ezra

Oh man, every line off that movie is beautiful and touching and chilling, really. But let’s see.

- “Do all lovers feel like they’re inventing something?” (literally one of my favourite quotes ever. Reading Sciamma’s explanation of this line and how a couple often creates its own language, spoken and otherwise, made me love it even more.)

- “He chooses the memory of her, that’s why he turns. He doesn’t make the lover’s choice, but the poet’s.” (The whole theme around Orpheus’ myth and how it reflects their own story is so beautiful. There’s a lot of layers to it, you could say he turned around cus he loved her so much he just couldn’t wait, but Marianne offers another interpretation - one that sees it as a choice to keep the unsoiled memory of the love they felt instead of letting time corrode it, a choice only a poet would make. But also then Héloïse says that maybe it was Eurydice that told Orpheus to turn around, she was the one who needed to see him. Then when later in the movie she tells Marianne to turn around, and then disappears and that was the last time she saw her, but it wasn’t the last time Marianne saw her, so it’s about Heloïse/Eurydice’s choice, not Orpheus’.)

- “Have you tried being funny?” (When Sophie suggested this to Marianne when she said Héloïse never smiles I let out a chuckle, it was unexpected and sweet and so obvious and simple... just be funny. And then later in the beach when Héloïse told Marianne she took too long to be funny like... it’s just that simple.) 

- “If you look at me, who do I look at?” (I’m obsessed with the way this movie subverts the relationships of object/subject muse/author, and makes both equal parts responsible for the end product. In this scene Héloïse lets Marianne know that she knows and studies her just as much as Marianne knows and studies her. Obviously, they’re in love, so it’s beyond the artistic relationship, but it plays with the idea that the person who’s being painted can be an active part of the process too. Heloïse also comments on Marianne’s first attempt and how impersonal it feels, leading to her making a whole new painting, and at one point, they’re painting together too. It’s team work and the woman is no longer just something to be gazed at and made pristine through a stilled painting, but she has a voice and a say in how she’s being represented. The fact the painter is a woman (and so is the director of this movie) has everything to do with it too.)

portrait of a lady on fire, dir. céline sciamma // doubt comes in, hadestown // eurydice, sarah ruhl // metamorphoses: book x, ovid trans. anthony kline // “eurydice”, ocean vuong // talk, hozier

[ID:

1. Still from the movie Portrait of a Lady on Fire that shows a woman (Marianne) speaking. Captions on the image say, “He chooses the memory of her, that’s why she turns.”

2. Lyrics from “Doubt Comes In” from the musical Hadestown that read, “[ORPHEUS] / Who do I think I am? Who am I to think that she would follow me, just to make me leave alone?”.

3. Text from the play Eurydice by Sarah Ruhl that reads, “ORPHEUS: How will you remember? / EURYDICE: That I love you? / OPRHEUS: Yes. / EURYDICE: That’s easy. I can’t help it.”

4. Text from Book X of Ovid’s Metamorphoses that reads, “They took the upward path, through the still silence, steep and dark, shadowy with dense fog, drawing near to the threshold of the upper world. Afraid she was no longer there, and eager to see her, the lover turned his eyes. In an instant she dropped back, and he, unhappy man, stretching out his arms to hold her and be held, clutched at nothing but the receding air. Dying a second time, now, there was no complaint to her husband (what, then, could she complain of, except that she had been loved?). She spoke a last ‘farewell’ that, now, scarcely reached his ears, and turned again towards that same place.”

5. Text from the poem “Eurydice” by Ocean Vuong that reads, “Who would believe us / now? My voice cracking / like bones inside the radio. / Silly me. I thought love was real / & the body imaginary.”

6. Lyrics from “Talk” by Hozier that read, “I’d be the voice that urged Orpheus / When her body was found / I’d be the choiceless hope in grief / That drove him underground / I’d be the dreadful need in the devotee / That made him turn around / And I’d be the immediate forgiveness / In Eurydice / Imagine being loved by me”.

This is a good ask for me! My college senior thesis was a comparison of Monteverdi and Gluck's operas based on the Orpheus myth!

Don't expect any comments on Hadestown here, though – I'm not familiar with that musical at all.

