2019 Top Ten List #2 Portrait of a Lady On Fire (Portrait de la jeune fille en feu)

Director Céline Sciamma

Director Céline Sciamma with actress Noémie Merlant

Director Céline Sciamma with actress Noémie Merlant (left) and Adèle Haenel (right)

PORTRAIT OF A LADY ON FIRE (Portrait de la jeune fille en feu)     A                   

France  (121 mi)  2019 d:  Céline Sciamma

Winner of the Best Screenplay at Cannes, writer/director Céline Sciamma is known for exploring adolescent youth identity and gender issues with earlier films Tomboy (2011) and Girlhood (Bande de Filles) (2014), while she was also a co-writer in André Téchiné’s Being 17 (Quand on a 17 ans) (2016), but this far outshines anything she’s ever done before, easily her most fully mature effort, resembling a performance-driven Jacques Rivette film mixed with the bold feminism of Jane Campion’s The Piano (1993), where the breathtaking beauty of the Brittany seaside coast draws apt comparison, given the painterly detail of cinematographer Claire Mathon.  Unlike Abdellatif Kechiche’s award winning film Blue Is the Warmest Color (La Vie d'Adèle, Chapitres 1 et 2) (2013), the first gay/lesbian themed film to win the Cannes Palme d’Or, Kechiche was criticized for portraying lesbian sex through a male gaze, suggesting it revealed far more about the male director’s desires than how women feel about intimacy, with this film serving as the corrective, nearly entirely eliminating any presence of men from the movie, creating a stunning 18th century historical romance between two women that breathes with life.  Very few films have ever captured female love and desire as potently as this film, and even fewer have been seen through a woman’s viewpoint and perspective, but this film captures the unbridled spirit of first love by unleashing the female gaze, with so much of the film built around that artistic aesthetic, adding so much internalized complexity, with long wordless sequences where the women send long gazes or quick glances at each other, effectively using a naturalistic setting, culminating with a rapturously unedited final shot that may come to define this film for years.  So many gay love stories have felt compromised, as the gay person involved in the project has been overruled by outside forces, leaving certain details suspect, where the intimacy just doesn’t feel authentic.  That simply doesn’t happen here, grounded by the brilliant performances of the two leads, where Marianne (Noémie Merlant) has been commissioned to paint a portrait of Héloïse (Adèle Haenel), a reluctant bride who has been called away from the convent in the wake of her sister’s death, only to learn she’s been promised in marriage to her late sister’s fiancé, with the portrait to be sent to her future husband in Milan, a man she’s never met, as her widowed mother (Valeria Golino), an Italian countess, has made all the marital arrangements in order to return to prominence in Italy.  What makes this more personal than usual is that Haenel and Sciamma are former lovers, where the film was written with Haenel in mind.  As a result, this love story navigates its own way through unchartered territory with an innate sense of familiarity and cinematic gravitas, feeling vibrant and new, where the result is positively jaw-dropping.

While Merlant is a relatively new face, Haenel has been seen before in Katell Quillévéré’s Suzanne (2013), which hasn’t played anywhere in the vicinity since an initial festival screening, Luc and Jean-Pierre Dardenne’s The Unknown Girl (La Fille Inconnue) (2016), and Robin Campillo’s 2017 Top Ten List #8 BPM (Beats Per Minute (120 battements par minute).  Given a brief classroom introduction with Marianne posing as she instructs her young art students, “Take time to look at me,” which becomes a central theme for the film.  Jumping almost immediately into a flashback, Marianne is seen arriving by boat rowed by men to a small, isolated island, where the rough seas offer a rude awakening, leaving her completely drenched when she arrives on shore, having to hike up a steep cliff carrying her own gear to an isolated chateau of an aristocratic family.  Greeted warmly, given a spacious room, she develops an easy rapport with Héloïse’s servant, Sophie (Luàna Bajrami), before meeting the Countess, explaining the difficulty of the assignment, as her daughter refused to sit for the previous painter, so she instructs Marianne to observe her closely, that her daughter thinks she’s just a walking companion.  Much like Hitchcock’s Gothic Rebecca (1940), where a new wife (Joan Fontaine) is overwhelmed by a potent series of small clues about the previous wife who was beloved by all, the first Mrs. de Winter, the impeccable Rebecca, the introduction to Héloïse is similarly quite clever, moving to the front where she remains concealed behind the hood of her cloak, so all viewers can see is a quick glimpse of her blond hair, or an ear lobe, or the sight of a single eye staring back curiously.  She’s equally adamant about her uncertain future, remaining defiantly aloof, not really invested in the idea of marriage, as it was not her own choice, though it does conform to the custom of the times in aristocratic circles as a way of maintaining noble status.  Marianne, who is all eyes, must study every small detail and commit it to memory before retreating to her chamber room at night to draw and paint in private, given only five days, which are lost in nervous uncertainty.  Preferring to show the final portrait to Héloïse herself, she’s not immediately taken by it, feeling blindsided by an act of sabotage, thinking she’s been tricked.  So Marianne impulsively paints over her face, rejecting it as well, which doesn’t exactly sit well with the Countess who is off on a planned trip to Italy, but will return in five days, offering her another chance, with Héloïse strangely agreeing to sit for the portrait this time.  This puts them on more equal footing, and while Marianne has no noble lineage, she has experience in the world, bringing a well-informed and somewhat modern perspective, so when Héloïse is scrutinized so closely, she responds with equal force, becoming a battle of wits, with both sides equally matched.  The essential historical truths ring true, as in this era women are deprived of choosing who they want to marry, whether or not to bear children, and also what they depict on the canvas, as women were prohibited from using male models, effectively minimizing their artistic reach.  For instance, what 18th century female painters can you name?  Not that there weren’t any, but who’s heard of them?  Their exclusion from the profession was no accident.

