Trudie’s review published on Letterboxd:
"I saw her for a last time. She did not see me."
I often think of all the people throughout history that had no choice but to love in secret. Whose every day lives were weighed on by a repression that crushed their hearts and filled them with unspeakable resentment for a world that wasn't ready for them yet. It's solitude, and emotional torture. And all they could hope for was "in another life...".
Portrait of a Lady on Fire captures all of this in a specifically feminine way, and in a manner only a gay woman could. But it's also got love and hope and desire. The idea of only a painting to commemorate a lost love pains me to no end.
This is one of the most emotionally intense viewing experiences I've had in a while, so I'm not ready to sum it up with a neat and tidy star rating.