There is so much beauty to be found in Céline Sciamma’s 2019 film Portrait of a Lady on Fire. The characters, their relationships, the visuals, the writing, everything comes together in this film to tell an untold story the right way. The film feels personal to Sciamma, like a love letter to queer women, to artists, and to love itself. There isn’t just one single emotion I felt while watching, because there is so much to experience. It feels crafted for discovery, themes are intertwined throughout, and meanings are hidden, waiting to be found. The film follows Marianne, a young painter hired to create a portrait of a woman named Héloïse, so that she can be married off to a Milanese nobleman. This fate was left to her by her now deceased sister, who committed suicide to avoid the marriage. Héloïse, having been forced out of her convent to get married, refuses a portrait, causing Marianne to paint at night in secret and accompany Héloïse on walks during the day.
Sciamma is a master of silence. She takes her time with each scene, allowing the viewer to comprehend everything as it happens and leave us time to reflect on why. The quiet, unhurried moments allow us to take in the characters, reflecting the way they study each other. The setting of a remote island in Brittany, France is compact. By spending time in few spaces the viewer gets to know the inner workings just as our point of view, painter Marianne (Noémie Merlant) does. The viewer quickly feels a part of the temporary family the characters have created with each other. Especially as we are let in on the domestic moments of reading, cooking, and playing cards. It feels intimate, like a secret gathering of friends you are privileged to be a part of.
While the cinematography and setting is a highlight, Portrait of a Lady on Fire is ultimately driven by the characters. Noémie Merlant, Adèle Haenel, and Luàna Bajrami have wonderful chemistry, selling the sweet familial relationship their characters share. Haenel as the reclusive and often pensive Héloïse is the perfect contrast to Merlant’s observant and reserved portrayal of Marianne. Their relationship is beautiful, but it’s complex. It starts off as something built on secrets; Marianne studies Héloïse secretly and paints a portrait that isn’t wanted by its subject. Her first attempt is inadequate, a shell of Héloïse’s true self. Héloïse even asks, “Is that me? Is that how you see me?” The painting symbolizes their tentative relationship, their friendship takes time, it requires trust and truth. Marianne doesn’t allow herself to see who Héloïse really is, not at first, and it’s reflected in this painting. Her eye color is entirely wrong, she has softened her sharp edges, given her exaggerated eyelashes, and overly flushed her face. This result is something more appealing to a male gaze. Héloïse’s response reveals that she desires more from their relationship. She’s disappointed that Marianne doesn’t truly see her yet. And Marianne listens, she smudges the face of the portrait, later burning it, and tells Héloïse’s mother she wants to try again. This time, Héloïse says she will pose for her, putting her growing relationship with Marianne over the worry of her impending marriage.
In a scene about halfway through the film, during this five week period the women of the house have together, Héloïse reads aloud the legend of Orpheus and Eurydice. In the legend, Orpheus, a renowned bard, follows his lover Eurydice into the underworld after she dies. With a song, Orpheus persuades Hades to allow him to lead Eurydice back home, under the condition that he does not turn around. Unfortunately he succumbs to his love for her and turns back, losing Eurydice forever. Héloïse reads the ending to an engaged Sophie, the young house maid, who says “Why did he turn? He was told not to but did, for no reason.” Héloïse says he didn’t have a choice, he couldn’t resist due to his love for Eurydice, but Marianne disagrees. She believes there was a choice that he could resist, and he turns because he makes the conscious decision to preserve a memory of her. This reflects Marianne’s choices before she leaves the island, she chooses to save one last memory of her lover before she is taken from her.
The last scene of Marianne on the island is an echo of this tragic love story. We see ten seconds of Marianne hurrying down the stairs, rushing towards the door before Héloïse tells her to turn around. We are confronted with a manifestation of a vision Marianne has been having. Héloïse stands before her in her wedding dress, illuminated and ghost-like, only to fade away as the front door closes and Marianne leaves her in darkness. Marianne has momentarily saved Héloïse from her fate, a reflection of how Orpheus comes after Eurydice. In both stories they celebrate prematurely, content that they have beaten death, or in the case of this film, a discontented life. Ultimately their love is their own downfall, as Marianne admits, the turn is purposeful. She lets go of Héloïse because she knows they can never live truly like they fantasize about, and so the choice to preserve the memory of their relationship is the choice to end things on their own accord.