Sciamma has the foresight to include the importance of Sophie, who is not overlooked, but is a constant presence in the lives of these two women, viewed as sincere and forthright, but undergoes draconian measures when she has what amounts to a painful abortion, which is given a surreal context, particularly when she is lying on a bed next to a newborn infant, yet the powerful imagery is transformed to an angelic painting where it is given an altogether different meaning.  An historical costume drama accentuating the female form, one interesting facet on display is exposed cleavage, where interestingly the lowest on the economic scale (Sophie) reveals the most, while the most wealthy (Héloïse) reveals the least, though the Countess beats all the young contenders by a mile.  With her mother away, the women exude greater freedom, but spend a great deal of time each day working together, with Héloïse becoming an artistic collaborator, not content to be a passive subject (while Sophie does embroidery), developing a romantic friendship that grows by leaps and bounds, but instead of sex on display, which is what male filmmakers prefer, what matters to these women is establishing trust and understanding, which happens before anything turns physical.  While the Edenesque look of the island takes centerstage, becoming an idyllic and highly romanticized dreamscape, it’s also clear that Sciamma has carefully constructed a dialogue of co-equals, which extends into their relationship, making what might appear to be a highly idealized utopian dream to be an essential core of their existing reality.  That may be the most exquisite feature of the film, but it’s well established before the first kiss and the smoldering emotions erupt onscreen, which only accentuates the heart of the message being sent to viewers, as this is not some artificialized triviality, but the real thing.  Perhaps the scene of the film takes place at night as there is a gathering of many women standing around a fire, perhaps dozens, where the darkness of the night actually creates a background look of Da Vinci, given a painterly look in historical detail, when out of nowhere this women’s a capella chorale, composed for the film by Jean-Baptiste de Laubier and Arthur Simonini, La Jeune Fille en Feu (Bande originale du film) - YouTube (3:03), creates a special excitement, using multiple musical refrains, like singing in rounds, where each of the women in the picture comes alive.  It’s a startling moment, but utterly enthralling, building to a scorching intensity, culminating with Héloïse’s dress catching on fire, which seems to release all the repressed desires.  Another musical motif is heard at the end, connecting to an earlier sequence when Marianne was describing the sound of a symphony, something Héloïse had never heard, using words poetically to emphatically create the rush of exhilaration from the “Summer” Presto section from Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, Antonio Vivaldi - Concerto L'estate RV 315 – YouTube (2:49), which is heard again in a miraculous final shot, the camera fixated on the subject, with a stream of emotions simply cascading through one’s veins, exuding a feeling of utter jubilation, while also punctuating an air of untold tragedy, recalling the ancient legend of Orpheus and Eurydice, where the euphoria simply can’t last.  All in all, this redefining film is truly a majestic experience.   

Never Look Away (Werk ohne Autor)

Director Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck

NEVER LOOK AWAY (Werk ohne Autor)             B                    

Germany  Italy  (188 mi)  2018  d: Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck

