It’s not every day that you can say that you’ve been mesmerized by a movie, but such is the case with Portrait of a Lady on Fire. It’s simply entrancing in its use of color and the way it evokes emotions.

The premise is simple enough: Marianne (Noémie Merlant), a female painter in 18th century France, is commissioned to do a portrait of a woman, Héloïse (Adèle Haenel), who’s to be married away to a man in Italy. However, since Héloïse doesn’t want to be married away nor have her portrait made, Marianne has to paint her without Héloïse knowing. Naturally, a romance ensues between the two.

A Doomed Romance Done Right

The premise could’ve easily fallen flat and become a simple story of forbidden love, but writer and director Céline Sciamma expertly avoids this cliché by making it an alluring character study – the first half of the movie is devoted to Marianne developing the photo of Héloïse since she has to do so in secret. Therefore, the first half is somewhat of a suspense movie that asks the question: will Marianne successfully paint the portrait without Héloïse realizing it? This makes the film a literal character study as Marianne studies Héloïse’s features, as do we.

The inevitable romance is built up with such tension, and then it’s then ripped away.

Halfway through the movie, the plot gives way to the romance, and it’s handled with such thought and care that it’s hard to see it being as successful in another director’s hands. It couldn’t have been made in America, I’m sure of that. The inevitable romance is built up with such tension, and then it’s then ripped away. It’s expected given the setting and the premise, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. Everyone knows that it can’t be, and like the lovers, the movie doesn’t delude itself that it could and instead focuses on the repercussions and emotions that this invokes. And it’s so palpable. The movie draws you in and makes you feel it: the longing, the lust, one last caress.

True Romance

So much of the movie’s success lies in the cinematography and the actors. Merlant and Haenel sell the romance so well that you can’t imagine any other actors for the parts. Their mannerisms feel so instinctive that every take could’ve been the first, or rather that the actual characters live through the actors.

Merlant and Haenel sell the romance so well that you can’t imagine any other actors for the parts.

By utilizing a framing device introduced in the beginning, we know that the bulk of the events take place in the past. It’s an excellent way of sidestepping the old “will they or won’t they?” question that plagues so many other romantic movies. Compare it to Blue is the Warmest Color, another French film about a lesbian couple. That one felt overly reliant on the pretty gratuitous sex scenes and adherence to realism, and it didn’t effectively realize the inner turmoil of the characters. Portrait of a Lady on Fire succeeds in every aspect in which that movie fell short: it communicates intimacy; it’s somewhat elevated (an apparition appears), but it’s all to serve the story and not to say “look at these realistic sex scenes”; it’s carried by terrific actors who can communicate by saying nothing at all.

If I were to compare it to another queer movie with a similar sensibility, I’d compare it to Tom Ford’s gorgeous A Single Man – a move that equally captures the feelings of love, loss, and memory, while still telling a compelling story with rich characters.

This movie hurts on a deep level – it evokes your own emotions, and more importantly – your own memories. For that’s what this movie is so much about: The things you remember of a past lover, however brief that relationship was, as long as the feeling was (or is) real. In many ways, it’s a celebration of love, however lofty that sounds.

Every Frame a Painting

Not only do we as viewers take note of Héloïse’s face, mannerisms, and state of mind – we’re also spellbound by the dazzling cinematography. I can’t stress this enough: Every frame is indeed a painting where the colors pop, and the framing and light are utilized to maximum effect. It really is gorgeous. Cinematographer Claire Mathon and the film crew works expertly with color, costumes, angles, mirrors, light, and framing to make every frame as captivating as possible. Other than Sam Mendes’ 1917, I can’t remember a movie that I found as visually arresting as this.

Narrative first

The movie is also a feminist one (in case you haven’t noticed), but thankfully it doesn’t try to cram any politics down your throat – it’s more concerned with the aesthetics, the characters, and the story. That’s not to say that it doesn’t have something interesting and timely to say: it deals with female agency, the constraints or marriage (especially arranged ones), and abortion. However, it does so in pretty subtle ways, much because of it’s setting where we understand that a lesbian relationship won’t be accepted. We know that women are married away and that a marriage to a husband is the be-all and end-all. And yeah, abortion wasn’t exactly kosher back in those days.

This enables us to draw comparisons, reflect on said topics, and wonder just how different it is today. But ultimately (and thankfully), the movie isn’t as concerned with politics as it is with the characters and their story. And while it’s a cinematographic feat, it doesn’t lose itself to the imagery – instead, it all works in tandem to reinforce the narrative and the characters.

Already a contemporary classic

I do have some nitpicks: It could’ve cut a certain subplot to better serve the story at hand and improve the pacing, and there are times when the poetic French dialogue feels a little off; it’s too contemporary and perhaps a self-conscious. But we accept the latter precisely because it is a French movie! Plus, the acting is so excellent, and the delivery is so spot-on that you don’t think about it too much. The subtext is apparent while neither being too on the nose nor pretentious, striking the perfect balance between thoughtful and artful.

In many ways, it feels like Portrait of a Lady on Fire has already become a contemporary classic, and it’s very well deserved.