By: Keaton Marcus

Upon rewatching Celine Sciama’s Portrait of a Lady on Fire, I noticed many more hidden details in the film than I did months ago when first viewing it. Not only am I, among many other people, infuriated that this was not nominated for a single Oscar, but I do consider this one of my favorite films of all-time. It’s definitely in the top five, up there with The Godfather: Part II, Ex Machina and Blade Runner 2049. The cinematography is ravishing, the characters are developed, and the romance is investing and powerful. From start to finish Sciama absolutely captivates you, and despite this being an extremely slow burn, everything becomes worth it in the end. That is why I’ve come here today to analyze and explain the film bit-by-bit, from beginning to end.

At the very start, we’re introduced to Marianne (Noemie Merlant), who travels on a boat to a remote island in France. We quickly learn that she’s a painter, but the film always hides its secrets until later, which is one of the many things that I admire. Die (Valeria Golino) explains to us that she has been commissioned to do a wedding portrait for her daughter, Heloise (Adele Haenel). It all seems simple enough, but we find that Heloise is heavily against the marriage, desiring independence, and she refuses to have her portrait painted. That means Marianne will have to paint her by memory (Heloise thinks that she’s just going to be her walking partner) during their encounters. Here, things begin to unravel, especially when Sophie (Luana Bajrami) tells our main character that Heloise’s sister threw herself off a cliff, and that the previous painter who attempted to paint her portrait failed. The next morning, Marianne heads on her walk with Heloise on the beach, and we can tell from the start that the two feel very uncomfortable with each other. There is clearly some sort of romantic tension between them, but it feels disconnected as their glances come off as uncoordinated and clumsy as Marianne attempts to memorize her facial features. This can be attributed to the special approach to love that Sciama takes. Not only is it the rare story of two women in a relationship, but that of an artist and a muse. A painter and her subject, which is something we’ve never seen before. The conversation that the two share while sitting on the beach is generic, dull and unmotivated, with no point or meaning. It’s utterly devoid of connection. This can be compared to the several shots of Marianne’s facial sketches of Heloise. They’re scattered, unfocused, and incomplete.

As their encounters become more and more intimate, the conversations become slightly more focused than the last. However, each one is interrupted by Marianne’s objective, which is to finish the painting by the due date. Consequently, her work becomes uninspired and mediocre, which was clearly not what an artist like Marianne was aiming for. Marianne then accidentally burns the center of the old painter’s artwork, which is missing a head, and it showcases Heloise’s heart burning. This depicts the love that the two have for each other with striking imagery in no need of any conversation, like in most romantic films. The next day, Marianne finally comes clean and tells Heloise that she has been painting her secretly without permission. Obviously, upon viewing her final draft, Heloise tells her that the painting is a disappointment, lacking presence. Conflictingly, she tells her that there are rules and conventions one must follow even if it’s not really how Marianne sees her. This point-of-view is undoubtedly flawed and goes against everything an artist believes. In her defense, Marianne explains that she also was forced to paint with solely fleeting memories, which is again easily combatted by Heloise’s stronger argument. Heloise tells her that there aren’t only fleeting moments, but also deep life and feeling, not just something temporary or unmemorable. Clearly, Heloise feels this way because the painting is simply a gaze with no substance or true passion behind the bland look on her face. We know that Heloise despises being objectified, portrayed as something less than herself, hence the unhappiness upon the realization that the painting was completed to the current norm. These norms constrict true, meaningful art with some sort of emotional connection, and that isolates the two women. Sciamma’s brilliantly written screenplay conveys so much hidden meaning in only around a minute or so of dialogue, and it further establishes her prowess in filmmaking. Because on the inside Marianne feels the same way, she decides to smudge the painting the next day, like the previous artist, much to Die’s discontent. However, Heloise convinces Die for her to stay, and surprisingly adds that she will also pose for her to improve the final result.

When Marianne sketches Heloise while she’s sleeping, it finally becomes clear that the two mirroring types of relationships: artist and subject/lovers, work in conjunction to fuel their ever-growing love and loyalty for each other. The power dynamic between the two characters are equal, and this isn’t present in other tales of romance because this is the story of two independent women. The equality is simple and un-awkward to achieve, and creates an extra layer of connection between Marianne and Heloise. There are two protagonists that share the screen together and have equal power with one another. Heloise even says, “equality is a pleasant feeling”, conveying their newfound balance in the relationship. This is expertly shown in one of the most iconic moments in the film in which Marianne continues to paint the portrait. However, if you look a little deeper, the shot of Marianne is tight and close, indicating that she’s in charge. In contrast to this, the shot of Heloise is wide and exposed, depicting her vulnerable state as the subject. This is deepened when Marianne points out the various insecurities and body language Heloise does (i.g. bites her lip when she’s annoyed), and it’s obvious who’s in control. Remember, though, the two are utter equals, and when one thing tips the scale, another has to bring it back into place.