Orpheus

Favorite thing about them: His love for Eurydice. A love so strong that he's willing to journey to the Underworld to bring her back, and almost succeeds, except for his act of "too much love" when he looks back at her. The fantasy of being loved that way is hard to resist!

Least favorite thing about them: His misogyny after coming back from the Underworld in some versions of the myth. I don't mind versions where he just avoids women out of faithfulness to Eurydice's memory, but it's all too common to portray him as coming to hate women, either because they all seem so inferior to Eurydice, or because they remind him too much of her, or because he blames Eurydice's feminine charms for causing his misery. And Ovid's claim that in his rejection of women, he became the first man ever to sleep with young boys? Ugh. Just ugh.

Three things I have in common with them:

*I adore music.

*I'm very loving and passionate.

*I can be impulsive.

Three things I don't have in common with them:

*I'm not semi-divine.

*I'm not married.

*I'm female.

Favorite line: His song in Ovid's version of the myth, where he pleads with Hades and Persephone:

"O gods of this world, placed below the earth, to which, all, who are created mortal, descend; if you allow me, and it is lawful, to set aside the fictions of idle tongues, and speak the truth, I have not come here to see dark Tartarus, nor to bind Cerberus, Medusa's child, with his three necks, and snaky hair. My wife is the cause of my journey. A viper, she trod on, diffused its venom into her body, and robbed her of her best years. I longed to be able to accept it, and I do not say I have not tried: Love won. He is a god well known in the world above... I beg you, by these fearful places, by this immense abyss, and the silence of your vast realms, reverse Eurydice’s swift death. All things are destined to be yours, and though we delay a while, sooner or later, we hasten home. Here we are all bound, this is our final abode, and you hold the longest reign over the human race. Eurydice, too, will be yours to command, when she has lived out her fair span of years, to maturity. I ask this benefit as a gift; but, if the fates refuse my wife this kindness, I am determined not to return: you can delight in both our deaths."

brOTP: The shepherds and nymphs who join him in celebrating his marriage and in mourning Eurydice's death in the opera adaptations.

OTP: Eurydice.

nOTP: Hades, Persephone, his mother Calliope, or any of the Maenad women who tore him limb-from-limb.

Random headcanon: His father was the Thracian king Oeagrus. Or to be exact, I prefer the version of the myth where Oeagrus is his father to the version where Apollo is his father. It's generally agreed that his mother is the muse Calliope. So if his parents are a god and goddess, why is he a mortal? Doesn't it stand to reason that he should have one mortal parent?

Unpopular opinion: I get slightly tired of seeing people quote Portrait of a Lady on Fire to explain why he looks back at Eurydice, claiming that he makes "the poet's choice" (i.e. that he chooses his idealized memory of Eurydice, which he can fully possess and which can inspire his art forever, rather than face an uncertain future with a living woman). That's a fascinating interpretation of his backward glance, but it's not the "true" meaning of the myth. There is no single "true" meaning. Different retellings have interpreted his backward glance as excessive passion and a lack of self-control, or as a fatal lack of faith in either Hades, Eurydice, or himself, or as an act of concern for Eurydice which shows that Hades' command was inhumane, or as a commentary on the nature of grief (i.e. that we can't help but look back at our memories), or simply as inevitable because death can't be reversed. All of those interpretations, and others too, are just as valid as "the poet's choice." That's part of the beauty of mythology: it has so many possible meanings.

Song I associate with them:

"Vi ricorda, o bosch'ombrosi" from Monteverdi's opera L'Orfeo.

"Possente spirito," also from Monteverdi's opera.

"Chiamo il mio ben cosí" from Gluck's Orfeo ed Euridice.

"Che farò senza Euridice?" from Gluck's opera.

Favorite picture of them:

Orpheus' Sorrow by Pascal Dagnan-Bouveret:

Orpheus' Lament by Alexandre Séon:

And this illustration from D'Aulaires' Book of Greek Myths:

For other pictures that show him with Eurydice, see below.

Eurydice

Favorite thing about them: A woman who inspires a love that almost conquers death itself is a fascinating character, and I enjoy seeing the different ways she's characterized in different retellings of the myth and other works inspired by it. When the same mythical figure loosely inspires such different characters as innocent, girlish Pamina in The Magic Flute and seductive, jaded Satine in Moulin Rouge!, then you know (a) that she's not the most fleshed-out character, but (b) that her very "flatness" makes her a wellspring of creative ideas for authors and artists who retell the story.

