Marianne must close her eyes to recall Héloïse. For Marianne, Héloïse exists when she can see her.
Héloïse, however, does not need to see Marianne to delve into her feelings. She does not need to see her one last time. Her desires are deeply entombed inside herself, ready to surface through a tremble.
Portrait of a Lady on Fire is a film about many things, abortion, art, but it is ultimately a portrayal of desire. Through vividly meticulous tableaux that establish this world of women, to a silent, steady pacing of choice words and shared experiences, the film reveals slowly the power of desire and how this force can change the way you see and experience the world.
The two lovers know that theirs is a short-lived romance, but they are nonetheless changed forever.
Marianne, the portrait painter, learns from Héloïse how to see beyond formal conventions. From her portrait of her, to Sophie’s abortion, to her later paintings including the title portrait and her salon showcase featuring an original adaption of Eurydice and Orpheus, Marianne, the artist, in turn changes how we see the world.
Marianne’s portrait sketch of Sophie’s abortion is unlike anything we can recall in the male-centric canon of art history. In her adaptation of Eurydice and Orpheus, the lovers are not doomed, because they appear to see each other one last time, as if to say good-bye. Even her portrait of Héloïse, the one pulled out by one of her new painting pupils, defies convention. Running lengthwise into a landscape, the dark night engulfs a lone figure illuminated by moon light from above and by flames from below. She is alone in the world, and her solitude is already a defiance of every social order of the day.
Set in 17th century France along the south shores of Brittany, we meet Marianne as she travels, unaccompanied across the choppy waters to fulfill her commission. When her belongings fall into the water, and when she must carry them up to the shoreline, she does not ask anyone for help. The film understands that women do not need help. The film understands that men are not helpful to the lives of women, unless it is a father’s name a daughter can submit her painting under or a foreign suitor whose advantageous marriage will lead to a more exciting life for his new mother-in-law.
Under the pretence as a walking companion, which is already under the pretence of a suicide watch, Marianne is asked by Héloïse’s mother to paint her daughter in secret. Héloïse’s refusal to sit has already frustrated one portrait painter away, and her portrait must be painted and sent forward to her suitor in Milan. The completed portrait will seal her fate, both Héloïse’s mother’s wish to live in Milan and Héloïse to live out the life her sister wilfully evaded. When the finished portrait is sealed into its casing, was it even possible to not imagine the nailing shut of a coffin?
Our introduction to Héloïse feels prolonged. We hear about her first. We see her portrait with the face entirely destroyed. The hem and body of her dress floats across the floor as it is carried to the makeshift studio for study. When we first meet her, we see only her back. She walks ahead, and like Marianne, we are eager to see her. Instead, we see the swaying hypnotic folds of her hooded cape. The erotic charge of the bobbing swaying fabric that falls away under the body’s sprint stops short of the cliff’s edge. The momentum of this scene, and running throughout the film, is of sustained desire.
Marianne closes her eyes in concentration during one of her secret painting sessions. Formally trained as a portrait painter by her father, who only ever appears by reputation, Marianne intimately observes Héloïse in order to recall her later. She at times even sees her as a vision and as a premonition. On their walks together, Marianne studies the placement of Héloïse as she rests one hand over the other. Marianne attentively observes the curvature and recesses of Héloïse’s inner ear. Like a new lover exploring and learning every intimacy of her other’s body, the camera lingers, mesmerized by each new detail.
The first time we see Marianne recalling Héloïse is years after they’ve met, when Marianne has presumably taken over her father’s portrait business. We hear her instructing her pupils. Her instructions are didactic. They are intended to follow the day’s traditional conventions. But she is both teacher and model. Her concentration breaks when she sees her own painting. Only through sight does her desire return.
Héloïse is a contrast to Marianne’s externality. Instead of seeing the world and replicating it, Héloïse is composed entirely of an internal existence that she struggles to communicate. She longs to be understood. She thinks deeply and longingly about something before she does it, from the first time she runs to her first kiss with Marianne. Her anger comes on like a flash, brewing away like a storm. When she sees Marianne’s first portrait of her, she is displeased and biting, because she realizes that Marianne does not really see or understand her.
When Marianne sees Héloïse again, after indeterminate years since their romance, it is first through a new portrait at a painting salon. Marianne rushes through a crowded salon to see this new portrait of the Lady. Héloïse, older, appears in painted form with her young daughter on one side and her own hidden life on the other. Marianne smiles to herself in recognizing their shared past in this portrait of Héloïse before her. The secret code of page 28 is as important to Marianne and Héloïse as lavender wine.
The last time Marianne sees Héloïse, it is from across the auditorium for a performance of Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons, summer concerti. Marianne moves right to left across the screen into the more general balcony seats while she spots Héloïse moving in the opposite direction towards the elite box seats. Héloïse’s face remains reposed with the signs of time passed. She is alone, appearing to relish in the anticipation before a performance. The crowd quiets. The orchestra hums. The first notes of Vivaldi’s staccato frenzy slowly begins. The rhythm of the insects swarming brings back every rush of desire into Héloïse’s body. The camera lens spins ever so gently forward. We see in Héloïse’s body a slight heave of her chest. She suppresses a heavy breath. Her eyes widen. They glow with the fire of brimming moisture. As she breathes, her body shudders. We recognize this piece of music is the same concerti Marianne plays for her on the piano all those years ago. We know this is the moment she first felt the desire to kiss her. Héloïse does not see Marianne across the auditorium. She does not need to.