The Most Enthralling Movie of the Year

It’s a convoluted setup for a complicated relationship, in which Marianne is compelled to observe every intricacy of Héloïse’s personality and movements in order to capture her spirit in a portrait. Over and over again, the camera switches to Marianne’s point of view as she picks up on subtle things about Héloïse—the way she walks, the way her hair moves, the way she positions her arms as her mood changes—that find their way into Marianne’s painting. Eventually, Héloïse learns the truth about Marianne’s assignment. Meanwhile, the artist’s professional observation turns into something deeper and more tender, an attraction that is deeply felt rather than merely imitated on canvas.

Both Marianne and Héloïse are remarkably free spirits for their era, the former earning her keep as an artist and the latter refusing to submit to her mother’s attempts to marry her off. But their independence is itself confined; their relationship can flourish on this remote island, but would never be condoned by the outside world. So Portrait of a Lady on Fire becomes an elegy for passion burning brightly before it’s snuffed out, and a demonstration of how art can memorialize that depth of feeling.

At one point in the film, Marianne, Héloïse, and the countess’s maid Sophie (Luàna Bajrami) read the tragic myth of Orpheus and Eurydice, in which Orpheus nearly succeeds in rescuing his true love from the underworld but traps her there forever when he turns around for one last look at her. Sophie is outraged at his foolishness, but Héloïse understands. He’s picking the cherished memory of his partner over an uncertain future—a sad choice but an undeniably poetic one.

Though the mythic forces of the underworld are not at work in this film, the practical impossibilities of Marianne and Héloïse’s romance function as a similarly insurmountable barrier. Despite this undertone of sadness, the script and the central performances are alive with desire and delight—there’s energy pouring out of every scene Marianne and Héloïse have together. In a film told with sweeping visual scope, Sciamma plunges the viewer into a story and setting of the deepest intimacy. The final result is invigorating but tragic, a snapshot of the inevitable, painfully beautiful ending that Marianne predicted.

David Sims is a staff writer at The Atlantic, where he covers culture.