— Devika Deevasan
Before one reads the article, it is advised that if they have not watched the film but wish to do so, they should not go ahead, as there are major spoilers. Although personally, I found the film beautifully devastating despite having known the story in advance. Nevertheless, be warned.
Portrait de la jeune fille en feu is the love story between Héloïse and Marianne, the painter called to make her likeness for a suitor. Héloïse, angry at her mother’s determination to marry her off before she could taste freedom or beauty, refuses to pose for any painter. As Marianne starts off on her task to paint Héloïse unnoticed, the two begin to fall in love.
The movie is set on a chateau on the gorgeous Quiberon Island off the coast of Brittany, France, allowing for picturesque scenes that urge you to pause and behold. The location was chosen keeping in mind the history of multiple nameless women artists who flocked to the region for its beautiful landscapes in the 18th century. At a time when women were denied equal status as men, it was considerably harder for them to pursue successful careers and gain recognition for their work in male-dominated fields- painting for one. In the words of director Céline Sciamma, the movie was also a portrait of a woman at work, a narrative that’s rarely celebrated across history. The subplot of the housemaid, Sophie’s abortion, explores a topic that is considered taboo throughout the ages. The lack of judgement on the side of the women in helping Sophie in her plight is a refreshing portrayal of a topic that has an arguably pigeonholed representation in entertainment.
Although doomed to go out like a dying star from the beginning, the love story was elegantly shown with emphasis on the firsts and lasts. Marianne represented freedom and agency, things that her lover lacked, while Héloïse was anger and fire. The myth of Orpheus and Eurydice, a favourite among romance writers of all ages, was given a refreshing twist when alluding to our heroines. Throughout her stay, Marianne was haunted by the apparition of Héloïse in her wedding dress urging her to turn around, just like in the tale. The allusions to the myth culminated towards the end of Marianne’s stay as it became real the last time she saw her- equally satisfying as heartbreaking it was to watch. Sciamma really did chronicle a lesbian relationship in a period film- a genre that is commonly dominated by heteronormativity.
Despite being a romance, Sciamma consciously decided to not set a soundtrack. This was done partly to make the audience feel Héloïse’s frustration at being deprived of liberation, art, and beauty to the point where she had to go to church to hear music. Without background music, the pacing had to be done through controlled steps and pauses. Sciamma had planned every scene down to the detail of the number of steps the actors had to take while walking. The pauses are filled with passionate gazes and intentional gestures- from Héloïse’s subtle smiles to the sound of bristles on Marianne’s canvas.
The two instances where music is used- the breaking point in the story when the two get together-and during the movie’s last scene are pivotal and climactic. The a cappella performance of the gypsy song was befitting the dramatic build-up to the eventual realisation of love. The final scene of the movie featured Vivaldi’s “The Four Seasons” whilst focusing on Héloïse being watched through the eyes of Marianne. It was a perfect ending showcasing the passion, pain, and beauty which gave their love an everlasting quality.
Apart from the multiple interpretations of the story, the cinematography of Portrait of a Lady on Fire tells another one. The excellent cinematography that was the recipient of a lot of praise was impeccable in conveying the idea of the observer and the observed. In the scene where Héloïse finally poses for Marianne, there is a shift in the perspective where Marianne becomes the ‘observed’. Marianne’s feeling of exposure as she realises that while she had assumed the role of observer, she was also the subject in Héloïse’s eyes, blurred the line between the subject and the object and introduced a new layer to the movie. Sciamma talks about how this was a take on the fetishised idea of a muse- as a passive and silent subject, to be mutely interpreted via the subjective criterion of the impersonal observer; a one-way transaction. If you’re looking at me, who do I look at?
Multiple critics have called the film a masterpiece in illustrating the ‘female gaze’. The female gaze is characterised by an emphasis on emotional imagery. The camera shots include more stills, and exchanges between characters are shown, with both occupying equal positions in the frame. The intention is rarely ever to express the dominance of one character over the other. Nudity and sex are almost artful, inserted not to sexually stimulate and arouse but to feel emotionally erotic and intimate. The fourth wall is sometimes non-existent in the female gaze approach (as in Fleabag). Inclusion of the characters, environment, and audience are the goals. With every possible scene, the movie defines vital aspects of the female gaze, which also directly connects with the dynamic between subject and observer.
The movie not only embodies the female gaze in its visuals, it actively approaches it. When Héloïse rebuffs Marianne’s initial painting of her, it was her rejection of being subjected to and painted for her suitor’s gaze. The portrait did not show her the way she wanted to be seen- as an equal in the eyes of someone who loves her. Marianne’s decision to repaint the portrait, with Héloïse agreeing to pose for the same, changed the tone of the exercise. It became about reclaiming ownership over the way Héloïse wanted to be seen in a world where she is traditionally viewed as collateral to a man. While the suitor may never distinguish the dissimilarities in both portraits, it was symbolic to Héloïse as her first act of breaking free from the suffocating and confining system she belonged to.
Being a fan of fast-paced thrillers that keep me waiting at the edge of my seat, I do not usually watch slow burns. The first time watching Portrait of a Lady on Fire, it took only five minutes for my impatient self to switch to something faster-paced. A week or two later, craving something thoughtful and quiet for a change, I devoured it, sometimes even pausing to appreciate the quaint and aesthetic visuals. The movie is not meant to be consumed, rather it is to be enjoyed at a leisurely pace. Every setting, silence, glance and dialogue is keen to express. Knowing from the very beginning that this was not going to have a happily ever after did not quite help cushion the wave of sadness that overcame me at the movie’s ending. As impactful as the movie was to me, I would not want to rewatch it for the fear of replacing the beautiful experience that I had watching it the first time. While there is a lot that is unsaid in the Portrait of a Lady on Fire, there is very little that goes unexpressed.
Design by Shatabdi Deori
Edited by Madhumita R
Article 19 