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By Andrea Thompson
Watching the passionate 18th century French romance “Portrait of a Lady on Fire” is an experience, and not just because it's such a beautifully told love story. Since it also happens to be a love story between two women, it's going to be about far more than the lovers themselves, and sure enough, “Portrait” is both an indicator of how far we've come, and how far we have yet to go. However, the film not only seems aware of this, it's pretty damn intent on charting its own course, and to hell with the male gaze and all the expectations thereof, with none of their love scenes even shown on-screen.
Even juicier is the fact that writer-director Céline Sciamma previously dated Adèle Haenel, one half of the couple her film breathtakingly portrays. Sciamma certainly shrouds the noblewoman she plays, Héloïse, in mystery, revealing various faceless portraits of her far before she reveals the woman herself, even shrouding her in a cape before she joyously bursts onto the screen on a sumptuous scene set on the cliffs overlooking the sea on her isolated estate.
Observing her is Marianne (Noémie Merlant), who has been hired to paint Héloïse's portrait for her upcoming marriage to a Milan nobleman, which will occur once the painting is finished. Héloïse is opposed to the nuptials, so she has refused to sit for it, and she's unaware that the young woman she believes has been hired as a walking companion has actually been tasked with closely observing her so she can finish the portrait, which will allow the marriage Héloïse dreads to take place.
It's a sad fact that films with protagonists other than white men will inevitably be compared to each other. Case in point: how many of us compared “Captain Marvel” to “Wonder Woman” when it came out, even though “Wonder Woman” was released two years prior? I know I certainly couldn't resist, despite my best efforts. So I hope I'll be forgiven for “The Handmaiden” being at the forefront of my mind during the first half of “Portrait of a Lady on Fire.” Both kick off a love story between two women based on deception, although “Portrait” is more heartbreaking. Héloïse believes Marianne's glances are due to passion alone, but Marianne is part of the forces slowly closing in, and she must hide her true profession, and all the evidence of it, such as the work itself, and the clothes and hands spattered with paint.
Héloïse in essence begins as a silenced woman, a traditionally passive muse whose future has been decided, although the artist portraying her has a more direct role in that future than usual. This silencing, this forced passivity that is a direct result of the patriarchal world all the women on-screen cope with in various ways, is what “Portrait” really delves into, and the wrenching vulnerability, as well as the power, of seeing while being seen. After Marianne reveals her true purpose, she is startled and unsettled when she realizes her seemingly unaware subject has been closely observing her too.
Héloïse quickly becomes an active partner in Marianne's creation, especially when Héloïse's mother (Valeria Golino) departs for a few days. Not only Héloïse and Marianne, but Sophie (Luàna Bajrami), the maid they also befriend, are free to create their own matriarchal world...and help Sophie get an abortion. All three women bond, but it's also clear who's falling for whom. Héloïse not only encourages Marianne not to look away from Sophie's procedure, she is the one who decides that it's a worthwhile subject to paint. For Sciamma, women's art and their lives aren't just worthwhile subjects that have been neglected, they're part of a history that's still barely acknowledged today, as hashtags such as #shoutyourabortion prove.
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Marianne is the one who has the ultimate luxury, that of a choice. It shapes her life and how she responds to the world. Sciamma emphasizes her independence from the start, as she jumps off the boat bringing her to the estate to rescue some of her equipment and carries it in herself rather than depending on the men conveying. She is also the one who takes the male role in the much-discussed story of Orpheus and Eurydice when the three women ponder why Orpheus looked back at his wife Eurydice at the last minute, dooming the lovers to part ways as Eurydice is dragged back into the underworld. Marianne suggests that perhaps Orpheus chose the memory of her rather than Eurydice herself. “He doesn't make the lover's choice, but the poet's,” Marianne says. “Perhaps she was the one who said, 'Turn around.'”
That might indeed have been the case, but actively choosing to part ways is not an option for either lover in this case, who never even discuss the possibility of a future together. When the inevitable parting does indeed come, and Marianne sees a vision of Héloïse in her wedding dress telling her to turn around, it feels like a coping mechanism, an illusion of choice in a situation where there isn't one. Men may only have cameo roles in “Portrait of a Lady on Fire,” but this is nevertheless their world, and there's no place for a love like the one Marianne and Héloïse passionately share. Even Héloïse's mother, who knows the pain her daughter is feeling, is nevertheless willing to give her daughter to a stranger, simply because she can't imagine any other path for her.
However, their bond lives on, and Héloïse goes on to play an active role not only in Marianne's art, but in the art others create, even if in some cases it's only visible to those who know how to look. When Marianne sees her for the last time, it's also when Héloïse is at a concert, where she passionately reacts to music she heard for the first time when Marianne played it for her. Both may be alone, but they will remain connected for the rest of their lives.
