The Spectator - 29.02.2020

48 the spectator | 29 february 2020 | http://www.spectator.co.uk

BOOKS & ARTS

Cinema

What a scorcher

Deborah Ross

Portrait of a Lady on Fire

15, Key Cities

Céline Sciamma’s Portrait of a Lady on

Fire is set on a remote, windswept Britta-

ny island in the late 18th century. It’s about

two women falling in love and it’s raptur-

ous, scorching, ravishing and will lock your

eyes to the screen. I’ve seen it three times

and on each occasion my eyes were locked

to the screen. At this point I could also say

it’s a film that tells the male gaze to go take

a running jump, then follow up with one of

my lectures on post-structural feminism, as

I know you are keen on all that, but ‘raptur-

ous, scorching and ravishing’ will do for now.

Plus it is deeply romantic. And wildly sexy.

And, my God, so full of feeling. So let’s just

go with all that.

Noémie Merlant stars as Marianne, an

artist employed by a countess (Valeria Goli-

no) to paint her daughter Héloïse (Adèle

Haenel) on that windswept island. Héloïse

Adèle Haenel as Héloïse in Portrait of a Lady on Fire

is betrothed to a Milanese nobleman but

before the marriage can proceed he must

see a portrait because that’s how it worked

before Tinder. However, there is a problem.

Héloïse’s older sister was similarly betrothed

but fell to her death from a cliff — or did she

jump? — and Héloïse has thus far refused

to be painted. So Marianne, who arrives

in the guise of a walking companion, must

observe her closely and then paint later in

secret. Marianne looks. And looks and looks

and looks. Until, finally, Héloïse looks back.

It is all in the looking, and in looking at the

looking we are taught to look too. I don’t, for

instance, think I’ll ever be able to look at an

ear again without taking note of its ‘warm

and transparent hue’ and how it must ‘yield

to the cheek’. In fact, I haven’t stopped look-

ing at ears since.

Sciamma, who also wrote the screen-

play, has created a film of patient tenacity

as longing and desire slowly build. There

are no men to speak of and, with the coun-

tess away on a trip, that leaves just Mari-

It is deeply romantic. And

wildly sexy. And, my God,

so full of feeling

anne and Héloïse in the house along with

the servant girl, Sophie (Luana Bajrami).

They play cards, share meals, smoke pipes

— Marianne is fond of a pipe — and read

Ovid in the evenings as that’s how it worked

before Netflix. Here, women’s bodies are

not idealised, so, interestingly, it’s periods,

unwanted pregnancies, armpit hair. Yet

while there are no men, their power is eve-

rywhere. Héloïse must accept her matrimo-

nial fate. Marianne can only exhibit under

her father’s name and is not allowed to

study the male nude form. (‘Is it a matter of

modesty?’ asks Héloïse. ‘It’s mostly to pre-

vent us doing great art,’ replies Marianne.)

But Sciamma is so smart, and the characters

feel so true and real, that none of this feels

like the feminist dogma you are so keen on.

In fact, the two leads inhabit their charac-

ters so fully it’s as if they are not acting, even

though you know they are.

Portrait is a film about what it’s like to

truly see and be seen, and while never melo-

dramatic, it does culminate with a crescen-

do of feeling and if ‘page 28’ of Marianne’s

sketchbook doesn’t break you, absolutely

nothing will. I was going to add that you’ll

understand if you go and see this but there

must be no ‘if’.

Arts_29 Feb 2020_The Spectator 48 26/02/2020 10:44