vincent roaring like a lion and busting full-body through doors? Priceless. His rage isn’t feral but specifically directed toward guaranteeing Catherine’s protection. And if that involves bared claws and snarling teeth, then I’ll temporarily kiss my feminism goodbye.

If you can accept the dated aspects and instead appreciate how unrepentantly devoted Beauty and the Beast is to its sweet, pathos-riddled, modern gothic romance, then this is an unmissable watch. It’s a bygone era of television with peerless romantic sensibilities. It understands the story’s ardent appeal and doesn’t try to overcomplicate things. The scripts do gift Ron Perlman with lines proclaiming his character’s undying loyalty, but it’s down to Perlman to infuse Vincent with such affecting sentiment. It’s a talent that’s gone sadly underutilized in his career since Beauty and the Beast, and one that makes Vincent the absolute hottest version of the Beast to grace any screen. Talk to the wall if you disagree.