VIEW FILM STILLS: La Vie En Rose

PREMIERE'S REVIEW (posted 5/8/07)

Biopics are Oscar bait, for sure, and Marion Cotillard's performance as Edith "the Little Sparrow" Piaf in La Vie En Rose is definitely worth its worldwide buzz. French icon Piaf's life was easily as grim as any Dickensian orphan's — her childhood populated by pimps and prostitutes, horrible neglect, and sudden blindness "cured" by prayers to St. Theresa. As an adult, her celebrated career was punctuated by the passing of her married lover, Marcel, and an escalating death wish that sent her hurtling towards an early grave from years of alcohol and morphine abuse. Today's so-called starlets have nothing on Piaf.

Cotillard transforms herself from a strange-looking waif with an overbite swigging on a wine bottle and singing on the streets of Paris to a legendary diva, and finally, a palsied addict who looks easily in her 70s at the time of her death (although she was only 48). The actress fully disappears into the singer's hunched shoulders, grimacing smiles, and strange, nearly impenetrable French accent. In fact, Cotillard's mimicry is so astounding it's nearly a distraction.

As dexterous as the lead performance is, the narrative is not. La Vie En Rose batters the viewer with scenes from her life in no discernable order; the movie begins with her collapse on stage during a performance in 1959 and eventually ends at her deathbed in 1963. Piaf's life was as Grand Guignol as they come and should move audiences to tears, but despite its two hours and twenty minutes, entire parts of her life are overlooked or unexplained — such as the aftermath of the murder of Louis Leplée, the club owner who discovers her drunkenly warbling on the streets of Paris while her friend Momone (Sylvie Testud) swigs from a bottle of wine. And what of the scene where Momone suddenly and inexplicably shows up sporting a dapper suit and moustache? Some episodes of her life are only revealed when Piaf is on her deathbed, which is frustrating in a movie that indulged itself with ample time to unwind Piaf's life story in a more leisurely and coherent manner.

— Jenni Miller