Silence. That is what greets us at the beginning of this tale and that is what remains throughout. A constant presence at the edge of the wings. Everything else happens in random, broken, infinite moments between this silence. And that is what sets this story apart from the thousands floating out there.
Roaring winds, crashing waves, drowsy candle-lit chambers, and a handful of stolen glances that seem eternal. Portrait of a lady on fire is a story of rebellion, of a young girl’s desire to be something more than what has been decided for her, to be something more without having to jump off the side of a cliff.
It is Heloise’s refusal to be painted for a marriage portrait that brings Marianne to the shores of 18th century Brittany. It is all very gothic with weathered old castles, stretches of barren countryside, rustic festivals around bonfires and the unusual but strangely welcome absence of men. Celine Sciamma has masterfully created a world that we didn’t know we wished for.
It is also a world abound with secrets.
Marianne is hired by a Countess with the instructions that she is to paint the Lady’s daughter without her knowledge. Marianne’s subject eludes her for a long time. Nobody wishes to speak about what had happened to the elder child of the family and of course the forbidden affair that blooms in the second half of the film. Secrets are as much a part of the tale as the silence.
There is also a certain softness to the film. As it carefully unravels all its threads, we, the audience, slowly discover the joy of simple things. Of sewing the likeness of flowers that will dry up or debating over the actions of mythological beings. We also discover the quiet strength of sorority when class lines dissolve, and Heloise and Marianne help their maid Sophie abort an unwanted pregnancy. During the act itself, Heloise stops Marianne from looking away and forces her (and in turn us) to confront the scene, to see the unseeable. They even end up recreating the scene later and making a painting of it, which is a new kind of liberation that brings to mind Heloise’s words, “…equality is a pleasant feeling.”
Gaze is an irreplaceable factor in the story. At the beginning of the film, it seems quite obvious who the artist is and who the subject is. Marianne poses as Heloise’s walking companion to secretly study her. What she doesn’t realize is when she is watching her subject, her subject is gazing back. The observer becomes the observed even as the story progresses to dissolve the lines separating the artist and the art. This interchangeability and fluidity sometimes overwhelms us, the viewer, because it is such a beautiful representation of life and the way humans often communicate with each other.
A sense of tranquillity prevails in the film that doesn’t really last forever, but just in that moment. Almost like a metaphor for life itself. Doesn’t matter how long it is but how fulfilling it is. Forever in a moment. Ironically, this same bubble of forever brings a sense of urgency and desperation to our two lovers. To make the most of the time they had been given.
The tranquility prevailing over the entire film breaks only once. At the climax. And it happens so powerfully and so unexpectedly, that the sheer lyrical magnificence of it leaves you spellbound in a heap of your own hopes, needs, and desires. Marianne stares at Heloise and Heloise too sees her, as the winds rush in the background and the crickets sing, hailing the arrival of an untimely, welcome summer storm.
–Anwesha DasGupta
The Whispering Winds 