The tale of beauty and the beast has enchanted audiences for centuries, evolving from folklore to fairytales to blockbuster adaptations. But despite its many retellings, there is one narrative pattern that stubbornly persists: the beast is almost always a man. The woman, meanwhile, is beautiful – inside and out – and her primary task is to see beyond the beast’s rough exterior, soften his wild heart, and transform him into something worthy.
But why is it that we so rarely, if ever, see the roles reversed? Why is the idea of a man falling in love with a female ‘beast’ – a woman who is angry, monstrous, flawed, or even physically grotesque – so unthinkable in mainstream storytelling?
What does it say about our collective imagination that we are more comfortable accepting a narrative in which a woman patiently reforms a violent or uncouth man than one in which a man embraces a woman who defies the ideals of conventional beauty and femininity?
Brunch reached out to some storytellers and directors to discuss these gendered dynamics of the beast trope, the invisibility of monstrous women in romantic arcs, and what our continued preference for the male beast and female saviour says about how we perceive power, love, and who is allowed to be broken – and still be loved.
A recurring narrative
Recently, a social media user sparked widespread discussion after pointing out this exact imbalance, using the popular animated film ‘Shrek’ as an example. In the film, the ogre – Shrek – wins the heart of Princess Fiona, and they both ultimately choose to live as ogres rather than reverting to more traditionally ‘attractive’ human forms.
On the surface, it seems like a refreshing subversion of the typical beauty narrative. However, even in this instance, the ‘beast’ still gets the girl, not the prince. The storyline still follows a familiar trajectory: the female lead is desirable, even as an ogre, and her romantic arc is grounded in her emotional availability and transformation. The possibility of a male character falling in love with a female beast, without her having to become more palatable or beautiful, remains virtually nonexistent.
In most narratives, when a female character is not conventionally beautiful, her storyline revolves around that fact. Her lack of beauty becomes her central conflict – something to be reconciled to, overcome, or reinterpreted. She either discovers an inner beauty that redeems her or society learns to see past her unconventional looks, but rarely is she allowed to remain a ‘beast’ and still be desirable.
Unlike male beasts, who are permitted rage, physical grotesqueness, and moral ambiguity only to be redeemed through love, women must constantly prove their softness, their emotional depth, and their worthiness through transformation. A female beast does not get a prince, not unless she first learns to become beautiful.
Offering a novel perspective
This idea struck a chord for filmmaker Samurdhi Ranasinghe. “This is actually true,” he admitted. “I have not given it much thought, but it is an interesting idea and a good argument. I think it certainly is something we should consider in our storytelling.”
His reaction underscores just how normalised these tropes have become, to the point where even seasoned storytellers may not immediately recognise the gendered imbalance. It’s not just about representation; it’s about expanding the emotional and narrative possibilities for women beyond beauty, and for men beyond redemption arcs that are handed to them despite their flaws.
Similarly, veteran actor and director Giriraj Kaushalya echoed the sentiment, highlighting the gap in representation. “It is always good to have representation,” he shared. “And I agree, it is definitely something that’s lacking in storytelling and we need to better represent it.”
His remarks point to a growing awareness within the creative industry that traditional tropes need to evolve. Audiences are ready for stories that challenge the status quo, where women are allowed to be flawed, complex, and even beastly – and still be loved, not in spite of it, but because of it.
It appears that even for seasoned artists like Kumara Thirimadura and acclaimed filmmaker Prasanna Vithanage, the concept offered a novel perspective – one they hadn’t deeply considered before.
“I haven’t really thought about it that way,” Thirimadura admitted, while Vithanage shared: “It’s a topic worth discussing, definitely. These are the kinds of reflections that help us grow as storytellers.”
Their responses highlight how deeply entrenched certain gendered tropes are, even among the most thoughtful creatives, and how conversations like these can begin to shift the way we write, direct, and imagine women on screen.
Reimagining traditional roles
Film director Yasodhara Kariyawasam offered a compelling critique of how women were portrayed in Sri Lankan cinema and television.
“TV shows and movies in Sri Lanka often predict and showcase stories from the male gaze,” she said. “Rarely do you see the female gaze portrayed. In both society and storytelling, the male is often allowed to be beastly or rough, but still layered. Women, on the other hand, are given soft traits, feminine roles, and the typical damsel-in-distress portrayal.”
She pointed out the limitations in current narratives, noting: “Many acclaimed shows all have female side characters and rarely do we see a woman who is a properly developed character who isn’t someone’s partner, mother, sister, or girlfriend. We don’t see creative takes on women’s personalities.”
Even when attempts were made to depict ‘strong’ women, “it’s often attributed to a woman who drinks, smokes, wears revealing outfits, and curses,” Kariyawasam said, noting: “But strength is an innate characteristic, not a costume – and that’s not being recognised. What we have is a black-and-white outlook.”
She added: “I think writers are still puppet masters. They don’t often go on a journey with their characters; they don’t let the characters tell the story. I believe it’s really not just the director’s fault either. It’s because we are still thinking inside the box. We are not able to think beyond that yet.”
The absence of female beasts in our stories isn’t just a narrative gap; it reflects a deeper discomfort with women who exist outside traditional norms of beauty, gentleness, or desirability. When we continually portray men as redeemable monsters and women as either flawless beauties or cautionary tales, we limit the emotional range and complexity of female characters.
As more filmmakers and storytellers begin to question these tropes, there is hope for a new kind of storytelling, one that allows women to be messy, wild, complex, and still worthy of love. After all, true progress in storytelling comes not from swapping roles but from reimagining the roles entirely.