portrait of a lady on fire Archives

TIFF Review: Petite Maman

The best relief for grief is time, advice that is of no practical use in the immediate wake of the death of a loved one. The responsibilities to take care of the deceased’s affairs tend to awaken long-forgotten memories, bringing with them a blanket of nostalgia that can sting as much as it can soothe. Céline Sciamma stakes Petite Maman in the midst of this painful period, a moving exploration of grief and all its subtleties.

Nelly (Joséphine Sanz) is a young girl just old enough to understand the effect that her grandmother’s death has had on her mother (Nina Meurisse), who can’t bear to remain in her childhood house and all its memories. Left to her own devices, Nelly befriends a local girl Marion (Gabrielle Sanz) while her father (Stéphane Varupenne) packs up the rest of her grandmother’s things. Nelly and Marion quickly bond in the woods, united by a common sense of anxiety. While Nelly is still overcoming her grief, Marion is just days away from an invasive operation bound to make any young child nervous.

While Sciamma’s last film Portrait of a Lady on Fire dazzled audiences with its fiery passion, Petite Maman finds the director honed in on the subtleties of human emotion. The film is a quiet work of beauty, cinematographer Claire Mathon wielding the natural landscape of the woods to enhance the narrative’s meditations. With a runtime of just 70 minutes, Sciamma demonstrates her well-deserved confidence by letting the third act conclude right when it’s ready, not a single superfluous scene in sight.

While the adults both behind the camera and on screen help set the stage, the young Sanz sisters are largely entrusted to carry the narrative. It’s a peculiar casting choice to use siblings in roles where their characters are not related, but the talented young actresses work very well opposite each other. There are points where it’s a little hard to tell the two apart, perhaps deliberate, drawing attention to the kind of warm comfort a stranger can provide in trying times.

Grief is often all-encompassing. Even being aware of the idea that all of those painful moments will pass doesn’t really help them actually pass. You look for things to occupy your time until you’re able to be alone with yourself without feeling like the sadness will reopen all the wounds you’re desperately trying to heal.

Film often sets out to explore ideas that are massive in scope, narratives centered on saving the world or meeting the love of your life. Sciamma sets her sights on a narrower target, those days in the immediate aftermath of your whole orbit experiencing a cataclysmic change. A child doesn’t need to understand the depths of grief to reap the benefits of a friendly face when surrounded by nothing but sadness. Petite Maman is a moving reflection on the power of simple human connection in the wake of tragedy.

Portrait of a Lady on Fire Is a Masterpiece

Written by Ian Thomas Malone, Posted in Blog, Movie Reviews, Pop Culture

LGBTQ people have been around since the beginning of time, natural subjects for period pieces. The biggest obstacle is the historical discrimination shown toward our community, limiting the types of narratives that can be told. “Happily ever after” isn’t a concept that gay people got to enjoy until fairly recently. The new French film, Portrait of a Lady on Fire takes on lesbian love at the end of the eighteenth century, a tall order that writer and director Céline Sciamma tackles with ease.

Marianne (Noémie Merlant) is a young painter commissioned to craft a portrait in secret on an island in Brittany. Her subject, Héloïse (Adèle Haenel), resists her mother’s efforts to get her to pose, as she does not want to be married off. Marianne is tasked with spending time with Héloïse to learn her features well enough to paint without her subject’s consent.

Sciamma’s greatest strength as a director is her ability to capture powerful quiet moments between her two stars. Appropriately, Portrait of a Lady on Fire is a slow burn. The film has a very small cast and not a whole lot happens over the course of its two-hour runtime. The pacing works very well, as Sciamma crafts her scenes in a way that constantly leaves you wanting more.

Merlant and Haenal are spectacular. The narrative unfolds over about two week’s time, the kind of stretch ripe for the passion of summer flings. The two present a compelling romance that unfolds fairly naturally, pressed up against the confines of reality. Love thrives in the vacuum of brevity.

Sciamma is superb at crafting scenes that speak volumes without dialogue. There are plenty of dreamy sequences that play around with consciousness. The spooky setting of the island manor also lends itself well to this dynamic. It’s the perfect environment for a passionate fling that fills the mind with love and longing.

Portrait of a Lady on Fire perfectly demonstrates how to depict gay love in a period setting without caving to broader societal expectations. Heartbreak is natural in a world that denied the validity of LGBTQ romance for so long, but we also live in a modern environment that’s grown tired of narratives that bask in gay pain. Too many films have relished in the drama of inevitable breakups. The time is right for a different kind of story.

In many ways, LGBTQ narratives aren’t exactly made for members of our own community. Many are made from the perspective of heterosexual cisgender men, or designed to appeal to an audience who doesn’t know what it’s like to love someone you’re not supposed to be with. The realities of these situations are rarely as dramatic as cinema makes them out to be.

Portrait of a Lady on Fire understands the realities of forbidden love. Moments come, and then they leave. What’s left is the sense of fulfillment brought about by the experience of having felt that burning passion. Love is love, even when it’s not allowed to last forever. Few things ever do.