Heloise then tells Marianne to come to her in the subject’s position, and as the camera zooms on them, she exposes various habits about her! She has completely turned the tables on Marianne. The next shot then frames Marianne as the subject and Heloise as the painter. The moment is a clever and subtle way to balancing out the two characters when one of them practically disturbs the peace. Anyway, this is only a thing I noticed, and there could be other interpretations. The next evening, Sophie joins the two women around a table while Heloise reads a book about Orpheus and Eurydice, which is important for later in the movie. The story of the book is fairly simple: Orpheus is married to Eurydice, and when she dies, he visits the underworld and convinces Hades to let him take her back from the dead. However, this was under one condition, he couldn’t look back at Eurydice until they were out of the caves of the underworld. Unfortunately, shortly before, he turns around and fails the test. The three women then have a particularly heated discussion about the ending, and while Sophie believes that Orpheus had no reason to turn around and basically failed, Marianne has a very important disagreement. She pays close attention to detail about the choice he made, stating that “He doesn’t make the lover’s choice, but the poet’s.” Audiences may not know the context of this statement just yet, but this is only a mere hint to the movie’s conclusion. After letting that sink in, Heloise states: “Perhaps she was the one who said, turn around.” This is metaphorical for the relationship. Marianne is principally Orpheus, traveling half way across the world to save Heloise out of her upcoming doom that is the marriage despite ending up making the poet’s choice instead of the lover’s. Sorry, spoilers.

All I can really say is that Heloise is Eurydice in the sense that she was essentially the one who convinces Orpheus/Marianne to turn around and make that controversial decision. With that beautiful foreshadowing in mind, the film quickly moves on to easily one of the most memorable moments in the entire two hours. It’s also got some deep meaning. Marianne, Heloise and Sophie make their way to a bonfire with a large group of other women who begin to sing a meticulous and thrilling song in chanting fashion. During the build-up of the voices, Marianne and Heloise look at each other in perfect harmony, demonstrating their connection. As new pairs of women begin to join in on the choir, almost reflecting their state-of-mind. Excited, in-synch, and passionate. We get some of the most beautiful imagery in the film as well as the camera studies the wide bonfire, and Heloise’s dress even catches in flames, which has major symbolism to it. Why else would it be the poster? This is coupled with a gorgeous transition into their first day as true lovers, a stunning scene that illustrates a pivotal moment in the film without any dull exposition that would have been much easier to incorporate. No, this is more complex, natural, and requires great attention to peel the layers. Then, director Celine Sciamma brings the three women together for another painting scene that gives off a strong sense of equalization and harmony between the trio. A maid, subject, and painter work in ensemble to re-create an important moment of Sophie’s life, which was when “The Witch Doctor” killed the baby inside of her to ensure a miscarriage.

After the new portrait of the abortion process, and of the three women challenging the system and celebrating their individuality, the film finally sums itself up. Basically, both Marianne and Heloise are acting as the painter while creating the portrait, which at a second attempt feels more satisfying and complete. For Marianne because she sees herself in her lover’s painting, and for Heloise since it’s more a gesture of love than an objectification. The next morning, Die finally arrives after days in Italy, and it’s time for them to say their goodbyes. Overwhelmed with emotion, Marianne quickly runs down the stairs, hiding herself from tearing up. This is when that Orpheus - Eurydice story comes into play. As Marianne stops at the door, she hears Heloise’s voice as she says: “Turn around” like Eurydice did at the end. Utterly compliant, Marianne listens and turns around, briefly seeing Heloise in her wedding dress before she disappears. It is tragic and hauntingly beautiful all at the same time, which was the point from far earlier in the movie all the way until now. Again, Marianne makes the poet’s choice, choosing to remember Heloise as a memory. The film, however, continues. We now get a glimpse of Marianne in the present as she stands at an art gallery. She witnesses Heloise’s new portrait on the wall and reminisces about all the times with her. In the final scene, Marianne attends a concert and sees Heloise on the opposite side of herself as an orchestra plays Presto from Vivaldi’s Summer, which was a song that she played on the piano for her earlier in the movie. As the camera eventually zooms in on Heloise, audiences can clearly tell that she too is remembering her times with Marianne while quite literally sobbing. Although not physically, they are mentally connected once again.

Ok, as readers may have noticed, this movie is one of the smartest things I’ve witnessed in my entire life. Meticulously crafted, gorgeously shot and very strongly acted, Portrait of a Lady on Fire completely abolishes its period trappings and makes for a creative and absorbing romance. My eyes were glued to the screen from start to finish, and although I know this film isn’t for everyone, but it’s certainly for me.