Memory plays a vital role in this film. The two women often reflect on memories of each other, with Héloïse asking Marianne to try and guess what moment the other knew she had fallen in love. In another scene Marianne sketches a portrait of Héloïse for herself, capturing her image forever. And in return, she draws herself on page 28 of Héloïse’s book. When Marianne returns home, she is at an art exhibit with her submitted painting, one of Orpheus and Eurydice. An onlooker comes up to her and notes her choice to portray the moment as Orpheus turns, and they reach out for each other, knowing they have lost one another but haven’t yet felt the absence. This painting is an obvious reflection of Marianne and Héloïse’s relationship, and the final moment they shared, down to Eurydice’s white dress. When Marianne discovers a painting of Héloïse, she rushes towards it, desperate for the memory of her ex-lover. The painting is from a front-facing angle, bearing resemblance to Marianne’s original painting, with the face full of blush, long eyelashes, and a smile, signifying her new life wed to a man. Only, in this portrait she holds a book, her finger opened to page 28. This moment of discovery is lovely, the relieved smile Marianne has reflected my own while watching. As we follow Marianne’s perspective in this film, the idea of Héloïse’s new life becomes one of mystery. But with this portrait, it’s obvious Héloïse hadn’t lost the memory of her old life, the hint she slipped into the portrait is a message for Marianne only, letting her know the memory she holds of her remains forever. So much analysis is done of Orpheus’s reasoning and feelings when he turns around, but often Eurydice’s point of view is forgotten. While Marianne and Héloïse might start off as another example of the legend, losing your loved one forever to the hands of higher powers, Héloïse finds a way to speak beyond her fate.
The subversion of the male perspective is extremely significant in Portrait of a Lady on Fire. Most of the obstacles that arise are caused by men. Notably, more often than not the origin of these problems occur off screen. This movie lays down a critique on the masculine obliviousness when a problem is caused, disregarded, and left to a woman to deal with. A few of these problems portrayed in the film include Héloïse being married off to a man, something she shows extreme disdain towards. The reason Marianne has been hired is because of Héloïse’s refusal to pose for a portrait painted by a male artist. Later in the film, Sophie is revealed to be pregnant, although no further context is revealed, and she is treated by a female herbalist and taken care of afterwards by the two women. The appearance of men in this film is an omen, signifying the disruption of the fantasy life the women have dreamed up. The most of men we see in the film is at the beginning and end, before and after the events that occur on the island. Even in these shots, most of the men are faced away from the camera, stand far away, or are not in focus. The most a man impacts the movie while physically appearing in the film is the four seconds shot of Marianne entering the kitchen, seeing a man eating breakfast, and walking out. While this scene is short and only two words of greeting are exchanged between the two, its significance is felt heavily. It is in this moment that realization strikes, that this haven these women have built up together cannot last. The look Sophie gives to Marianne is one of disillusionment, disappointment that their lives are about to go back to how they were. There are words she cannot speak out loud because of this man’s presence, and there is little time to say goodbye. As quickly as the women of the house become connected, they are parted.
It only hit me about halfway through the movie that there was a notable lack of score. In place of a soundtrack I found myself listening to my own thoughts, as I found the movie incredibly thought-provoking yet at the same time, moving at a slow pace. I wouldn’t say I usually enjoy slow paced movies, but here, it works. Héloïse tells Marianne she wishes to go to mass, in order to hear music. In this conversation we discover she has never heard an orchestra, and when asked to describe it for her, Marianne says it’s not easy to speak on it, and instead plays her a piece: “Presto,” by Antonio Vivaldi. Héloïse doesn’t stop smiling as she listens to Marianne explain the song to her, it’s only when Marianne mentions that she might hear it when she moves after being wed that the moment is broken and reality sets in. We don’t hear accompanied music like this until the end. Marianne and Héloïse have gone their separate ways, but for one last time, they share a moment together. In an intense and emotional final shot of the film, we watch as Héloïse finally hears a live orchestra just like Marianne said she would. For the over two minutes that “Presto” once again plays, we watch Héloïse’s reaction as she begins to feel the music, we watch as it makes her cry, as it makes her smile and laugh, and I admit I found myself doing the same. I wished deeply that Héloïse would look over, and see Marianne just as she saw her. I cried right along with Héloïse as I realized she would not. Just as Orpheus and Eurydice were always doomed to remain apart, they were worlds apart, yet it was clear that both of their thoughts remained in each other. Their memories endure forever because they couldn’t help but love each other.
Photo courtesy of the Criterion Collection
