French actress Maria Schneider posthumously became associated with the #MeToo movement in 2018 when renewed media attention revisited her difficulties on the set of Last Tango in Paris with director Bernardo Bertolucci and co-star Marlon Brando. One scene in particular, involving a stick of butter, was already infamous, but the revelation that Schneider was betrayed by both her director and co-star gained new relevance in the wake of the Harvey Weinstein and Bill Cosby scandals.

In Jessica Palud’s bumpy but effective biopic, the Last Tango shoot takes up less than a third of the running time but casts a shadow over everything that follows in Schneider’s life—drug addiction, typecasting in sexpot roles, and erratic performances. Being Maria opens with the teenage Schneider (Anamaria Vartolomei) enamored with the film world of her estranged father, actor Daniel Gélin (Yvan Attal), which stands in stark contrast to her provincial home life with her single mother, Marie-Christine (Marie Gillain). When Maria excitedly tells her mother that she met superstar Alain Delon while spending time with Daniel, Marie-Christine—already bitter toward the man who never married her—becomes incensed that her daughter prefers his glamorous lifestyle and throws her out of the house.

Palud depicts how dizzyingly fast events overtake the inexperienced young actress. She meets director Bernardo Bertolucci (Giuseppe Maggio) for lunch, where he offers her the role on the spot, announces that her co-star will be Marlon Brando (Matt Dillon), and informs her that the role will require ample nudity and sex scenes. When she asks how those scenes will be filmed, he smirks and says, “Like in real life—I’m joking. We’ll shoot them as artistically as possible.” When Maria returns home to obtain her mother’s signature granting permission for her to appear in Last Tango—at 19, she is still legally underage—Marie-Christine signs while making the snarky remark, “At least they put in your real name.”

Once on set, Maria is put at ease, at first, blinded by Brando’s charisma (Dillon delivers a credible impersonation of the legendary Oscar winner) and Bertolucci’s charm (Maggio effectively captures the director’s famously slick demeanor). Yet she feels unable to refuse when they go too far: the actor and director make a major change to the script involving her character without her knowledge and then film it without rehearsal. The meticulously re-created “butter” sequence is, of course, excruciating to watch, especially as Bertolucci tells Maria just before the take, “Let the scene lead you.” In other words, she is expected to trust the more experienced men to guide her in creating this work of art—however harrowing it may be.

As Palud keeps the camera tightly focused on Maria and Brando, the scene becomes deeply unnerving, leaving the audience unsure whether Brando actually penetrates her (by all accounts, he did not). All the while, crew members watch intently, and Bertolucci films impassively. After he calls “Cut,” he asks Maria if she’s okay. She responds, “No, that was not good,” and storms off. Bertolucci convinces her to return to the set, and as they resume the scene, Brando whispers in her ear, “It’s only a movie”—a line that, in this context, feels like an even greater betrayal than what we just witnessed.

Palud deserves credit for telling Schneider’s story from her point of view, yet she succumbs to the easy narrative arc of depicting a young artist’s descent into self-destruction. Immediately after finishing Last Tango, Maria dances the night away at a club, picks up a stranger, and starts using hard drugs, leading to her struggling on film sets. However, she does find love with a young journalist, Noor (Céleste Brunnquell), with whom she has a fitfully satisfying relationship.

It’s all rather reductive and even ultimately unfair to Schneider herself. While Palud’s script and direction often fall into clichés, leading to moments of formulaic clunkiness, she makes no such missteps in her casting. Vartolomei delivers an intensely committed performance, capturing Maria as more than just a tragic figure. By finding humor and humanity as well as horror, Vartolomei crafts a sympathetic and fully realized portrait that honors Schneider’s memory.