Translated interview
Love and let love
Pamela Jahn, in: ray Filmmagazin, October 2019
// Additions or clarifications for translating purposes are denoted as [T: …]. //
Céline Sciamma’s brilliant ‘Portrait of a Lady on Fire’ opens the Viennale 2019. A talk with the French director about her ambitions, love and why you can do without men in her film.
She likes to think of herself as film activist [T: also see here], and looking at her work confirms this. Céline Sciamma is a force in French cinema, but this hasn’t yet created a ripple effect internationally. After her coming-of-age trilogy (Water Lilies, Tomboy, Girlhood), the French director and screenwriter Céline Sciamma now created an elegant but also radical period film with Portrait of a Lady on Fire. [T: Partly omitted short description of film] The two women slowly get closer to each other, determination turns into restraint, curiosity into desire, and Sciamma’s great skill is in making the intimacy between the characters tangible in a very sensual manner. Her brilliance and experience in utilising the cinematic art of seduction of all kinds make this film special, and it opens up a new perspective on the art of looking and thinking.
Interviewer: Part of the fascination for this film is in the process of discovery, the way that we, the audience, slowly get to know the face, the body, and the gestures of Héloïse. How did you develop this process from your perspective as screenwriter and director?
Céline Sciamma: First of all, it took a long time to write this. I don’t actually mean the writing itself but rather dreaming about it. The idea for the film came right after Girlhood, about five years ago. But then I allowed myself to just daydream about it for two, three years, without writing anything down, apart from a couple of notes, a page here and there, where I tried to find the right balance between the different approaches that I had in mind for the film. On the one hand, there was the idea that you implied, developing a choreography of discovery to show how someone falls in love with another person, and at the same time accurately convey this process through cinema with all its possibilities, step by step. In other words, I was interested in the joy of discovery, but also in the delay and frustrations that might occur with this. On the other hand, I also wanted to show the progression of a love story, its past, its future, this epic period of time where everything seems possible. I wanted to make a film about the dialogue of love, about its philosophy and poetry. And this takes time, to find the necessary balance, but also to steer the film in a direction that seems radical enough to me. It was important for me to find the right structure, in order to both integrate the dialogue of love and dialogue of art. That was my task, my personal mission. I had the ambition to convey all these ideas without becoming too theoretical. The film should seem playful instead, be exciting and fun – fun while filming and watching.
I: Were you inspired by certain paintings for the aesthetics of the film?
CS: My cinematographer and I, we discussed the lighting and the framing for a long time, and at one point [T: she] said: ‘Okay, let’s do this, we won’t consciously set it up like a painting, but secretly we both know it’s exactly like that.’ This means we didn’t tell ourselves that the whole thing should look exactly like a painting by Georges de La Tour or whoever [T: also see here, a pipe and a candle, hmm]. Quite the opposite. Our references came primarily from cinema, especially when it was about lighting a film with candles. But we were of course aware that everyone would say afterwards that it looks like it was painted. Cinema is about similar things after all: It is about lighting, composition, faces and silhouettes. There were no real references to paintings apart from one, but it was rather anachronistic, because it wasn’t from the same period as the film was set in. However, we always had to think about [Jean-Baptiste-Camille] Corot, a French painter from the 19th century, who mostly painted landscapes. But he also did a few paintings of women, women in landscapes. And we were quite thrilled about the way that the light seems to radiate from the figures in his pictures [T: also see here]. The figures somehow illuminate the painting, and we worked hard to create a similar effect with the colours and the clothes of the characters. [T: Also see here for an in-depth article on the cinematography of the film]
I: What were your film references?
CS: Barry Lyndon had certainly the biggest influence, not only on me, but on cinema in general, when it comes to lighting a period film. It doesn’t mean that we should do exactly the same as Kubrick did. Barry Lyndon is a film with an incredible amount of ideas, which make you think, and it’s a film that gives you more courage in what you do. That means, instead of duplicating something it’s rather about developing a standard, which you don’t have to necessarily adopt, but you can work towards it. And for that we developed our own methods to create a certain mood and aesthetics. Just like Kubrick who invented a lot for his film. He even came up with his own lens, so that he can produce the atmosphere he wanted. We made things and thought about finding a way to manage without candles in the picture, which was decided very early on. [T: also see here, here or here for Barry Lyndon]
I: The setting plays an important role in both films, Kubrick’s and yours. It develops its own character, in a way.
