I had thought I'd seen La Belle et la Bête in middle school, myself, but now I'm really wondering if I truly did, or if it was perhaps a drastically edited-down version, because so much of what you're describing (including this scene) I don't recollect at all. Or perhaps I didn't notice, either.
Either way, it's worth your watching now.
I'm glad nobody disappeared in the storm or was harmed by lightning strikes. Here's to lighting rods that do something.
I thought of Ray Bradbury:
"Why?" said the man. "Why the Egyptian, Arabic, Abyssinian, Choctaw? Well, what tongue does the wind talk? What nationality is a storm? What country do rains come from? What color is lightning? Where does thunder go when it dies? Boys, you got to be ready in every dialect with every shape and form to hex the St. Elmo's fires, the balls of blue light that prowl the earth like sizzling cats. I got the only lightning rods in the world that hear, feel, know, and sass back any storm, no matter what tongue, voice, or sign. No foreign thunder so loud this rod can't soft-talk it! . . . Lightning needs channels, like rivers, to run in. One of those attics is a dry river bottom, itching to let lightning pour through! Tonight!"
no subject
Either way, it's worth your watching now.
I'm glad nobody disappeared in the storm or was harmed by lightning strikes. Here's to lighting rods that do something.
I thought of Ray Bradbury:
"Why?" said the man. "Why the Egyptian, Arabic, Abyssinian, Choctaw? Well, what tongue does the wind talk? What nationality is a storm? What country do rains come from? What color is lightning? Where does thunder go when it dies? Boys, you got to be ready in every dialect with every shape and form to hex the St. Elmo's fires, the balls of blue light that prowl the earth like sizzling cats. I got the only lightning rods in the world that hear, feel, know, and sass back any storm, no matter what tongue, voice, or sign. No foreign thunder so loud this rod can't soft-talk it! . . . Lightning needs channels, like rivers, to run in. One of those attics is a dry river bottom, itching to let lightning pour through! Tonight!"
—Something Wicked This Way Comes (1962)