Film Review: Portrait of a Lady on Fire

French director Céline Sciamma has been well-known amongst those who are into European cinema for some time now, with her films Water Lillies, Tomboy and Girlhood. Her latest work is by far her biggest hit, with an already loyal and devoted fanbase, despite it not even being properly released in the US or UK yet (this will finally be happening on Valentine’s Day 2020).

Portrait of a Lady on Fire is set on an isolated island in the 18th century. Héloïse (Adèle Haenel) is set to be a married off to a stranger in Milan, and is understandably unhappy about the prospect. Her mother, La Comtesse (Valeria Golino), has commissioned a portrait of Héloïse that can be sent to her prospective husband. After an unsuccessful attempt with one painter, she brings Marianne (Noémie Merlant) to the island under the pretense of being a companion to Héloïse for walks to the beach, but who will actually be surreptitiously painting her portrait. 

Perhaps the most striking and memorable aspect of Portrait is the stunning cinematography by Claire Mathon (who also shot Mati Diop’s Atlantics). There are many shots which are constructed as if they are paintings – especially during Marianne and Héloïse’s walks along the clifftops and at the beach. The costume design by Dorothée Guiraud is also incredible, particularly her use of cloaks and scarves. Marianne wears a rust-red dress pretty much throughout, which contrasts with the rich green silk dress which Héloïse eventually agrees to pose in.

Sciamma chooses to use no score, which is unusual for a period film. She is reflecting the experience of the characters, who have no access to music. In fact, Héloïse attends church purely to hear music, she is so starved. This means that when diegetic music or song does occur, it is much more impactful.

Marianne, Héloïse and the servant of the house, Sophie (Luàna Bajrami) attend a bonfire where the women of the island start to sing in rounds, making for a rare communal experience, full of feminine (and yes, witchy) energy. The breath-taking final shot is at a performance of Vivaldi’s violin concertos which has a powerful effect when combined with the visual of Héloïse’s reaction to the music.

The theme of observation is dominant throughout Portrait. Sciamma’s gaze, via Mathon’s lens watching Marianne watch Héloïse. Then having Héloïse start to return that gaze about halfway through makes us palpably aware of our role of observers and of course, is giving us a rare female slant to all of this. Making us, the audience conscious of our own voyeurism is a feat that Sciamma deftly pulls off here.

The difference between the various portraits of Héloïse that we see throughout the film (starting with the one that gives the film its name) makes us realise how much the perspective of the painter and their relationship with the subject can change how someone is viewed and how they appear in a finished (or unfinished) artwork. Marianne’s portrait of Héloïse becomes much more truthful once she stops painting it with the audience of her future husband in mind, but instead paints Héloïse as SHE sees her.

This is not just a beautiful love story between two women, with refreshing sex scenes which play with the eroticism of surprising elements – it is also about the bonds of sisterhood. When the servant Sophie falls prey of an unwanted pregnancy, Marianne and Héloïse come together to help her resolve the problem. There is a scene where they tend to Sophie after her abortion and they recreate the scene for Marianne to paint, producing perhaps the most striking image in a film full of them. The film really plays with artifice and the conscious constructions of tableaus, the staging of an event to be performed or painted heightens and highlights certain elements for the spectator.

The Gothic imagery is spectacular, especially the motif of a recurring vision that Marianne has of Héloïse in her wedding dress, looking extremely ghostly, which is obviously equating her forthcoming marriage with a kind of death. The Greek myth of Eurydice who is doomed to the underworld because her love Orpheus must take one last look at her is another element which is interwoven. Again, this forces us to consider the consequences of the gaze, the act of looking can be destructive as well as a positive force for validation and understanding. 

Portrait of a Lady on Fire will hold up to repeat viewings because the imagery is ripe for unravelling and peeling apart. Sciamma has crafted every frame with precision, as a painter would, with a masterful control of blocking and elements such as production design. The cinematography is jaw-dropping and needs to be seen on a big screen. Sciamma’s frequent collaborator Adele Haènel and relative-newcomer Noémie Merlant both give restrained performances which slowly come alive as the film goes on, as the two women awaken a spark within one another.

Films this exquisite are rare and we should appreciate the treasure of seeing a film such as this on a big screen. Both the release pattern and the awards campaign have been frustrating, but this film is at least the equal of those with Oscar nominations, if not better. I urge you to seek this film out, you will not regret it.