★★★★★

Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019)

Written by Dalton Welsh - May 8, 2020

Set in France 1770, we follow Marianne, a painter who has been commissioned to do the wedding portrait of Héloïse but must do so without her knowing, observing her day by day. From French director Céline Sciamma, “Portrait of a Lady on Fire” gives us the opportunity to explore one of the most quietly human films to ever grace the screen. One that is so engrossing that its runtime flies by like a fleeting memory, but still leaves a significantly lasting impression on its audience.

The way the story of these two characters unfold feels as though we are eavesdropping on inconsequential moments, yet they are all so necessary to convey their growing relationship and what defines them as human beings. One of the words to best describe this film is quiet, both in a literal sense and in its emotional subtleties. Firstly, there is no score present throughout the film, there are only two instances of music used throughout the entire runtime, even then it is diegetic, and they appear in perhaps the two most important scenes, making them all the more special and impactful.

Many of the scenes also make sparse use of the characters speaking, so we must instead gather the point of view of the characters from their body language, glances, stares and gazes. This is reflective of the core of the film being the characters studying of one another, Marianne doing so in order to create her painting, and Héloïse in her attempts to try and decipher what defines her new companion Marianne as a person. Thus, conveying one of the driving themes of the film of seeing the world from the perspective of another.

The respective performances of Adèle Haenel as Héloïse and Noémie Merlant as Marianne are done with such attention to detail, necessary to convey the subtleties of the scenes they share. As a result, they feel like fully fleshed out, living and breathing people, making their relationship together all the more believable and engrossing. Which, subsequently, makes the moments of inevitable sadness and frustration all more intense and engaging.

The visuals of the film in which this relationship has been able to blossom is another aspect that cannot go without championing. Thanks to cinematographer Claire Mathon’s use of an 8k digital camera we can see every intricate detail. The intense colours present in the costuming emanate with such vibrancy atop the scenic environments and the textures of the paint are palpable. The visuals are further enhanced by the expert attention to lighting. Setting up the elaborate array of lights and light diffusers on the set to create an all-encompassing softness consumed a lot of the production budget. The revealing nature of the bright soft lighting allows the audience to “feel their emotions without ever letting the light take over. It was as if the light emanated from the faces” (Mathon).

All aspects of the film ultimately work together to create the feeling that it is a filmic adaptation of a painting. Like an artwork not being wholly truthful there are sprinkles of surrealism throughout the film and the shots are framed in such a way to mimic painted portraiture the intricacies of which are reminiscent of brush strokes present on a canvas and the all-encompassing bright and unrealistic lighting heightening the parallel, particularly to the paintings created in France in the late 1700’s which echoed these elements.

But it is not all in the beauty of the visuals, they are a vessel for the subtext of the figures that occupy the frame, their emotions, experiences and character. The attachment you feel towards Héloïse and Marianne portrayed so eloquently by Haenel and Merlant means you never want the film to end, and that is perhaps one of the highest praises you could ever give a film, that its greatest fault is it must eventually conclude.

Set in France 1770, we follow Marianne, a painter who has been commissioned to do the wedding portrait of Héloïse but must do so without her knowing, observing her day by day. From French director Céline Sciamma, “Portrait of a Lady on Fire” gives us the opportunity to explore one of the most quietly human films to ever grace the screen. One that is so engrossing that its runtime flies by like a fleeting memory, but still leaves a significantly lasting impression on its audience.

The way the story of these two characters unfold feels as though we are eavesdropping on inconsequential moments, yet they are all so necessary to convey their growing relationship and what defines them as human beings. One of the words to best describe this film is quiet, both in a literal sense and in its emotional subtleties. Firstly, there is no score present throughout the film, there are only two instances of music used throughout the entire runtime, even then it is diegetic, and they appear in perhaps the two most important scenes, making them all the more special and impactful.

Many of the scenes also make sparse use of the characters speaking, so we must instead gather the point of view of the characters from their body language, glances, stares and gazes. This is reflective of the core of the film being the characters studying of one another, Marianne doing so in order to create her painting, and Héloïse in her attempts to try and decipher what defines her new companion Marianne as a person. Thus, conveying one of the driving themes of the film of seeing the world from the perspective of another.

The respective performances of Adèle Haenel as Héloïse and Noémie Merlant as Marianne are done with such attention to detail, necessary to convey the subtleties of the scenes they share. As a result, they feel like fully fleshed out, living and breathing people, making their relationship together all the more believable and engrossing. Which, subsequently, makes the moments of inevitable sadness and frustration all more intense and engaging.

The visuals of the film in which this relationship has been able to blossom is another aspect that cannot go without championing. Thanks to cinematographer Claire Mathon’s use of an 8k digital camera we can see every intricate detail. The intense colours present in the costuming emanate with such vibrancy atop the scenic environments and the textures of the paint are palpable. The visuals are further enhanced by the expert attention to lighting. Setting up the elaborate array of lights and light diffusers on the set to create an all-encompassing softness consumed a lot of the production budget. The revealing nature of the bright soft lighting allows the audience to “feel their emotions without ever letting the light take over. It was as if the light emanated from the faces” (Mathon).

All aspects of the film ultimately work together to create the feeling that it is a filmic adaptation of a painting. Like an artwork not being wholly truthful there are sprinkles of surrealism throughout the film and the shots are framed in such a way to mimic painted portraiture the intricacies of which are reminiscent of brush strokes present on a canvas and the all-encompassing bright and unrealistic lighting heightening the parallel, particularly to the paintings created in France in the late 1700’s which echoed these elements.

But it is not all in the beauty of the visuals, they are a vessel for the subtext of the figures that occupy the frame, their emotions, experiences and character. The attachment you feel towards Héloïse and Marianne portrayed so eloquently by Haenel and Merlant means you never want the film to end, and that is perhaps one of the highest praises you could ever give a film, that its greatest fault is it must eventually conclude.