From the director of The Lives of Others (Das Leben der Anderen) (2006), the director’s first feature film which won the Academy Award for Best Foreign Film and became the most successful German-language film in history, yet it was denied a competition spot at the Berlin Film Festival and was loved everywhere else except in Germany, which took offense to the autocratic portrayal of the East German Stasi secret police that spied on its own citizens with ruthless efficiency, yet suddenly displayed a change of heart.  This is another film that curiously explores the sweeping historical ramifications of the Nazi era in German history, creating an epic, three-hour film where art intersects with life, etched with the melodramatic sweep of a Spielberg film, though displaying a bit more cleverness, actually utilizing the biographical story of German artist Gerhard Richter without attributing his name, though he is thanked in the end credits.  Even the paintings are done by Andreas Schön, Richter’s former assistant, offering a touch of authenticity.  It’s a strange way to tell someone’s story, without acknowledging that person as the inspirational source of the story, and though the film is fictional, it has real-life historical roots.  The director met with the artist prior to writing the film and conducted a series of interviews with him, so it may have initially had his blessing, but Richter, who is an extraordinarily private individual, has all but disowned the film, refusing to allow his name or any of his paintings to be used and would not even allow himself to view the film, so whatever initial interest he might have expressed quickly soured, unhappily describing it “an abuse.”  Still, despite his reservations, Donnersmarck has filmed what amounts to a shockingly accurate recreation of Richter’s family life and personal experiences, where his life comes to personify what most Germans experienced in the three decades from the transition from the Nazi era of the late 1930’s to the construction of the Berlin Wall in 1961.  The film attempts to turn the profound trauma of a nation into a renewed source of energy and inspiration, with art serving as a guiding light, an emblem of resilience, and a sign of better things to come, discovering a new “anonymous” art fusing historical reality with a blurred memory, creating artworks with no author, which explains the German title of the film.  The American title makes less sense, but extends an early developing theme, repeating a line spoken by one of the characters, feeling more like a sound bite. 

The captivating musical score by Max Richter effectively contributes to a larger-than-life creation of stellar emotional moments, while the luminous cinematography by Caleb Deschanel is especially noteworthy, nominated for an Academy Award for the fifth time, but the first in fourteen years.  There’s an opening 45-minute prelude that is easily the best thing in the film, both in terms of originality and intensity, as nothing that comes afterwards is remotely comparable, turning into a romanticized melodrama along the lines of DR. ZHIVAGO (1965), but with characters that are not as fully developed, so one needs to pay particular attention to the opening segments, where like Hitchcock’s Psycho (1960), a lead character is killed off relatively early in the film, with reverberations echoing throughout the rest of the film that continue to have a profound effect on literally everything that happens.  That’s a stunning way to open a film, which starts out innocently enough with a young girl spending the day with her nephew, as a teenaged Elisabeth (Saskia Rosendahl) is bringing her young 6-year old nephew Kurt (already a budding artist) on a museum tour in Dresden in the late 30’s, but already the Nazi’s are staging an exhibition only to condemn and ridicule the works on display, with a mocking tour guide describing the modern, abstract art of Paul Klee, Max Ernst, Wassily Kandinsky and others as “degenerate art,” depicted as worthless junk that belongs in a junk pile, that could be created by children while being sold for astonishing sums, suggesting these were the driving forces of moral corruption and an evil plot against the noble German heritage, where one room entirely featuring abstract paintings was labelled “the insanity room.”  These artists were driven out of the country, seeking refuge elsewhere, yet the exhibitions were extremely popular, drawing larger than usual crowds, some out of sheer curiosity, viewing it as a scandal, but also taking advantage of seeing this kind of art before it was destroyed by the Third Reich.  What’s most intriguing, the film seems to suggest, is that art will outlive all political regimes.  Yet it’s clear Elisabeth is not easily fooled by this damning rhetoric, wanting to expose Kurt to as wide a range of art as possible, reminding him that “everything that is true is beautiful,” condemning censorship of all forms, urging him to “never look away.”  There’s a chilling scene with Elisabeth among the other all-female Hitler youth, given the opportunity to hand flowers directly into the hands of the Führer as he pays them a visit, where she is viewed like a rock star afterwards as the other girls look on in awe.     