CS: That’s true. The building where we filmed had an unbeatable advantage: It hadn’t really been touched for years. It’s an old suburban city hall in the municipality of La Chapelle-Gauthier, about 70 km from Paris [T: also see here, h/t @podcastofaladyonfire]. When we found it, [T: we] weren’t quite sure. It seemed like a place from another time. But as soon as we stepped into it, we knew how it was. We also knew that everything should remain as it was. That’s not very common, because it’s usually about reconstructing the period in a period film, in which the story is set, so that you achieve the highest possible degree of authenticity and truthfulness. Apart from that, I mostly made all of my films in the studio. The apartments, where my protagonists lived, were all recreated. And now I suddenly had to struggle with a fourth wall. It would have made more sense not to film on an original location. It’s a paradox, but I really like it.
I: You made another conscious decision, which was mostly excluding men from your film.
CS: Yes, that was already clear from the outset. It wasn’t like I only killed the men in the cutting room. The main reason for this was that I wanted to tell a love story that is lived. And I wanted to talk about the possibility of their love, not about the impossibility. If I had included men, then it wouldn’t have worked, because the limits of what is possible would have been all too visible. We are very familiar with these limitations and I think, we don’t have to constantly talk about them. I wanted to give these women the necessary space to express themselves and fully live out their love. In other words: I wanted to give them time to imagine what their lives could look like in a world where they don’t have to constantly assert themselves against men.
I: Especially against men that try to interfere with their love.
CS: Exactly. I consciously avoided this conflict. I also didn’t want the two of them to question whether their love story is really possible or not. But that is a question of dramaturgy, not of gender. For me, it was about telling the story in a way that gives them the greatest possible liberty, but which they don’t have in reality. This is not only an imagined liberty but a very tangible one. Fundamentally, it is just another way to point out the limitations that clearly exist for both women. It’s just that we don’t show [T: these limitations], because they are quite obvious. I had the feeling that both women couldn’t imagine another life. Why should I put them in a situation where they fight a battle they cannot win anyway?
I: It seems that going back to the 18th century gave you more liberty to tell the story.
CS: Yes, it really was a liberating process for me, too. A process that made me more courageous as director. Even though, my films were always strongly anchored in the presence, and were in that sense bold, because they were politically motivated. This time I wanted to go a step further, not least because it’s about a female artist at work. The film was meant to playfully deal with the theme, so that you also see my own love for cinema. This is why it seems so intimate at times. Not because I tell my personal story, but because I keep my work less under wraps, treat it less like a secret but reveal it more as a gift.
I: It’s interesting that you not only excluded men but also didn’t include music so much.
CS: That was also a choice that I made in the beginning, or rather had to, because it meant that I had to write the script with this [T: exclusion] in mind. It doesn’t mean that a film without music cannot be musical as well. But you write differently. And it means that you have to show a strong sense of rhythm on set. That wasn’t a problem for me, because I’m anyway obsessed with rhythm. Deciding against music wasn’t meant to be for the challenge, but I wanted to put the audience into a state, where art is also inaccessible to them. So that listening to music will also become precious. The film is about the relationship between art and love, and how important art is for our lives. Listening is therefore meant to become an organic experience. For me, it was about showing that you can reclaim cinema with the power of music [T: also listen to this or this… I have no regrets 😁]. If you really think about it: The piece by Vivaldi, which is in the film, is a hymn, but it’s also typical music when you’re put on hold. It was really exciting to create an atmosphere where you rediscover this piece, which you heard so many times, and in a completely different context and with a new image in mind [T: the most heartbreaking scene ever, here goes Vivaldi, also see here].
I: The last scene of the film is breathtaking. But I can also imagine that it was a huge effort for you as well as for Adèle Haenel to hold this shot for such a long time.
CS: To be honest, that was the most important and most difficult shot that I ever filmed. And with difficult I also mean technically, because you have to ensure that the focus is retained. The poor guy, who had to take care of that, was in a cold sweat during the entire take. It’s not Hollywood after all. This means, he had to sit on a small chair, which was attached to a self-made vehicle that a couple of other men had to slowly move across the room towards Adèle. Everything was extremely improvised. But that’s what cinema is also about: technique. You create something with whatever you have at your disposal, so that there is this brief magical moment on screen, which moves people.
I: Did you also know from the beginning that you wanted to conclude the film with this shot?
CS: Yes, it was the first image that I had in mind, when I started writing. It is one of those images that push you forward, when the doubts overwhelm you. And believe me, I gave up on this film more than once [T: 😱 😌]. But I always knew that if [T: the film came to life], then it should end like this. For me, this image represents a mix of joie de vivre and ancient dream [T: the text says ‘pures Leben’ or pure life, which has more of a positive connotation in German]. I can’t describe it any better. Perhaps it is the last secret that still remains for me.
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Picture source: [1 / Julien Lienard/Contour by Getty Images]