Written by Mariela Brown
In 2020, director Céline Sciamma and actress Adèle Haenel stormed out of the forty-fifth César Awards in protest of Roman Polanski’s receipt of a directorial award. Both women are vocal feminists and their presence reverberated through the French film industry – notably with the premier of Portrait of a Lady on Fire or Portrait de La Jeune Fille en Feu in 2019. This historical romantic drama follows two women on the Island of Brittany in the late eighteenth century. An artist named Marianne (played by Noémie Merlant) has been commissioned to paint the portrait of a headstrong aristocrat named Héloïse (played by Adèle Haenel). Set in a deeply disconnected patriarchal world, the film follows the blossoming friendship between the protagonists and their maid, Sophie (Luàma Bajrami), and the burgeoning romance between the two women. Garnering numerous nominations and accolades at esteemed events like the Cannes Film Festival and the César Awards, Portrait of a Lady on Fire stands as a testament to Sciamma’s formidable talent. Adèle Haenel has since retired from cinema in line with her complaints about complacency within the industry when confronted with sexual violence. Although superficially a historical romance, this film is infused with profound layers that dissect the pervasive influence of patriarchy in eighteenth-century Europe. Despite the oppression of women being the catalyst for the story, Sciamma’s film is noticeably devoid of men and her portrayals of oppressive forces are completely unembodied. Sciamma’s politics are adroitly weaved into a visually stunning tapestry and thematically rich story. Although this review is very belated, I hope it further encourages those in want of a feministic education to enjoy this emotionally resonant historical masterpiece.
The crux of the tension within this piece lies in the looming arranged marriage of our protagonist, Héloïse. Marianne is an artist, tasked with painting Héloïse’s portrait, as per the pre-marital conventions of the time. This task must be clandestine as Héloïse refuses to sit for her portrait due to her rejection of her forthcoming marriage to an unknown Milanese man. This detail is made all-the-more emotive due to the revelation that Héloïse’s older sister committed suicide due to her rejection of this same marriage. Héloïse has too been torn away from her egalitarian community in the religious orders to bear her sister’s fate. While Marianne attempts to assuage Héloïse’s reluctance, it is revealed how impersonal this process truly was. Héloïse asks, “What do you know of my marriage?” To which Marianne responds, “You’re to wed a Milanese gentleman, that’s all.” Poignantly, Héloïse responds, “That’s all I know too.”
Although this film has been heavily marketed as a romance, the central tension is not their relationship, but the power-structure that has doomed it to fail. It is a searing depiction of patriarchy’s impact on women in the eighteenth century. Although the world now looks very different to that of eighteenth-century Brittany, the film serves as an urgent commentary on the enduring legacy of arranged marriages, a practice that persists in various forms across cultures even in the ostensibly progressive landscape of the modern world. Arranged marriages are not a bygone relic of the past. Consequently, this begs the question “what has really changed?”
Central to the film, both chronologically and thematically, is the use of mythological iconography. Sciamma employs Ovid’s rendition of Orpheus and Eurydice to symbolise the devastating impact of Héloïse marriage. The myth unfolds as Orpheus ventures into the underworld to reclaim his prematurely deceased lover. Charmed by Orpheus’s music, Hades permits Eurydice to return to the mortal realm on the condition that Orpheus refrains from looking back at her during their ascent. However, in a moment of fatal longing, Orpheus gazes back, causing Eurydice to slip back into the abyss.
The incorporation of mythology serves as a conduit for Sciamma to imbue each female character with a distinct voice, shaped by their interpretation of Orpheus’s tragic misstep. Sophie, in a bitter tone, asserts, “He was told not to but did, for no reason,” reflecting her own fraught relationship with men. Her subplot, marked by an unwanted pregnancy and subsequent abortion, further underscores the pervasive influence of male authority in her life.
Ovid’s tale of anabasis also has more striking parallels with Sciamma’s story. Marianne embodies the impassioned artist, while Héloïse assumes the role of the powerless muse, and both possess a love for each other which is not destined for the land of the living. Héloïse’s impending marriage serves as a metaphorical death sentence, her awareness shaped by the tragic fate of her elder sister. Thus, Sciamma ingeniously uses the image of a wedding dress as a haunting motif throughout the film, symbolising the inexorable march towards separation and loss. We see Marianne become haunted by a spectre stalking the hallways of Héloïse in a white dress, as the finite nature of their affair becomes a stark reality. This double entendre is most striking when both women are destined to part. Before Marianne leaves, Héloïse beckons her to turn around and look upon her in her wedding dress. Marianne turns, sees the final rendition of Héloïse in her white dress and the screen cuts to black. Here, the infamous death scene from the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice has taken on a new dynamic form: the relationship between Marianne and Héloïse has been killed, and Marianne is destined only see the ghost of her lover wearing a wedding dress, forever betrothed to another.
Sciamma’s adept use of mythology to underpin the most political theme of the movie makes this film a multi-faceted masterpiece. Her command of classical narratives leaves her on-par with Ovid, and her use of cinematography and costume to enrich the story of Orpheus and Eurydice for a modern audience is spellbinding. Through its meticulous exploration of the complexities of power, agency, and love, the film transcends its historical setting to deliver a searing indictment of the enduring legacy of patriarchy and the resilience of its oppressive mechanisms. Although it is regretful that Adèle Haenel has retired from the film industry, her legacy within it will remain one of female empowerment and unfaltering conviction. This French cinematic gem serves as a testament to that legacy, further solidifying its place in cinematic history.
Bibliography
2019. Portrait de la jeune fille en feu. Directed by Céline Sciamma.
Stevens, Benjamin. 2020. “”Note the Lover’s Choice, but the Poet’s”: Classical Receptions in Portrait of a Lady on Fire.” Frontières.
Retrospect Journal 