Portrait of a Lady of Fire was
the last movie of 2019 that I wanted to catch before the year’s end, but couldn’t
because I was unable to see it any legal capacity until much later. Much like
with Your
Name., I had to sit and watch as it swept up awards and be showered
with critical praise and mountains of hype (If you check out its profile on Letterboxd,
they even replaced the star rating with flames.), all while watching longingly
in the cold, nose pressed against the window like a hungry orphan. But now,
months after its initial release, the movie has finally rolled out to my little
corner of Bumfuck Nowhere, and I get to see for myself if all the admiration
was worth the wait.
Short answer: Yes, it was.
Our story follows Marianne (Noemie
Merlant), a painter from 18th Century France who travels to a
secluded island in Brittany to paint the wedding portrait of a reclusive noblewoman,
Heloise (Adele Haenel). Not wanting to get married, Heloise has been very
uncooperative and refuses to sit still, causing the last painter they hired to
quit out of frustration. Marianne’s solution is to spend time with her under
the guise of a hired companion, memorize the various parts of her body by day and
piece together a portrait from memory by night. Marianne and Heloise become incredibly
close during their short time together, and as the wedding day draws near, they
try to cherish Heloise’s last days of freedom.
There are certain things you
take for granted until someone comes along and shows an alternative that puts
the old ways to shame. In the case of Portrait of a Lady on Fire, director
Celine Sciamma gets down to the nitty gritty of love and passion by projecting
it through an unapologetically feminine lens. While this is far from the first
movie to portray a lesbian relationship, it’s one of the few I can think of that
portrays it in such a down-to-earth manner. (Say what you will about Carol,
The Handmaiden or Blue is the Warmest Color, all great movies in
their own right, but you can definitely tell they were directed by men.) It’s
sexy, yet not sleezy. Passionate, but not cloying. Intimate, but not intrusive.
This movie’s one and only goal is to set your soul on fire, not by blasting you
with a blowtorch, but by discreetly lighting a match under your pants leg when
you’re not looking and waiting for you to discover the flames in real time.
As these women must reserve
their feelings, gradually growing more intimate, so too is their gradual reveal
to the audience. Heloise is first seen in bits and pieces, first as a cloaked
figure with her back to the camera, then her hood falls to reveal a head of
blonde hair. It’s the first part of her that Marianne commits to memory,
something she must do discreetly so as not to reveal her true motives. (She
tells her model she’s there simply to be a companion.) But as parts of herself
are brought to light, the sad remnants of her past are brought along with them.
She was the second choice of her suitor after sister, who fell (or possibly
jumped) off a cliff. When she learns this, Marianne can’t bear to keep it a
secret any longer. She tells Heloise the truth and sabotages her portrait in a
futile attempt to stop the clock. Heloise’s mother (Valeria Golino) gives her
five more days to paint a new one while she’s away. It’s only then when
Marianne, Heloise and her servant Sophie (Luana Bajrami) are left alone are
they finally allowed to let their guard down.
This quiet passion is accentuated
by its masterclass craftsmanship. The deliberate, slow pacing takes its sweet
time getting into the rhythm of the routines of these characters, but it’s all
in service to the gradual unfolding of this relationship. The vivid
cinematography makes the soft color palette pop, with various shots being
reminiscent of the baroque paintings Marianne churns out during her brief stay.
The camera becomes our window into Marianne’s view as she catches glances of
Heloise’s anatomy: the curvature of her ear, the way she crosses her hands when
she sits, the way she bites her lip when she’s embarrassed. It makes this act
of attention, of memorizing one’s features right down to their littlest quirks this
grand statement of affection. The distinct lack of music forces the audience to
pay attention to their conversations and moments of levity, but in the few
instances where diegetic music is incorporated, it hits like a ton of bricks.
The same could be said for its
supernova of an ending. While we watch these two women in the throes of
passion, there is this foreboding sense of inevitability that lingers
throughout, and becomes more potent the closer it gets to the finish line. While
there is only one way this movie could’ve ended, Sciamma gives us three. One is
what you’d typically expect, but then there are two chance encounters in a sort
of epilogue that bring its female gaze to a staggering final shot, one that
leaves both its subjects and the audience utterly breathless.
Bottom line, Portrait of a
Lady on Fire is a blazing inferno confided to the tip of a candle. A quietly
revolutionary take on romance and period dramas all while carving out a space
of its own. While its influence may not be immediately apparent (I’m actually surprised
it wasn’t nominated for the Best Foreign Film Oscar, even if it would’ve
inevitably lost to Parasite),
in time it will be recognized as a gold
standard.
9/10
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