Least favorite thing about them: She's not very likable in Gluck's opera Orfeo ed Euridice, where she doesn't know that Orpheus can't look back at her, assumes he must not love her anymore, and hounds him into finally looking back. I'm glad that only happens in one adaptation and she isn't always like that.

Three things I have in common with them:

*I'm loving and affectionate.

*I find good singers very attractive.

*I enjoy walking in nature (preferably with no snakes in the grass).

Three things I don't have in common with them:

*I'm not married.

*I'm not as captivatingly beautiful as she's traditionally portrayed.

*I'm still alive.

Favorite line: Her lament in Virgil's version of the myth as she drifts back into the Underworld.

"Orpheus, what madness has destroyed my wretched self, and you? See, the cruel Fates recall me, and sleep hides my swimming eyes. Farewell, now: I am taken, wrapped round by vast night, stretching out to you, alas, hands no longer yours."

brOTP: Her nymph companions, such as Daphne in Peri's opera adaptation or Sylvia in Monteverdi's.

OTP: Orpheus.

nOTP: Aristaeus, who tries to rape her in Virgil's version of the myth, leading to her death as she steps on a snake while running from him.

Random headcanon: When Orpheus was killed and his spirit went to the Elysian Fields, the judges in the Underworld debated whether Eurydice should join him there or stay in the Asphodel Meadows with the other ordinary, non-heroic souls. Ultimately, they chose to send her to Elysium, both because it would have been too cruel to Orpheus not to reunite them, and because after Eurydice's second chance to live was snatched away from her, she deserved to at least spend her afterlife in paradise.

Unpopular opinion: I'd like to see at least one retelling of the myth that portrays the legendary philosopher-poet Musaeus of Athens as Orpheus's son (as one Greek historian claimed he was, though others disagreed), and portrayed Eurydice as his mother. Giving them a child could add even more weight to the tragedy.

Song I associate with them:

"Cet asil aimable et tranquille," from Orphée et Eurydice, the expanded French version of Gluck's opera.

"Che fiero momento," also from Gluck's opera.

Favorite picture of them:

This painting by Louis Ducis:

This print by Rebecca Guay:

This painting by Ary Scheffer, Orpheus Mourning the Death of Eurydice:

This print of the same sad moment by Justin and/or Annie Gerard:

This painting by Jean-Baptiste Camille Corot:

This painting by Sir Edward Poynter:

This painting by Frederic Leighton, inspired by Gluck's opera:

This painting by Carl Goos:

This painting by Christian Gottlieb Kratzenstein:

This painting by Michel Martin Drolling (a rare one that shows Hermes whisking Eurydice back into the Underworld rather than just having her drift back by herself):

This painting by George Frederic Watts (one of many):

Or more specifically, the negative reactions to the Orpheus/Eurydice plotline in Kaos

(Cut for spoilers!)

Or more specifically, the negative reactions to the Orpheus/Eurydice plotline in Kaos

(Cut for spoilers!)

So I thought I would share a list of every interpretation I know, from every serious adaptation of the story and every analysis I've ever heard or read, of why Orpheus looks back.

One interpretation – advocated by Monteverdi's opera, for example – is that the backward glance represents excessive passion and a fatal lack of self-control. Orpheus loves Eurydice to such excess that he tries to defy the laws of nature by bringing her back from the dead, yet that very same passion dooms his quest fo fail, because he can't resist the temptation to look back at her.

He can also be seen as succumbing to that classic "tragic flaw" of hubris, excessive pride. Because his music and his love conquer the Underworld, it might be that he makes the mistake of thinking he's entirely above divine law, and fatally allows himself to break the one rule that Hades and Persephone set for him.

Then there are the versions where his flaw is his lack of faith, because he looks back out of doubt that Eurydice is really there. I think there are three possible interpretations of this scenario, which can each work alone or else co-exist with each other. From what I've read about Hadestown, it sounds as if it combines all three.

