Portrait of a Lady on Fire (Céline Sciamma, 2019): France

Reviewed by Jeremy Ellison. Viewed at AFI Fest 2019.

Céline Sciamma’s 18th century drama is both a look at female repression and forbidden love. The story quickly evolves into an intimate gaze of two lovers cherishing what little time they have together. With careful direction, gorgeous visuals, and heartfelt performances, Portrait of a Lady on Fire is a deeply felt testament to the strength of art and love—which the film depicts as one and the same.

The story takes place in the 1760s, on the French island Brittany. Marianne (Noémie Merlant) is an expert painter, who is hired to paint a wedding portrait for Héloïse (Adèle Haenel) without her knowing. As soon as Marianne and Héloïse meet, there’s an air of tension present. Héloïse is immediately hostile, evading conversation and striking intimidating glares. Perhaps this is just the nature of Héloïse, or perhaps there’s something more between them. On the other hand, Marianne is docile and easygoing. Her gentle brown eyes provide a stark contrast to Héloïse’s wolflike stare.

The pair spend their days strolling a nearby beach, sightseeing, playing games, reading fables, all while Marianne pays close, almost romantic attention to Héloïse’s physical features, as to perfect her painting. But soon after, Marianne confesses about her secret job. This changes the trajectory of their days, and their bond quickly grows further than either of them expected.

But of course, a lesbian relationship in the 1760s, let alone one involving a bride-to-be, could never be so easy. Like all aspects of the women’s lives, their relationship is repressed. The film itself is a story of repression. Take, for example, a scene early on: the two ladies are treading a cliff above a beach, and Héloïse decides to start sprinting. Worried she is about to commit suicide by jumping off the cliff, Marianne urgently chases after her. Héloïse stops at the end of the cliff and says, “I’ve dreamt of that for years.” “Dying?” Marianne asks. “Running,” Héloïse clarifies. This dynamic sets up the basis of the two lovers’ relationship—Héloïse is alluring and enigmatic, like a great painting. She is a muse to Marianne, who makes a living off great paintings.

Director Sciamma directs with the elegance and restraint of a classical artist. Characters are framed in a way that resembles portraits. Wide shots are used often, capturing the lush seaside getaway. The camera is mostly static, with an occasional slow zoom. Long takes give the film a steady and composed feel. The lighting and coloring is natural, whites and beiges and other earthy hues paint the frame—which allows the occasional bright red or green dress to stand out even more so. The mise en scène often looks like something directly out of a classic painting, which is no accident.

Céline Sciamma’s Portrait of a Lady on Fire is a consistently beautiful exploration of how love comes to be. Merlant and Haenel both give excellent performances—at times raw and vulnerable, other times lighthearted and lively. Sciamma is in complete control of her craft, each edit and composition appearing precise and calculated, each stylistic choice seemingly well thought out. More than just a passionate romance, Portrait is also a look at the ways art can be used as catharsis, self-expression, or a remedy for pain. Perhaps it serves as all three for Sciamma herself, who is an ex-lover of Haenel.