I watched Portrait Of A Lady On Fire a few days ago and it was so very well done. The lighting and sound was all purposeful, created well for the explicit understanding of the relationship between Héloïse and Marianne. There was a kind of romantic understanding that seemed to be present from their very first interaction.
It is always tragic when women have to marry for status and stability rather than for love. That is what my English Literature coursework is about — sacrificing mutual understanding for seeming comfort (although my professor says that comfort is the wrong word; I disagree). Seeing Héloïse with a daughter at the end brings you to the same shock that Marianne seems to feel when she looks at the painting, even a little bit of betrayal. It is really, really striking. But when we see the book she is holding, the page she keeps open, we also recognise that she /remembers/. She keeps Marianne's memory awake, through this book, the sketch she had done. For both, this seems to be enough. No need for the romance, it seems to say, the touches, the love, the passion. The memory is the only thing that matters. The care, that is, that they have mutually despite being separated.
I don't know quite yet if memory is enough. Isn't experience also what matters? Do you think we can simply go on, tortured by the possibility of love without true recognition of it? Of course, we cannot blame Héloïse, not really — we must look at her marriage form a class-conscious perspective (that is the only way for her to have any place in society, as a woman). Yet, in a more contemporary light, a romance or even a friendship cannot be sacrificed so easily. Especially not one that has so distinct an understanding between two people, almost like the more reductionistic word, "soulmates".
