Marianne (Noémie Merlant) is a young painter in the 1770s who is sent to a remote manor in Brittany at the request of a wealthy countess (Valeria Golino), who commissions her to paint a portrait of her daughter, Héloïse (Adèle Haenel). This presents itself as a bit of a challenge, as the young woman is a bit of a rebel, and considering this portrait will be a gift to an Italian suitor who she is being forced to marry, she is vehemently against anything that helps hasten that process, and thus refuses to take part in the lengthy process of being painted. As a result, Marianne is hired under the guise of being a companion, intended to accompany Héloïse on her daily walks, and in the process memorizing her features, so that she can paint her portrait in private. However, through being in constant proximity with this enigmatic young woman, Marianne finds herself falling deeply in love, which she is shocked to discover is a sentiment Héloïse seems to share as well. The truth of Marianne’s presence is soon made clear, and much to the surprise of everyone involved, Héloïse proves herself to be finally open to the idea of posing for the portrait, which is just a way for her to spend more time with the quiet young artist with whom she develops an intense desire that goes against social conventions, with their love being forbidden, but too powerful for either of them to resist. However, their time together is ultimately finite, and they know that one the portrait has been painted, their companionship will have to end, with both women making the best of their brief but passionate love affair, hoping that the memories they form during this time will be sufficient to compensate for the inevitable years of isolation that they are bound to feel in the midst of being separated due to cultural standards being in firm refusal of their relationship, not understanding that true love knows no physical boundaries.

Let’s talk about Romanticism. Anyone who has had to endure any form of English literature class will undoubtedly be familiar with the idea of the Romantics – a group of writers and artists that reached their peak around the 18th century, and whose work often focused on the beauty of nature and of the human spirit. Predating the Realists, but still be quite intent on venturing out into the world and describing it and its many idiosyncrasies with incredibly detailed language, these writers seemed to be able to capture something about existence that very few subsequent artists were able to. This is a good place to start a discussion on Portrait of a Lady on Fire (French: Portrait de la jeune fille en feu), the astounding pastoral love story written and directed by Céline Sciamma, who has officially confirmed herself not only as one of the most talented filmmakers working today but as an essential artistic voice, someone whose work, whether in the capacity of writer or director, speak to a deeper understanding of the human condition. Her fourth feature film, Portrait of a Lady on Fire is a daring historical drama that touches on many different themes, none of them quite as poignant as the idea of desire, with Sciamma quite brilliantly finding the intersections between Romanticism and romance in her pursuit of representing the story of two women, bound by some ethereal sense of desire, divided by societal expectations that force them apart from each other, and ultimately united by their disregard for the conventions that dictate how they should live their lives. A work of uncompromising beauty and unflinching intelligence, Portrait of a Lady on Fire is quite possibly the year’s finest artistic achievement, a sentimental ode to artistry, desire and the female gaze, crafted by a director whose work continues to stun as a result of her ability to have a firm grasp on the cultural pulse, and the narrative and visual finesse to execute these ideas in a way that is not only compelling but extraordinarily gorgeous as well.

Anyone who has even the slightest knowledge of Céline Sciamma will probably know how, while there are many words to describe her work, no terms comes close to encapsulating everything she has achieved more than one – revolutionary. She is an artistic rebel by nature, something reflected in nearly all of her work. For Sciamma, it’s not enough to break the rules – they need to be rewritten entirely, manipulated and forged in a way that represents the progression of cultural sensibilities, which is something she has adhered to quite great ferocity throughout her career, including in Portrait of a Lady on Fire, which is just about as daring a film as you can possibly get from this subject matter and the cinematic standards she is evoking and ultimately challenging. Far more than just a lavish costume drama, this film is an intrepid piece of social commentary, a fierce indictment on heteronormativity, delivered by a director who has made it quite clear that her intentions are often to break down social boundaries, exploring the depths of identity, desire and anxiety brought on by being in defiance of societal expectations in a way that is profoundly affecting without ever being overwrought or unnecessarily convoluted. Portrait of a Lady on Fire allows her the chance to liberate herself from the confines of the modern world, and venture into the past in an effort to look at very current themes from the perspective of an archaic social system, albeit one not all that different from our own when it is reduced to the most basic qualities. Sciamma’s work here is deeply thoughtful and incredibly gorgeous, with the director taking the audience on a journey into the past, where we are privy to watch two women gradually fall in love and surrender themselves to the unavoidable sirens of fate, done in a way that is not necessarily voyeuristic (an unfortunate trend in films centred on the concept of desire), but rather one that positions us as active viewers in this beautiful love story. The more you ruminate on it, the clearer it becomes that Portrait of a Lady on Fire is an astounding achievement – a film that stands outside the boundaries of contemporary filmmaking, being bold enough to deviate from expectations, but still being powerful enough to remind us of the incredible power of cinema to transport us into entirely different worlds, which is something the director seems to understand all too well, considering the astounding work she did here.