In one interpretation, he doubts Hades and Persephone's promise. Will they really give Eurydice back to him, or is it all a cruel trick? In this case, the message seems to be a warning to trust in the gods; if you doubt their blessings, you might lose them.

Another perspective is that he doubts Eurydice. Does she love him enough to follow him? In this case, the warning is that romantic love can't survive unless the lovers trust each other. I'm thinking of Moulin Rouge!, which is ostensibly based on the Orpheus myth, and which uses Christian's jealousy as its equivalent of Orpheus's fatal doubt and explicitly states "Where there is no trust, there is no love."

The third variation is that he doubts himself. Could his music really have the power to sway the Underworld? The message in this version would be that self-doubt can sabotage all our best efforts.

But all of the above interpretations revolve around the concept that Orpheus looks back because of a tragic flaw, which wasn't necessarily the view of Virgil, the earliest known recorder of the myth. Virgil wrote that Orpheus's backward glance was "A pardonable offense, if the spirits knew how to pardon."

In some versions, when the upper world comes into Orpheus's view, he thinks his journey is over. In this moment, he's so ecstatic and so eager to finally see Eurydice that he unthinkingly turns around an instant too soon, either just before he reaches the threshold or when he's already crossed it but Eurydice is still a few steps behind him. In this scenario, it isn't a personal flaw that makes him look back, but just a moment of passion-fueled carelessness, and the fact that it costs him Eurydice shows the pitilessness of the Underworld.

In other versions, concern for Eurydice makes him look back. Sometimes he looks back because the upward path is steep and rocky, and Eurydice is still limping from her snakebite, so he knows she must be struggling, in some versions he even hears her stumble, and he finally can't resist turning around to help her. Or more cruelly, in other versions – for example, in Gluck's opera – Eurydice doesn't know that Orpheus is forbidden to look back at her, and Orpheus is also forbidden to tell her. So she's distraught that her husband seems to be coldly ignoring her and begs him to look at her until he can't bear her anguish anymore.

These versions highlight the harshness of the Underworld's law, and Orpheus's failure to comply with it seems natural and even inevitable. The message here seems to be that death is pitiless and irreversible: a demigod hero might come close to conquering it, but through little or no fault of his own, he's bound to fail in the end.

Another interpretation I've read is that Orpheus's backward glance represents the nature of grief. We can't help but look back on our memories of our dead loved ones, even though it means feeling the pain of loss all over again.

Then there's the interpretation that Orpheus chooses his memory of Eurydice, represented by the backward glance, rather than a future with a living Eurydice. "The poet's choice," as Portrait of a Lady on Fire puts it. In this reading, Orpheus looks back because he realizes he would rather preserve his memory of their youthful, blissful love, just as it was when she died, than face a future of growing older, the difficulties of married life, and the possibility that their love will fade. That's the slightly more sympathetic version. In the version that makes Orpheus more egotistical, he prefers the idealized memory to the real woman because the memory is entirely his possession, in a way that a living wife with her own will could never be, and will never distract him from his music, but can only inspire it.

Then there are the modern feminist interpretations, also alluded to in Portrait of a Lady on Fire but seen in several female-authored adaptations of the myth too, where Eurydice provokes Orpheus into looking back because she wants to stay in the Underworld. The viewpoint kinder to Orpheus is that Eurydice also wants to preserve their love just as it was, youthful, passionate, and blissful, rather than subject it to the ravages of time and the hardships of life. The variation less sympathetic to Orpheus is that Euyridice was at peace in death, in some versions she drank from the river Lethe and doesn't even remember Orpheus, his attempt to take her back is selfish, and she prefers to be her own free woman than be bound to him forever and literally only live for his sake.

With that interpretation in mind, I'm surprised I've never read yet another variation. I can imagine a version where, as Orpheus walks up the path toward the living world, he realizes he's being selfish: Eurydice was happy and at peace in the Elysian Fields, she doesn't even remember him because she drank from Lethe, and she's only following him now because Hades and Persephone have forced her to do so. So he finally looks back out of selfless love, to let her go. Maybe I should write this retelling myself.

“orpheus… can you look at me?”

and he doesn’t turn

“please, look at me.”

“i dont want to.”

“why?”

“because you’re not coming with me, are you?”