Portrait of a Lady on Fire
(written by Gracie)
published 02.15.21
Héloïse: You're not on my side now. You blame me for what comes next. My marriage. You don't support me.
Marianne : You're right.
Héloïse : Go on. Say what burdens your heart. I believed you braver.
Marianne : I believed you braver too.
Héloïse : That's it then. You find me docile. Worse... You imagine I'm collusive. You imagine my pleasure.
Marianne : It's a way of avoiding hope.
Héloïse : Imagine me happy or unhappy if that reassures you. But do not imagine me guilty. You'd prefer me to resist.
Marianne : Yes.
Héloïse : Are you asking me to? Answer me.
Marianne : No.
With the portrait being finished, Marianne struggles with the idea of having to let go of Héloïse. While Marianne would love to simply tell her to not marry, it is something that the both of them know is not possible. This scene connects many of us from the LGBTQ+ community to the ones that came before us-- to the ones who were not as free to express who they were-- to the ones who still feel like this today.
Aside from a romance, Portrait of a Lady on Fire deals with topics such as abortion and the struggles of women in traditionally male-dominated fields.
Close to the middle of the film, Marianne comes to find out that Sophie, the house maid, is pregnant. Together, Marianne and Héloïse help her have an abortion. They try many natural methods, all of which fail to work, and in the end they visit a woman they met at a bonfire gathering to conduct the abortion. This is one of the scenes I find the most difficult to watch. Why? Because I can feel Sophie’s pain-- the emotional and physical pain that women have had to endure for centuries when getting an abortion. In this scene, Sciamma creates an interesting setting and atmosphere. There are children throughout the home who help Sophie through the process-- starting with a girl who helps her undo the laces from the back of her corset, and ending with the image of a baby gently holding onto Sophie’s hand as the abortion is being conducted.
The composition reveals the pains of womanhood and the realities of abortions. People against abortion say that those who get abortions are heartless; but, the truth of the matter is that they are the strongest of us all. This truth is beyond what words can convey, and Sciamma perfectly captured it through Sophie’s experience.
In the second to last scene, Marianne is at an art exhibition. She stands next to a particular painting of Orpheus and Eurydice, which is her work, but it is signed under the name of her father. There are a total of two scenes with men in them, and this is one of them. It exposes the way it is for women in male-dominated fields-- she is forced to sign under her father’s name because no one would appreciate it if it had been signed under her own name instead.
I cannot express how much Céline Sciamma’s films have moved me (reference my article on Tomboy). Portrait of a Lady on Fire is everything I appreciate about the artwork that is filmmaking-- poetic, cinematically beautiful, and real. It is my favorite film of all time, and a film I recommend to fellow wlw or nblw. It’ll ignite the fire in your soul and shatter you all in one. And that’s the beauty of Portrait of a Lady on Fire.
Portrait of a Lady on Fire is the 2019 cinematic masterpiece of French filmmaker Céline Sciamma. The film is the embodiment of a winding rollercoaster, yet also a soft love poem. Portrait of a Lady on Fire is a film about an artist named Marianne (played by Noémie Merlant) living in 1770 France who is commissioned to paint the wedding portrait of Héloïse (played by Adèle Haenel), a young woman who has just left the convent. Sciamma tells this meticulous story of an artist that falls in love with the woman she is assigned to paint.
Héloïse, who refuses the idea of marriages, has been reluctant with the previous painter in allowing them to paint her portrait. When Marianne arrives, Héloïse is brought upon the notion that she is there as a companion. Marianne is tasked to paint her portrait by studying her features and painting in discretion. As she befriends Héloïse and learns all her features, enough to finish her portrait, we begin to see them fall in love-- not through words, but through the long pauses in their speech and lingering moments on each of the characters’ faces. The audience is left to decipher their emotions and feel the tension between two lovers who are afraid of the repercussions their forbidden love holds. Sciamma tells a beautiful story of queer love, and along with that, a manifesto about the female gaze.
The entire movie is a piece of art-- from the metaphors to the emotions to the shots. Queerness, though a spectrum, is a universal experience of uncertainty and fear, of pride and jealousy, and of conformation and consolation.