Portrait of a Lady on Fire is a sweeping historical epic presented as a carefully-curated, delicate drama driven entirely by the characters. At first glance, it would appear that Sciamma made something aligned with the majority of period pieces, especially those set during this time. These sorts of films tend to be entirely propelled by lavish displays of luxury and excess, with the glamour of the period being something that fascinates audiences, as it represents a time when overabundance wasn’t reviled, but rather openly encouraged. However, we’d be foolish to consider this to be true of Portrait of a Lady on Fire in any way, because a deeper reading of the film confirms it could not be further from these extravagant but otherwise vapid attempts to recreate history. This is not a stifling, oppressive period drama, but rather a beautifully intimate drama, with Sciamma using the framework of the historical epic as a way of liberating this story from expectations. This is not a traditional period piece, at least not in terms of the story it is intent on telling, with only superficial similarities occurring between this and other films that purport to be historically-resonant tales of previous eras and the social machinations that were contained within. The director’s work here is remarkably lucid – instead of succumbing to the lavish temptation of 18th-century opulence, Sciamma chooses to use it as the starting point for a poignant love story set against the backdrop of the French countryside in the 1770s, a bold move considering how this film is not weighed down by the historical context, but rather buoyant from the incredibly detailed approach to some common themes that are as resonant today as they would have been centuries ago. Portrait of a Lady on Fire is a film situated in a particular time and place, but it doesn’t restrict itself to the specific contexts we see presented here – one of Sciamma’s great merits as a filmmaker is that, despite often working within one particular cultural milieu, her stories tend to touch on universal themes, with the director often demonstrating herself to be extremely adept at tapping into the human condition in a way very few of her contemporaries seem to be able to.

Portrait of a Lady on Fire is a deeply compelling film about love that sets itself in a particular period and location for the sake of giving Sciamma the chance to explore various themes from the perspective of a different social context. The 18th century was certainly a very different time, and as we see throughout the film, romance in particular is not something that is very familiar to any of the characters. These characters exist in a time when marriage was less of a commitment to love, and more of a business transaction to bolster the reputation of the entire film. The film takes its cue from this vision of society that seems so foreign, considering how far we’ve apparently progressed in terms of something as basic as marriage, while still showing that, despite being set in the past, there are certain qualities present in this film that are strangely familiar to modern practices, even if they aren’t particularly clear at first. This is certainly a film that benefits wonderfully from the period in which it is set because it allows Sciamma the chance to delve deeply into the heteronormative commentary in a way that is extremely honest without being heavy-handed. The narrative underpinnings of this film are worth enough on their own because what the director is doing with this story here is quite subtle, but nonetheless extraordinary. Not necessarily a film that intends to capture the historical context in which its set, but rather the sensation of forbidden love in a time when even the most innocent of desires was seen as against the moral fabric of society if it didn’t conform to the standards set out by a heavily puritanical society. Portrait of a Lady on Fire oscillates between extraordinarily joyful, especially in the moments in which we are witness to the two main characters falling deeply in love, but also heartbreakingly sad, with a sense of melancholy existing right from the outset, and only growing in intensity as we realize that this is a film that is going to be beautifully romantic but ultimately ends in despair. Sciamma is a director who understands the gravity of being an artist, with her work constantly taking advantage of the platform to convey a message, which she does here with such effortless elegance, we can often be forgiven for not realizing the extraordinary candour with which she delivers this astounding piece of historical fiction.

Considering the grandiosity of the story, and how it contains explorations of themes much larger than what we’d expect based on previous work in the genre, it’s obvious that Portrait of a Lady on Fire was going to be as gorgeous an experience as it was enthralling in terms of the story it is telling. Sciamma works alongside director of photography Claire Mathon to carefully craft a film that contains some of the most beautiful cinematography of the past few years. It was extremely important that this film captured the spirit of the period and location in which it takes place because the authenticity of this story is what propels it, rather than being just the spectacle, which is the terminal point for most period dramas, but only the beginning for Portrait of a Lady on Fire, which makes great use of every moment to paint a portrait of a time and place that feels so genuine. Mathon’s work here is not to be underestimated – it may not be striking at first, and may appear to be rather similar to the kind of intricate historical film we’ve grown accustomed to – this is until we see the scope of the detail through which she and Sciamma work, with camera working in tandem with the stunning production design and costuming to evoke the period in a manner that doesn’t distract from the story, but rather brings it to life in a truly genuine way. There’s not a false note anywhere to be found in Portrait of a Lady on Fire, which is equally as impressive an artistic achievement as it is a narrative one, each shot being composed with such achingly-beautiful soul. It’s also only fitting that, considering the subject of the film, that Mathon would approach this film as if every scene were a painting, and there are innumerable moments in this film that the camera captures with such vigorous detail, they could be works of art all on their own. This film is essentially a series of gorgeous moments sewn together through an enchanting story of love, and even just from the creative and technical perspective, Portrait of a Lady on Fire is a staggering achievement, with the panoply of beautiful images engraving themselves into the memories of every viewer fortunate enough to witness this stunning world Mathon and Sciamma created.

