Céline Sciamma’s French film, Portrait of a Lady on Fire, is an unforgettably captivating cinematic experience. Young artist Marianne is commissioned to paint a wedding portrait of bride-to-be, Héloïse. When she arrives at the isle that Héloïse and her family live however, the mother informs her that she brought Marianne under false pretences. Since Héloïse’s arranged marriage infuriates her and she protests by refusing to pose for any painter, her mother tells Héloïse that Marianne is simply a companion for outdoor walks. Marianne’s job is to paint Héloïse in secret little by little solely based on observation.  The relationship of artist and muse gradually turns from strangers, to companions, to confidants, to lovers– when they both finally give into their desires. Marianne and Héloïse’s story is one for the ages, as it features classic symbolism, prolonged yet lasting intimacy, and complex character evolution throughout. Not to mention, the cinematography is also breathtaking. 

One might be surprised that Portrait of a Lady on Fire is in fact an original screenplay, as it is not based on a best-selling novel or play from the Victorian era. The role of symbolism and the wide range of predominantly literary archetypes fortify this assumption. From the beginning, isolation is achieved through Marianne’s arrival to the secluded island where Héloïse’s family resides. The harshly blowing winds and tumultuous waves crashing against sea-cliffs are usually signs of future emotional intensity within one or more of the characters– which proves to be true for the leads, especially Héloïse. They spend most of their preliminary time together outside at the beach with the untamed waves in the background or lounging at the secluded house, which both end up serving as breeding grounds for their accumulating inner desires. The girls become even more isolated from the outside world in a sense when Héloïse’s mother leaves town for a while and it’s just them and the maid left for any sort of interaction. The absence of society’s eye further encourages their inhibitions to go free and they act without shame or guilt. The idea that homosexuality was wrong in this setting is also subtly represented by the piano they play together, one of my personal favorite concepts of the film: the large keys are made of black ebony and the smaller keys are ivory– the opposite of a traditional piano. Marianne and Héloïse are also very obviously foils of each other through the use of color association. Marianne is more headstrong, emotional, and the audience detects the first signs of attraction within her. Naturally, she only wears dresses of warm orange and red tones and she is often standing or sitting next to fire. Héloïse, on the other hand, is much more reserved, suspicious, secretive, and cold. Her dresses are always cooler tones of blue and green and she flocks to the ocean many times throughout the film. Fire is almost always a representation of emotion and desire and the ocean as depth, complexity, or confusion and the film emphasizes it generously. Even the canvas that would become the future portrait of Héloïse falls into the ocean and is almost submerged by waves at the very beginning, before Héloïse is even introduced into the story. 

What I admire most about Céline Sciamma’s narrative technique is the prolongation of intimacy between the leads and how deeply their feelings remain after years of separation. Too often, films unrealistically rush the attraction of two characters and it deters the story overall. It is refreshing to watch Marianne and Héloïse engage in a more hot-and-cold tension-based relationship for the majority of the movie instead of just a simple windswept romance with no chase, no fear of consequences, and no depth. Their relationship in general, not even as lovers, is very slow to begin with. Héloïse is a naturally secluded person and she doesn’t even take her cloak off to reveal her face for Marianna to see when they first meet. They eventually loosen up enough to become friends and confidants and there are several subtle intimate moments they share before they eventually give in to their feelings. The biggest foreshadowing is a scene where they play a piano duet about a “coming storm” full of life, excitement, and anxiety. Marianne also finds herself becoming more intrigued by Héloïse as she spends so much time studying and painting her. They also play card games with the maid and they slightly lose focus when they are near each other, because infatuation gets the best of them. Despite these small and spread charged moments, the real pacer of the relationship and the film is the lack of noise. The sound editing of the film is quite unique– there is not much dialogue and there is no instrumental score. The only music in the film is sung or played by characters in a diegetic manner. Most of the noise is almost completely composed of crackling fireplaces, crashing waves, and footsteps on creaky wooden floors. The slow pace and quietness build up the tension and desire between Marianne and Héloïse. They leave room for deeper connections to form, since they spend a lot of time longingly glancing at each other and thinking of each other without actually speaking. The first time they kiss is well-after the midway point in the film and the nerves between the women beforehand are practically visible. The depth of their bond is never severed, even when they separate indefinitely and Héloïse marries. The last scene of Marianne sitting in an orchestra balcony and seeing Héloïse from afar, for the first time in several years, is heartbreakingly beautiful. Héloïse, completely unaware of Marianne’s presence, softly weeps and then fondly smiles as the same powerful and striking “coming storm” song they played as a piano duet echoes through the theater.  

Both lead actresses are brilliant and display great complexity, but Adèle Haenel truly steals the show as Héloïse. She transitions from ice queen, to depressed and sedated bride-to-be, to brave young woman who finally gives into her feelings, and finally to sheltered wife and mother forced to repress her desires once more. The scene that first proves that there is more to Héloïse than what meets the eye is when she sees the first portrait of herself. She hates it, because it represents her as a cold and statuesque and it doesn’t accurately reflect the emotional complexity she experiences beneath her surface. The most iconic scene of the film is the bonfire: Héloïse and Marianne share an extended and tender glance from across the field through the flames, desires intensifying, and Héloïse’s blue gown catches on fire. This is a perfect representation of the deterioration of her walls and allowing herself to be consumed by passion, not to mention the title of the extraordinary film.