Sometimes, the best pieces of art are the ones that keep
things simple. Sure, I take great pleasure in watching and analysing films that
have a lot going on, giving me ample opportunities to look at all the little
pieces of the production and story and seeing how they all fit together.
However, what can easily result from trying to aim for many things at once is
missing all of them. Keeping a story’s scope narrower means that the filmmakers
are able to focus on a singular notion, building on it so that it supports the
entire production all on its own without the added garnish. I don’t usually
vibe with films that are this low-key, but then again, not every low-key film
I’ve reviewed is as stone-cold brilliant as this little number is.
The story of a love affair between an aristocrat to-be-wed
and a painter commissioned to paint her wedding portrait, played by Adéle
Haenel and Noémie Merlant respectively, this has to be one of the finest
romantic couplings I’ve ever covered on here. Almost scorching the frame with
all the sexual tension on-screen, Haenel and Merlant’s slow and steady lover’s
progression is kind of shocking in how natural it comes across. It’s remarkably
devoid of the typically melodramatic touches I’ve come to expect from more
prestige romance cinema, and considering this is a French lesbian love story,
it’s also refreshingly tasteful. There’s none of Blue Is The Warmest Colour’s perversity to be found here.
And yet, on that same point, they end up sharing the same
approach in capturing their respective romances: Filming the human body as a
work of art. However, where Blue wound up abandoning character sentience for
the sake of titillation in that attempt, this film is wholly about art as
metaphor for love. The way that the titular portraiture is depicted, through
Merlant’s attentive eye and Hélène Delmaire’s beautiful IRL artwork, is the act
of re-creating how a given subject is ‘seen’. As in establishing a connection
between observer and subject where one is able to see the other for who and what
they really are. Everything from the placement of the hands to the detailing of
light textures, right up to the facial expressions, is used to quite literally
illustrate the progression of their romance, their deepening connection to each
other, and ultimately why the romance turns out the way it does.
Even outside of the film’s own framing, this aspect of
artistic re-creation isn’t something that gets that much textual consideration.
This manner of direct connection between the two, the subject and the artist,
is one that requires a huge amount of trust in being able to recreate the
person’s… well, soul, for lack of a better word. And it’s a trust that Haenel’s
Héloïse has had trouble giving in the past, as shown with the mentions of past
painters who were unsuccessful in capturing her image. And while part of that
is the notion of trust, there’s also what the completion of the painting
ultimately means: Her being thrust into a pre-ordained relationship that, from
all appearances, she would do only because culture deems that she must. Being
put into an arranged marriage without having experienced actual love first…
yeah, no wonder she rejects it.
Through that lens, with plentiful references to classic art
and the Greek tale of Orpheus and Eurydice, the film’s examination of love both
as memory and as momentary action makes for surprisingly enthralling viewing. I
say surprisingly because, ostensibly, there’s not a lot going on beyond the
budding relationship between Héloïse and Merlant’s Marianne, save for the
occasional interjection of Luàna Bajrami’s maid Sophie who ends up adding to
the film’s points regarding what is lost without the female perspective in art.
But in that seeming quiet, there is a raging fire burning at
the film’s core, one that visually and textually articulates love in such a
fucking heart-wrenching way that it’s an easy contender for best queer romance
of the decade. It may not be as close to my heart as something like Call Me ByYour Name, which honestly served as a major paradigm shift for my own
understanding of love beyond the screen, but it’s really damn close.
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