The Brilliance Of Portrait Of A Lady On Fire
Written By: Aidan Goldenson
**Spoilers Included**
Looking back on 2019, I think the movie that stuck in my mind more than any other was Portrait of a Lady on Fire. Was it the impressive, experimental 8k cinematography that made every single color pop? Was it the outstanding performances by Adèle Haenel and Noèmie Merlant? Was it the serene and poignant directing from Céline Sciamma who continues to prove her mastery in creating films about gender and sexuality? While all these elements make Portrait of a Lady on Fire one of the best films of the year on its own merits, I think that the screenplay is what elevates it to another level — making it one of the best films of the decade.
Now look, this story isn’t as complex and mind-blowing as a Christopher Nolan film. It most certainly isn’t going to have you thinking “How the hell did they think of that!?” for a year after its release either. However, in order for a film that is as slow-paced and as character driven as this one is to be engaging and enthralling throughout, it must have done something right. I wanted to delve into just what makes Portrait of a Lady on Fire so brilliant from a story perspective, and it really all starts from the first scene.
Right off the bat, Noèmie Merlant’s character, Marianne, makes sure that her art students are noting every little detail about her body as they paint a portrait of her — most notably her hands and arms. The emphasis on minute details is a massive nod towards the events that ensue later on, and the way it is subtly hinted proves how Sciamma took nothing for granted with the script. Beyond the foreshadowing though, the film uses mystery as a strong tactic to bring exuberance to Adèle Haenel’s character, Héloïse. Who is she? Why hasn't she been shown yet? What are her motives? These are all questions brought to the surface before the two even meet. There’s such a strong sense of wonder and a captivating essence behind these characters.
When the two meet, the audience immediately gets an understanding of these two characters. Héloïse, with a yearning for something greater in life, is being sent off to marry a man she hasn’t even met. Marianne, on the other hand, exhibits a conservative approach towards life. She seems to have her life planned out, and she is more concerned with the present. This is an interesting character dynamic that automatically becomes the stepping stone for the rest of the film.
Their differences become the driving force towards discovery about one another. Marianne tries to teach Héloïse the boundaries of love, and she believes that there are rules and standards behind them. Héloïse seems to basically accept these conventions of love, but as the film goes on, she discovers that there is much more complexity and fluidity in the ideals of love, and soon Marianne understands that Héloïse might have a deeper perspective on the world with a stronger mind than first anticipated.
“Do all lovers feel they’re inventing something?” This seems to be one of the indicators that Héloïse is beginning to garner a fresh perspective on a very unfamiliar subject for her. It makes sense to be a little confused as to why she’s beginning to feel these thoughts, but once she reveals to Marianne all the minuscule details about her after Marianne does the same thing, it makes a lot more sense. It’s also when Portrait of a Lady on Fire takes the leap into a grand love story about self-discovery.
Marianne: I can’t make you smile. I feel I do it and then it vanishes.
Héloïse: Anger always comes to the fore.
Marianne: Definitely with you. I didn’t mean to hurt you.
Héloïse: You haven’t hurt me.
Marianne: I have, I can tell. When you’re moved, you do this with your hand.
Héloïse: Really?
Marianne: Yes. And when you’re embarrassed, you bite your lips. And when you’re annoyed, you don’t blink.
Héloïse: You know it all.
Marianne: Forgive me, I’d hate to be in your place.
Héloïse: We’re in the same place. Exactly the same place. Come here. Come. Step closer. Look. If you look at me, who do I look at? When you don’t know what to say, you touch your forehead. When you lose control, you raise your eyebrows. And when you’re troubled, you breathe through your mouth.
There’s an immediacy of eagerness that is simply felt — not shown. The audience gets the sense that there is a burning desire dug under the film, and Sciamma is waiting for the perfect moment to bring it to light. She has shown in her other films that there needs to a breaking point for the characters to make their self-discovery. There is no shying away from standard Sciamma conventions here. That climax, similarly to all her other films, is with a music scene.
There’s an extreme gaze like none other. This is the moment where Marianne and Héloïse create that connection that has been teased throughout. It’s the moment the audience has been waiting for. With the music getting louder and the momentum swinging, the film picks up steam from this point onward.
The idea behind the “gaze” is examined deeper when the story told about Orpheus and Eurydice takes place. Essentially, it argues the pros and cons of being able to take one last look at your spouse if they were to disappear forever as a consequence afterwards. What the audience doesn’t realize is that this story is very foretelling of what’s to come at the end. Marianne takes the side of the poet rather than the lover which I think is a very prominent shift in her ideals of love. She’s on board with the idea that memory is more integral to happiness than the present. She also understands the grace and purpose behind the decision — and it doesn’t seem like something she would approve of at the beginning of the film…and what do you know, this exact event occurs at the end.
This isn’t the only example of foreshadowing though. Sciamma includes more examples all throughout. After their relationship begins to feel somewhat grounded, instances such as the page 28 sequence and the final, grand music scene occur. The page 28 in the portrait is a callback to when Marianne drew Héloïse in page 28 of her art-book, and the final scene is a callback to earlier in the film when Marianne played The Four Seasons song on the piano. Both of these are targeted towards one another, and it’s interesting to note how both of them were alone in these scenarios. It was made to feel like a divine presence of one another was lingering over, and it adds to the greater scope of love rather than its physical boundaries.
Yes, it may feel like a rather disappointing ending considering the amount of investment put into this relationship, but it perfectly sums up the meta-physical phenomenon of attraction. Their spirit lingers on despite their seperation. All of the hints Sciamma threw in there (most notably the Orpheus and Eurydice story) were brought to light in some way, shape, or form. It became an extravagant flash-in-the-pan story that will be engraved in the back of my mind for a long time…and this was no coincidence.
🔥🔥🔥🔥The film is a masterpiece 🔥🔥🔥🔥
