Directing: A-
Acting: A-
Writing: A-
Cinematography: A
Editing: B+

Not much happens in Portrait of a Lady on Fire, and simultaneously, there’s a whole lot going on. This is the kind of movie that might not seem to be making that great of an impact while watching it, and then later, upon reflection, you find yourself thinking Hey, wait a minute—that movie was excellent.

As such, however, this film is clearly not for everyone. It’s certainly not for audiences who just want to be entertained by movies. This is a prime example of something that dramatically illustrates the difference between a “movie” and a “film.” This is, unequivocally, the latter. It’s tailor-made to be studied, to be admired by intellectuals, and sure, yes, maybe film snobs.

In the midst of watching this film, I occasionally wondered what all the critical fuss has been about. Now that some time has allowed it to sink in, I find myself wondering if maybe it’s a masterpiece. I would bet this film rewards repeat viewings.

And just objectively speaking, for anyone with an open mind, there is a lot to love here. Portrait of a Lady on Fire is a story about women, performed by women, written and directed by a woman: Céline Sciamma. You can probably count on one hand the number of lines spoken by male actors, whose collective screen time clocks in at probably less than five minutes. And the specific context of its late-eighteenth-century setting allows for the story to be surprisingly uncomplicated.

There is something essentially pure in the romance between Marianne (Noémie Merlant), a painter, and Héloise (Adèle Haenel), the young woman whose portrait Marianne has been sent to paint. It takes roughly half the film for the romance even to reveal itself, and it comes to the characters themselves as a surprise. Until then, because Héloise is difficult and refuses to sit still for a portrait due to her resentment over being betrothed to a man not of her choosing, Marianne is asked just to give Héloise company, observe her, and paint her portrait in secret.

And then, once these young women realize their attraction to each other, there is no hand-wringing about it. They both know their station in life—as do both Héloise’s mother, La Comtesse (Valeria Gotino) and the servant, Sophie (Luàna Bajrami). In their different and subtle ways, all of these women find some way toward solidarity, rather than the expected or stereotypical rivalries. There is nothing typical about the storytelling here. Marianne and Héloise spend a lot of time helping Sophie end an unwanted pregnancy, and even that is approached in a frank and straightforward way.

It’s a beautiful thing, to see same-sex relationships—romantic, sexual or otherwise—presented with no complications of shame or guilt. Considering the time in which the story takes place, the historical subjugation of women still plays a part, but never in a heavy-handed way. Céline Sciamma isn’t exploring the dramatic consequences of oppression so much as the sadness of true love denied due to unfortunate circumstances. In that sense, Portrait of a Lady on Fire is he opposite of Ang Lee’s Brokeback Mountain from 15 years ago: that movie was a tragedy, and this is not. This is a romance, pure and simple, but layered with nuances revealed with each closer look.

Much has been made of how great the ending of this movie is. To use the word “great” is arguably misleading, and sets up an unrealistic expectation. I would say that it is eminently satisfying, clever in a way that endears you to the film in a way previously not considered. The very last sequence also uses music in a truly fantastic way, given that up to that point, there the film has no musical score, and features music only when a character plays an instrument a couple of times. But then an orchestral performance comes into play in the very last shot, and I cannot think of another movie in which a single stretch of music ties a story together so succinctly.

Overall: A-