Beastly (2011) – Review

There’s a special kind of confidence required to take one of the most durable fairy tales ever told and run it through a 2011 teen drama filter, complete with glossy lighting, questionable tattoos, and emotional beats that feel like they were focus-grouped by people who think irony is a personality trait. Beastly tries to drag Beauty and the Beast into a world of private schools, daddy issues, and designer angst, and in theory, that’s not a terrible idea. In practice, it lands somewhere between a CW pilot and a cautionary tale about why not every classic needs a glow-up.

Kyle Kingson (Alex Pettyfer) is your standard-issue rich, pretty, deeply unpleasant high school monarch, the kind of guy who thinks humility is something that happens to other people. His father, Rob Kingson (Peter Krause), a TV news anchor with all the warmth of a marble countertop, has clearly raised him on a strict diet of appearances over substance. So naturally, Kyle decides to publicly humiliate Kendra Hilferty (Mary-Kate Olsen), not realizing she’s a witch, because in this universe, bullying comes with magical consequences. Kendra responds by turning him into a bald, scarred, tattooed version of Hot Topic’s worst nightmare and gives him a deadline to find true love, or stay that way forever. Nothing says “learn empathy” like a supernatural makeover.

“You know my sister is the Scarlet Witch, right?”

Exiled to a fancy Brooklyn townhouse like a disgraced influencer, Kyle is left to brood with only Zola Davies (LisaGay Hamilton), the maid with infinite patience, and Will (Neil Patrick Harris), a blind tutor who somehow signed up for this nonsense. Meanwhile, Kyle’s father does what any loving parent would do and emotionally vanishes the second things get inconvenient. As the clock ticks toward spring, Kyle fixates on Lindy Taylor (Vanessa Hudgens), a former classmate he previously ignored because she wasn’t part of his curated aesthetic. After saving her drug-addicted father from dealers in a scene that escalates from zero to felony homicide at record speed, Kyle blackmails her father to move Lindy in with him for her “protection,” which is definitely not weird at all.

Are we supposed to eventually sympathize with this Douchebag?

Under the alias “Hunter,” Kyle plays Phantom of the Opera in his own house, refusing to show his face while Lindy understandably grows tired of living with a disembodied voice and a suspiciously controlling host. Eventually, he reveals his appearance, and instead of running for the hills, Lindy sticks around because the plot requires it. They bond over books, shared trauma, and the general lack of better options, while Kyle scribbles a love letter that he’s too terrified to deliver. In a side quest that feels like it wandered in from another script, he begs Kendra for more time, and she instead hands out bonus rewards like restoring Will’s vision and sorting out Zola’s immigration status, because apparently this curse comes with a perks package.

“Does this magic come with dental coverage as well?”

The drug dealer subplot limps back in, Lindy’s father overdoses, and Kyle finally hands over the letter, only to immediately regret it when Lindy hits him with the dreaded “you’re a good friend” line. Heartbroken, Kyle retreats just as Lindy realizes she actually loves him, because timing is everything, and these two are spectacularly bad at it. She declares her love as she’s leaving for a school trip, breaking the curse and restoring Kyle to his original Abercrombie form. Lindy doesn’t recognize him at first, because the movie needs one last contrived misunderstanding, but once she connects the dots, they kiss on the street like a perfume ad. Off to the side, Will can see again, Zola gets her green cards, and Kendra quietly continues her side hustle of life-altering interventions, targeting Kyle’s dad next.

“Quick, call 911.”

Stray Observations:

• The film drops “my son has been magically cursed” into a modern New York setting and everyone just… accepts it. No questions, no follow-up, just another Tuesday in Manhattan, apparently.
• His “beast” look is less cursed prince and more “lead singer of a band that never got signed.”
• Lindy gets hurled down a metal fire escape, and Kyle’s response isn’t “hospital,” it’s “how can I leverage this into a romantic arrangement?” Nothing says true love like light coercion and a complete disregard for basic medical care.
• Lindy moves into a stranger’s house because her dad said it was fine. Stellar parenting across the board.
• Kyle hides from Lindy for days in his own home, which she tolerates longer than any rational person would.
• The curse includes immigration benefits and medical miracles, because why not bundle social policy into a fairy tale?
• Kendra’s rules are vague enough to change whenever the script needs a shortcut. Magic as narrative duct tape.
• Lindy falls in love under circumstances that would make a hostage negotiator raise an eyebrow.
• The big transformation reveal hinges on Lindy not recognizing the only guy she’s been living with because he… got better skin.

