On an isolated island in Brittany at the end of the eighteenth century, a female painter is obliged to paint a wedding portrait of a young woman.
Céline Sciamma’s “Portrait of a Lady on Fire” culminates in a final shot of such tremendous power, it makes one wish the rest of the film were as emotionally visceral. Her tale of a forbidden 18th Century romance on an isolated Brittany island is built on prolonged meaningful silences and longing looks. It’s deeply artistic, purposefully minimalist, sublimely erotic, at times profound in the way it views currently relevant issues through the prism of an era that was arguably built on preconceptions. It features two stellar central performances. It also almost bored me to death.
Marianne (Noémie Merlant) arrives at said island to paint Héloïse’s (Adèle Haenel) wedding portrait. Her mother, La Comtesse (Valeria Golino), warns Marianne that Héloïse hasn’t even shown her face to the previous painter, who consequently failed at the task. “You must paint her without her knowing,” she tells Marianne. “She thinks you’re a companion for walks.” Marianne begins to study Héloïse, the contours of her neck and, um, other features, which in turn leads to infatuation from both parties.
Héloïse is sheltered, having just come out of a convent. She goes running through the fields for the first time of her life; she doesn’t know if she can swim. “I haven’t even seen her smile,” Marianne tells Sophie (Luàna Bajrami). “Have you tried being funny?” Sophie suggests. (She doesn’t, by the way, as it would create a stark contrast to the somber nature of this film.) In this island microcosm, Héloïse and Marianne discover each other, temporarily freed from the outside world’s prejudices. The imminent completion of the painting symbolizes the end of that freedom, especially for poor Héloïse.
The feminist motifs are inescapable. Apart from the obvious central love story, there’s the subplot revolving around Sophie’s unconventional abortion. Héloïse talks about how she would rather be back at the convent, where “equality is a pleasant feeling.” La Comtesse, despite being a woman, represents the flip side of the coin: the toxic, self-fulfilling female, a victim of her times and politics. Straight from the start, Sciamma doesn’t beat around the bush: when Marianne’s being escorted to the island by boat and loses a wooden box of canvases, none of the men jump in – she does. I’m not criticizing the film for its prevalent themes, I’m just pointing out that it’s not exactly being subtle about dishing them out.
It is intermittently sumptuous, especially in the scenes where Marianne paints Héloïse (more so, I’d argue, than in the actual lovemaking ones). Sciamma and her crew nail the period detail; Claire Mathon’s cinematography is stunning. There are many moments where the repression – of passion, of humanity – are presented poetically and forcefully. Merlant and Haenel are revelatory in their respective roles. I loved the sequence when Héloïse lays eyes on the first painting attempt, having just discovered Marianne’s true intentions. “Is that how you see me?” she sneers at the formalist portrait. An impromptu all-female vocal number also sent chills down my spine.
At two hours, it all becomes a bit overbearing. “Portrait of a Lady on Fire” certainly achieves what it sets out to do. There’s breathtaking poetry here. That said, this beautiful painting left me cold despite the fiery subject.
In Theaters Friday, February 14th
