Graphic by Sarah McCrimmon
We’ve seen this scene in the dark theatre of each romantic film we’ve sat through: Somewhere in the streets of New York, the damsel marches away with her arms crossed, tears streaming down her blush-filled cheeks as the dark and brooding male love interest hurries to try to catch up to her, then quickly grabs her shoulder to halt her in her path. The camera slowly moves in, the rain in the background pouring loudly as the male love interest tries to explain himself, pleading to make things right between him and the woman he wants, but her frustration stays fixed. The scene begins to climax, thunder booming in the distance, with lines like:
“Please, don’t leave, Rose”
“Why shouldn’t I? Give me one reason why I should stay!”
Then, within a blink of an eye, the male love interest lassoes his big arms around her delicate waist, dragging her in and pressing his lips to her’s. At first, she tries to pull away, but as the kiss prolongs, she begins to melt into the embrace, the scene fades … a black screen flashes with the words “Directed by Adam Shankman.”
For so long, our society has viewed these types of spontaneous scenes as normal and to certain degrees even romantic. But, because writers and directors view this lack of consent as contributing to the passion of the moment, this normalization feeds into a harmful narrative that asking for consent isn’t sexy. Some may be thinking, “How are they supposed to ask for consent? That’s so awkward, how can anyone pull something like that off but not affect the climaxing chemistry of the couple?”
Enter in French film director Céline Sciamma and creator of the 2019 film “Portrait of a Lady on Fire” to set a new bar in storytelling. Set in the end of the 18th century, this same sex love story between Marianne, a painter, and her high class subject Elosie, who is soon to be married, runs on the neverending fuel of yearning. Unlike any other forbidding regency-esque love story, “Portrait of a Lady on Fire” never once turns to the knee jerk reaction of the male gaze that we are so accustomed to. Though Marianne is the artist hired to paint Eloise as her subject, her gaze throughout the film is always conveyed with passion and mutual respect, never once making her an object. Marianne’s respect is intentional through the whole film, whether it be walking beside Eloise through the roaring hills or studying her face so well that she begins to uncover her as a person. Taken together, these moments begin to build an intense romance between the two women, hence building the climax of the first kiss. Again, some may ask, “With so much passion and the talk of consent, how do you not fuck up the pinical first kiss scene?”
The audience is — at this point — at the edge of their seat rooting for a kiss between the two women. Viewers watch as Marianne and Eloise go over to a nearby cave on the frigid beach, wrapped up in scarves even over their faces to keep from the crisp cold. They take refuge from the wind in the dark sea cave, then — suddenly —their eyes meet and lock instantly, they cannot look away because they have sparked something, something within them both is overflowing and they can only do one thing to stop it. The women both begin to surrender to their attraction, both slipping off the scarves from over their lips and beginning to lean in until their lips press into one another. The subtlety of the scarves and their intended meaning turned heads to some audience members, but this was done purposely to highlight the point Sciamma was trying to infer: visual consent. This symbol of the scarf equalling consent was not only a brilliant way to show the movie industry that consent can actually add to the yearning and romance of a special moment like that, but also showed in the narrative sense the action of consent. Both Eloise and Marrianne had to pull their scarves down in order to kiss one another, hence showing the audience that they both wanted this. If anything, the scarves added to the intense burning of their romance. To show the audience that not only one participant wanted to kiss the other (unlike the spontaneous first kiss scenes we have seen from films such as “Notting Hill” “Clueless” and even “Romeo and Juliet”) truly adds to the luster of their love. It’s the same feeling you feel when you find out your crush likes you back and — to your surprise— just as much as you like them. Céline Sciamma embodied that feeling, making it very clear about the intentions of this film and wanting it to be a new type of love story, explaining in an interview with Vox magazine,
“I see this as such a strong opportunity to make new stuff, new images, new narratives. They are such powerful images, and they are so not seen. And you are in charge. You have a strong responsibility. But also, there are so many opportunities to be playful. To embody ideas that matter a lot to myself, but also to a lot of people. I see it as a really great dynamic for creating and also very fun visually… The film is a love story, but it’s also about creating.”
The creative narrative of this film truly sets a new bar for cinema and how it should go about representing consent on screen. It reigns in a new era of ending the male gaze trope and reigning in a new and more effective storytelling predecessor: the female gaze. With its symbols and metaphors throughout the whole film, the audience is entranced not only by the love story aspect but the new way love is viewed through the film’s lens: There is no higher power over the other, it is only the two women and their love. No more excuses for it “just being awkward to ask” or “ruining the moment” of a movie, no more men on screens putting their lips over the woman’s to shut them up. “Portrait of a Lady on Fire” has paved a way for future media of all kinds to create more loving and empowering stories that not only make women equals rather than objects to be won, but truly amplifies the beauty that comes from consent; showing our society that consent is necessary and can fuel romance encourages them to use it in their everyday love lives and slowly put an end to the harmful narrative that the male gaze brought to our society.