Apart from brief sequences at the beginning and end that frame the main narrative — most of what we see is, in effect, a flashback from Marianne’s point of view — the film never leaves the house and its surroundings. Once the boatman has dropped Marianne off on the beach, men disappear altogether. Male power is still a presence, but no one is around to enforce the rules of patriarchy. When Héloïse’s mother goes on a trip, Héloïse, Marianne and Sophie quietly remake the house into a place of solidarity rather than hierarchy. They play cards, share meals and discuss the meaning of the legend of Orpheus and Eurydice.

The full significance of that myth — an archetypal tale of devotion and loss — becomes clear later on. It’s the story of an artist, and also about the dangerous, irresistible power of looking. And while Marianne and Héloïse have much to say to each other, always using the formal French mode of address, Sciamma is equally attentive to the complex and shifting dynamics of beholder and beheld. There is a precision about who is regarding whom and what it means that is worthy of Claude Chabrol or Alfred Hitchcock.

Except, of course, that the possessive logic of the male gaze has been dismantled. Héloïse, the artist’s model and the object of Marianne’s attention, at first occupies a familiar position. Haenel, radiantly blonde with an enigmatic, neo-Classical face, fuses movie-star charisma with aristocratic poise. But Héloïse, when she finally submits to Marianne’s painterly scrutiny, hardly surrenders her own powers of observation. She is looking too, and the power of their mutual attraction refracts like light passing through a prism.

Painting isn’t the only art form Sciamma mines for ideas and analogies. There is literature and also music — not an added score, but a few moments of listening. The most powerful comes at a local village festival, where women gathered at a bonfire weave intricate harmonies around a simple Latin lyric. The words they sing — “fugere non possum” — translate as “we cannot escape,” expressing both fatalism and faith. They resonate through this smart and sensuous film in complicated ways. Héloïse and Marianne can’t escape from their feelings for each other, or from their socially dictated roles. But at the same time it’s impossible to see them as anything other than free.

Portrait of a Lady on Fire

Rated R. Hearts aflame. In French, with subtitles. Running time: 2 hours 1 minute.