Film and performance theory has often referred to the concept of “the actor as auteur”, which essentially proposes that in many contexts, the actor is not merely a vessel through which the story is told, but also an active collaborator with the director in the creation of a film. There are few instances of this being more true than in Portrait of a Lady on Fire, which features two of the finest performances of recent memory, on behalf of Noémie Merlant and Adèle Haenel, who are absolutely astonishing. This film is a character-driven piece, and the emphasis is placed on the actresses, who take on the challenge of carrying this film almost on their own, under the guidance of Sciamma’s incredible story that gives both of them some truly impressive work to do. There is very little doubt that this a film that benefits not only from extraordinary individual work from both actresses, but also their exceptional chemistry, which makes it all the more an enriching experience. Merlant has a slightly more reserved character, playing the timid painter who is commissioned to paint a portrait, and finds herself falling deeply in love with the subject in the process. Marianne is the audience surrogate, whose perspective is the one we experience the film through, which makes it all the more compelling that so much of her portrayal is internalized, but not underexplored. The female gaze plays an incredibly important role in the film, and as we see in the quiet moments in which Marianne is painting, where Merlant’s eyes flicker between the artwork and the person inspiring it, we understand that this is not merely a film about love, but of deep, insatiable desire. Haenel takes on the role of Héloïse, who is inherently more of an outright character but not necessarily without her own enigmatic charms. Haenel’s intensity often contrasts beautifully with Merlant’s fragility, with each actress finding qualities in the other that not only contrast their individual characters, but allow for a sense of symbiosis, where they enrich each other, complementing the performance across from them, and creating an atmosphere in which they’re able to develop truly compelling characters.

In characterizing the individuals they’re portraying, Merlant and Haenel demonstrated remarkable restraint, understanding that this is not a film built on the basis of archetypes, but rather the dismissal of expectations entirely, which was the reason behind the emotional poignancy of the film. When confronted with the opportunity to employ excess, both actresses deftly avoid the temptation and go for something far simpler, developing these characters from the most simple qualities, aligning itself with the film’s tendency towards meticulous detail on all fronts. Sciamma and the two actresses seem to understand something many filmmakers never realize, namely the incredible impact non-verbal communication in acting. There are numerous moments in Portrait of a Lady on Fire where so much is said without a single word being uttered, mainly because of the realization that something as simple as a glance or subtle gesture can resound with the intensity of myriad words, and even say so much more than that. It’s difficult to conceive of the true scope of what these performers do with these roles, and they prove that there are some sensations and emotions that simply can ever be expressed in coherent terms. No amount of words can ever describe the longing in the eyes of Haenel as she watches Merlant play the piano, the first indication of the two characters falling in love, or the deep sadness both characters express in the final scene, as they’re overcome with emotion due to the memories that they’ve held onto for years, grasping them in fear that they’ll erode into faded recollections. Sciamma is a maestro of emotional detail, and she narrowly avoids overt sentimentality – the melancholy is potent without being saccharine, and for a film that concerns itself with the inscrutable nature of love, and the heartbreaking separation that inevitably occurs, it’s an impressive achievement to have been able to not resort to mawkishness – then again, Sciamma has never been one for that anyway, so Portrait of a Lady on Fire was certainly not going to be any different.

