It started with a face that looked like a lion and a voice like velvet. Honestly, if you grew up in the late eighties, you probably remember the subterranean glow of the New York City tunnels more vividly than most real places you’ve visited. The Beauty and the Beast series 1987 wasn't just another procedural or a cheap fairy tale adaptation. It was a moody, atmospheric, and deeply romantic experiment that basically paved the way for every "urban fantasy" show we binge-watch today.
Ron Koslow, the creator, took a massive gamble. He moved the story from a French castle to the literal sewers of Manhattan.
The show centered on Catherine Chandler, played by Linda Hamilton before she went full "action hero" in Terminator 2, and Vincent, a man-beast portrayed by Ron Perlman under hours of prosthetic makeup. It shouldn't have worked. A woman falls for a guy who lives in a basement and recites Shelley? On paper, it sounds like a disaster. But it became a phenomenon because it treated the source material with a level of poetic gravity that we rarely see on network television anymore.
The "World Below" and why it felt so real
The heart of the Beauty and the Beast series 1987 wasn't the romance alone; it was the world-building. Vincent lived in a sprawling, candle-lit community of outcasts and "tunnels folks" who rejected the cold, corporate greed of the 1980s surface world. This wasn't a bunch of people living in filth. It was a society built on books, empathy, and classical music.
Rick Baker, the legendary makeup artist who did An American Werewolf in London, designed Vincent’s look. It was groundbreaking. Perlman’s performance had to shine through layers of foam latex. He did it through his eyes and that incredible, gravelly voice. He didn't just play a monster; he played a philosopher who happened to have claws.
Catherine was a high-powered District Attorney. She was the "Beauty," but she wasn't a damsel. Well, not exactly. She lived in a world of high-rises and crime, a stark contrast to the tunnels. The show used this contrast to highlight how the "civilized" world was often more monstrous than the man living underneath it.
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The power of the "Greatest Hits" of literature
One of the weirdest—and best—things about the show was the dialogue. Characters didn't just talk. They quoted Shakespeare. They read Rilke. They discussed Yeats.
In a TV landscape dominated by MacGyver and The A-Team, having two leads spend ten minutes discussing a sonnet was a radical act. It created a "vibe" that felt sophisticated. People weren't just watching for the plot; they were watching for the atmosphere. It was "comfort food" for the intellectual romantic.
Sometimes the pacing was slow. Really slow. You'd have an entire episode where almost nothing happened except for Vincent staring longingly at a balcony. But for the fans? That was the point. It was about the yearning.
Why the Beauty and the Beast series 1987 fans still can’t forgive Season 3
If you want to start an argument in a classic TV forum, just mention the third season. It was a mess.
Here is what happened. Linda Hamilton became pregnant and decided she wanted to leave the show. The writers made a choice that still stings: they killed Catherine off. They didn't just have her move away or go into hiding. They had her kidnapped by a criminal mastermind, played by Edward Albert, and killed after she gave birth to Vincent’s child.
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It was brutal. It was dark. And it completely destroyed the "Beauty" part of the title.
The show tried to pivot. They brought in Jo Anderson as Diana Bennett, a police profiler who was supposed to be the new female lead. She was a great actress, but the chemistry wasn't there. You can’t replace a soulmate in a show built on the concept of "The One." The ratings cratered. The romantic fantasy turned into a grim crime thriller with a baby-snatching subplot, and the magic just evaporated.
- Season 1: The introduction of the world and the pure "Courtly Love" phase.
- Season 2: More focus on the mythology of the tunnels and Vincent’s origins.
- Season 3: The "Dark Ages" that most fans pretend doesn't exist.
George R.R. Martin was actually a writer and producer on this show. Yes, that George R.R. Martin. You can see the seeds of his later work here—the complex family structures, the hidden histories, and, clearly, the willingness to kill off a beloved main character.
The legacy of the lion-man
We see the DNA of the Beauty and the Beast series 1987 in shows like The X-Files, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and even the 2012 CW reboot. But none of them quite captured the same "Mid-Century Gothic" aesthetic.
The 1987 version was unapologetically earnest. It didn't have the "winking at the camera" irony that modern shows use to protect themselves from being "cringe." It leaned into the melodrama. It believed in the power of a rose and a leather-bound book.
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How to revisit the series today
If you're looking to dive back in or see it for the first time, keep these things in mind:
- Ignore the 1980s tech: The car phones and computers look like ancient artifacts now. It’s part of the charm.
- Focus on the music: Lee Holdridge’s score is genuinely beautiful. It won Emmys for a reason.
- Watch Season 1 first: It’s the purest distillation of what the show was supposed to be.
- Check out the fan community: There are still "Tunnel Beauties" (the name for the fanbase) who host conventions and keep the spirit of the show alive through fan fiction.
The show was a victim of its time in some ways, but its influence on the "paranormal romance" genre is undeniable. It taught TV executives that there was a massive audience for stories that blended the supernatural with deep, emotional stakes.
Moving forward with the 1987 classic
To truly appreciate the Beauty and the Beast series 1987, you have to view it as a piece of visual poetry rather than a standard 80s drama. It’s about the desire to find a sanctuary in a world that feels increasingly cold.
If you want to explore this world further, start by tracking down the original pilot episode, "Once Upon a Time in the City of New York." Pay close attention to the cinematography—the way they use shadows to hide the budget constraints is a masterclass in television production. After that, look into the works of Rick Baker to see the evolution of the Vincent prosthetic; it’s a landmark in special effects history that still holds up better than many modern CGI characters. For the most immersive experience, find the DVD sets rather than compressed low-res clips online; the "Below" world deserves to be seen in all its grainy, golden-hued glory.
Ultimately, Vincent and Catherine’s story is a reminder that the best fantasy isn't about the monsters—it's about the humanity they reveal in us.