But there’s also a meeting in October 1939 of Gestapo medical physicians discussing the implementation of a new plan of Nazi eugenics, weeding out the sick and afflicted from the strong, urging doctors to send anyone showing signs of mental or physical disabilities to special asylums where they would be put to death (described as “mercy killings”) in order to enhance the genetic purity of the Aryan race, filling out questionnaires that were sent out to mental institutions, hospitals and other institutions caring for the chronically ill, where more than 400,000 people were sterilized against their will, while up to 300,000 were killed under a nationwide euthanasia program, taking up “needless” space for more well-deserving soldiers wounded in action.  These killing centers served as the training grounds for the SS officers eventually assigned to extermination camps.  Among the more unflinching depictions is Elisabeth being removed from the family home against her will by German authorities following a diagnosis of schizophrenia, as Elisabeth was prone to swooning episodes of elevated intensity, not dangerous or particularly harmful, but different, like removing all her clothing and playing a Bach refrain on the piano, Bach "Schafe können sicher weiden" from BWV 208 - YouTube (4:58), a piece of amazing beauty and eloquence that literally defines her character, where the Gestapo head of the Dresden women’s clinic, Sebastian Koch as Professor Carl Seeband, initially has her sterilized before assigning her to the euthanasia program, set to the weirdly unworldly music of Klaus Nomi - The Cold Song 1982 - YouTube (4:07) as we eerily witness the guards march a group of naked girls into the showers, lock the doors, and turn on the gas.  Despite our familiarity with history, this is still the most dramatically shocking scene of the film, even as it feels overly exploitive, with little finesse shown by the director to the ultimate savagery of the event, as the ugly historical truths have already been imprinted.  It is the senselessness of her loss that haunts viewers the most, as we simply don’t forget the barbarous nature of this State-imposed mass slaughter, never really losing a connection to Elizabeth’s memory, as she was the most cherished member of the family to young Kurt (Tom Schilling), who grows up to become the lead figure in the film.  Displaying more artistic talent than any of his fellow students, Kurt becomes the prized pupil of the artistic director of the Dresden art academy (Hans-Uwe Bauer), where the East Germans remained under the political domination of the Russian communist movement, where the only valuable art was social realism, meant to inspire the working class.  Under the banner of communism, all other art was deemed self-centered and bourgeois, compatible with other consumer products on display, of no real social value.  Curious how political viewpoints tarnish the value of art, where the political ideal must supersede any artistic model, devaluing not only art but the worth of the individual, who is viewed as weak and worthless all alone, as working in a collective defines the greater good.  While that may be the ideal, little of artistic value was produced under this suffocating system, instead showing signs of defections to the West, which was the East German justification for building the Berlin Wall. 

What follows is the obligatory romance, with Kurt meeting a fellow student also named Elisabeth, but known as Ellie, Paula Beer from Frantz (2016) and Transit  (2018), who is studying fashion design, immediately falling in love, though he has no idea that her father, former SS officer Professor Seeband, ordered the murder of his aunt.  While this creates some intrigue, what’s immediately apparent is how underwritten Ellie’s part is, as she’s simply window dressing, never really a full-fledged character, always viewed as a ghostly mirror image of the initial Elisabeth role.  In fact it’s her father with a more prominent role, rebounding from his initial fall from grace, stripped of his authority after the war, yet still managing to land on his feet, where he remains a shining example of postwar success, winning prestigious accolades from the medical community, pledging his fidelity to communism, and despite his former history with the SS, he maintains his elite social status in the community, eventually returning to his former position.  As Kurt is a mere painter, he looks down upon him as an inferior suitor for his daughter, attempting to undermine their relationship, even devising a well-constructed lie about Ellie’s fragile health in order to abort their expectant child, intentionally damaging the future prospects of his daughter to ever conceive a child, still playing the eugenics card.  Ellie soon learns of his despicable acts, literally despising her father’s smug arrogance and domineering control, while Kurt reaches a dead-end in his artistic aspirations in the East as well, both defecting to the West when it was as easy as simply taking a transit to the other side, literally weeks before the construction of the wall, traveling light so no one would suspect,  bringing with them only a few possessions, which includes a photo album of Kurt’s family, which would prove significant, eventually using it as source material for his budding career.  Curiously, the first movie they see in the West is Psycho (1960).  While he was a wunderkind in the East, Kurt has no status whatsoever in the West, expressing little interest in traditional methods, choosing the Düsseldorf Academy of Fine Arts due to its heightened reputation for a free-spirited approach to avant garde art.  The film is literally an introductory course to painting and the various methods of radical artistic expression in the 60’s, including wildly pretentious looking examples of performance art that were all the rage, with one of the leading proponents being Joseph Beuys, a member of the Nazi youth who became a Luftwaffe pilot, offering a brilliant monologue where he describes being shot down in the Crimea, nursed back to health by Tartar tribesmen that he was sent to bomb, reinventing himself as an artist, played in the film by an eccentric professor who never takes off his hat (Oliver Masucci), and while he’s not identified as Beuys, that’s who the character is modeled after.  The professor takes a particular interest in Kurt, suggesting “you have seen more than any of us,” himself moved by tragedy and personal loss, granting him admittance on a hunch, offering him a studio and privileged status, yet the open-ended chance to create whatever he wants leaves him a bit awed at the prospects, just staring at a blank canvas for days on end until suddenly he feels inspired to begin a series of photo paintings, which include a picture of himself as a young boy with Elisabeth, or staunch passport photos of an overly rigid Professor Seeband, then blurring them in white paint, where they resemble fading memories, or optical illusions.  Amazingly, the paintings suggest a unique connection when he integrates Seeband’s portrait into the picture of Elisabeth, a dazzlingly effective dissolve technique, which is the start of a new career of instant success.  Interviewed by the press after a gallery exhibition, he makes claims about anonymous art pursuing “the truth,” yet the irony is that he’s no closer to it, but viewers given the backdrop to the story may be devastated by the redemptive implications where art truly does intersect with reality in strange and mysterious ways.