Despite the scope of the film,  Portrait of a Lady on Fire is a relatively simple affair, and so much of it takes the form of Sciamma looking at the concept of identity, a subject that has been omnipotent in nearly all of her work. It could be considered something of a change for her in terms of the subject matter, as this isn’t a film mainly concerned with the coming-of-age of young people, even if there are some elements scattered throughout it in terms of how these women grow as individuals. If we could condense this film into a single theme, it’s that of identity. Sciamma has never wavered from exploring the quandaries that come with individuality in her work, and whether as a feminist statement or as a piece of queer fiction, Portrait of a Lady on Fire is an incredibly complex work that looks at the development of identity in the midst of a society where one’s entire life is set out for them before they even come of age, due to stifling conventions that guide how different individuals should live their lives and operate socially. This is a film about defiance, with the director looking at the intersections between the main characters’ realization that they don’t need to be confined to socially-mediated behaviour, and that the liberation that comes with breaking free from these boundaries is a revelatory experience. Obviously, Portrait of a Lady on Fire is a film rooted in reality, and as we’ve already noted, the romance at the heart of the film is established as being finite right from the outset. However, this isn’t all the film intends to say – the experience of watching Marianne and Héloïse develop as individuals is exactly what Sciamma is hoping to impart, and is what lingers most after the film has ended. They were as important to each other on a carnal level as they were on the spiritual – they needed each other, not only to satisfy the visceral cravings they felt when they were together but also to realize that their social position, contrary to what they are lead to believe, is not stagnant – with enough willpower and conviction, anyone can overcome normative standards. The challenge is not only being recognized by society but accepting this in yourself. It’s the most complex theme of the whole film, but also the one that has the most impact, because it speaks directly to modern issues of identity, where countless people still struggle to overcome certain cultural ideals, feeling the same sense of alienation as the two main characters. It’s a wonderful exploration of very real challenges, and through presenting it in such a magnificently gorgeous perspective, Sciamma is able to make even more of an impact.

Ultimately, as much as we can say about Portrait of a Lady on Fire in terms of its overarching thematic content, the gorgeous filmmaking and the astounding lead performances, this film often works the best when we reduce it to the simple quality of just being an enduring love story. Sciamma has always employed some form of the coming-of-age story in her work, and while this is not necessarily in line with some of her other stories, it does feature some qualities, particularly in the idea of a very specific kind of education. Both Marianne and Héloïse find themselves undergoing a kind of romantic growth, learning about the trials and tribulations of love through engaging in a passionate affair. The film being set in a time when love wasn’t as central to our lives was a bold decision, but one that allowed the director to immerse the audience in this fascinating account of love in a different time. The characters learn that love is very different from what they’ve been led to believe – there’s an indication that both women have never felt the yearning of desire quite like they did after meeting the other here. Portrait of a Lady on Fire is essentially a historical epic set around a passionate love affair, where the two women learn the machinations of love and the inevitable heartbreak that will come along with it. It’s difficult to describe how delicate the approach to this theme is in this film, and Sciamma navigates this challenging narrative territory with such elegance, it never feels overwrought, but rather so incredibly delicate. The film lacks the histrionics that we’d normally expect from such a story and replaces it with a sense of beautiful sorrow. The filmmakers have made a touching ode to the very nature of love, and how the longing that comes with it can sometimes be the most harrowing experience, because of how, despite how one would tend to think differently in the midst of it, love is impermanent – but it isn’t an indictment on love, but rather a moving reminder that pleasure is fleeting, but memories are not. The ending of Portrait of a Lady on Fire is certainly agonizing, but still strangely beautiful, solely for Sciamma’s decision to focus on the transition from immediate passion to fond memories – and while the shot of Héloïse gradually losing her composure as she remembers what is implied to be the love she has carried with her throughout her entire life, may be heartwrenching, it’s also profoundly meaningful because it shows that the matters of the heart are something no amount of description can ever hope to encapsulate. Love certainly is very strange, but it’s unquestionably beautiful, even when it is only temporary.

In no uncertain terms, Portrait of a Lady on Fire is an utter masterpiece. What Sciamma does with this material defies all logic, with the film being a truly remarkable experience, the likes of which are rarely ever glimpsed, especially not without such incredible lucidity. This film is magnificent in so many different ways – the visuals are amongst the most beautiful of the past few years, with the film itself being executed with the delicate pulchritude that the story warranted, being carefully-placed and simply enchanting in how it manages to represent the era with such sophisticated simplicity, yet appear so ravishingly beautiful – Portrait of a Lady on Fire could easily come to be seen as one of the great cinematic love stories, with Sciamma’s attention to creating a truly romantic atmosphere where the theme of desire can be explored without ever having to resort to explicit eroticism, being exactly what this kind of story deserved. The two central performances are extraordinary, and both Merlant and Haenel portray these challenging characters with such poise and gracefulness, which makes the many moments in which they offer us a glimpse into the souls of these characters, normally through something as simple as the most subtle of expressions or a lingering glance, all the more memorable. There aren’t many films that incite such a powerful reaction in the audience, but through the seamless blend of visual splendour and narrative brilliance, Céline Sciamma makes a truly exceptional piece of cinema that feels so authentic. She has somehow captured reality and committed it to film, doing it in a way that was unfiltered, visceral and completely honest. Portrait of a Lady on Fire is one of the few films that could be spoken about for eternity, but ultimately, there just aren’t enough words to describe it. Like the romance Sciamma represents throughout, it’s sometimes better to leave some things unsaid, not because we shouldn’t discuss them, but nothing can ever replace the experience of seeing it first-hand. Intricately-woven and extraordinarily meaningful, this film is just beyond any conceivable description.