Lindy is sweet and all, but not very bright.

While based on Alex Flinn’s 2007 supernatural romance novel of the same name, director Daniel Barnz reportedly drew inspiration from the romantic comedy Say Anything, aiming to frame this as a modern teen romance where vulnerability breaks through surface-level obsession. On paper, that’s actually a solid angle. Teen culture is practically engineered around appearances, social currency, and the quiet terror of being judged, so translating Beauty and the Beast into that ecosystem makes thematic sense. The problem is execution. The film confuses aesthetic modernization with emotional depth, as if swapping castles for penthouses and ball gowns for hoodies automatically makes the story relevant. It doesn’t. You still need characters who feel like people, not mannequins waiting for a lesson to land.

“You are so crazy, Wildcat.”

Barnz and cinematographer Mandy Walker go for a hyper-polished, almost sterile visual style, all glossy surfaces and carefully curated gloom. It looks expensive in that early-2010s way, but it never feels magical. The original story thrives on contrast between fear and tenderness, isolation and connection. Here, everything exists in the same muted emotional register, like the film is afraid to commit to either fantasy or realism. No one’s asking for singing teapots, but some sense of wonder would’ve helped. Instead, the movie just sits there, insisting it’s meaningful without doing the work to earn that feeling.

We do get lots of roses, so that’s something, I guess.

And then there’s the fatal issue: you don’t care about Kyle. The entire premise hinges on watching a deeply flawed person grow into someone worthy of love. That only works if you believe there’s something redeemable under the surface. Kyle starts as unbearable and never quite evolves past “slightly less unbearable.” His arc feels obligatory rather than transformative, like he’s hitting story beats instead of actually changing. If the audience isn’t rooting for him, the central romance collapses, and with it, the entire film.

I was rooting for him to see jail time.

Vanessa Hudgens, fresh off High School Musical, does what she can with a role that mostly requires her to look concerned and occasionally forgiving. Her performance is limited, sure, but she at least feels like she’s attempting to locate a human being in the script. Compared to Alex Pettyfer, she might as well be delivering a masterclass. Pettyfer’s Kyle is a void of charisma, a black hole where emotional nuance goes to die. When he’s “transformed,” the heavy tattoos and scars don’t make him monstrous so much as bizarrely decorative, like someone lost a bet with a makeup artist. He ends up looking less like a cursed soul and more like a rejected Smallville villain of the week. It’s hard to buy into his suffering when the film can’t decide whether he’s supposed to be frightening, tragic, or just mildly inconvenient to look at.

Note: In the book, Kyle turns into an actual nightmare creature, which is why his only available tutor is blind. Here, he looks like the lead singer of a death metal band, and society still treats him like he’s unfit for daylight.

On the plus side, Neil Patrick Harris injects some badly needed levity, playing his scenes with a knowing, slightly mischievous charm that suggests he understands exactly how ridiculous this all is. He manages to carve out a few genuinely entertaining moments, even if the script doesn’t quite deserve the effort. Mary-Kate Olsen, meanwhile, fully commits to Kendra’s offbeat energy, embracing the character’s oddball unpredictability in a way that at least keeps things from feeling completely lifeless. Unfortunately, these performances register as brief flashes of personality in a film that never builds any real momentum, like sparks hitting damp pavement and fizzling out before they can ignite anything worthwhile.

“This movie is such a bummer, I’m going to retire from acting.”

In conclusion, Beastly isn’t a disaster so much as a missed opportunity dressed up in trendy clothes. The idea of reimagining Beauty and the Beast through the lens of modern teenage obsession with image had real potential, and you can see flashes of that intention buried under the surface. But intention doesn’t carry a film. Weak character development, inconsistent tone, and a baffling mix of realism and fantasy leave it feeling hollow. It wants to say something about inner beauty and personal growth, yet never convinces you that its central character has earned either. What’s left is a glossy, awkward retelling that gestures toward meaning without ever quite grasping it.