La Vie en Rose

[Lazy Boy]

La Vie en Rose - 8/10

There has been a lot of discussion on the net recently about how effective performances based on real life people really are versus whether or not it is simply an act of mimcry. In my opinion, the truly great performances in history don't always have to be based on footage anybody can pull of the net or from the library or rental store -- creating an original character, comedically or tragically, can be a powerful thing that doesn't automatically associate said performer with the person. It's almost as if pundits are awarding the noble liberality of say, a Lillian Hellmann rather than the performer who spent time ascertaining. The hundreth time one sees an actor's bangs hiding his eyes as he thrashes and screams for his devoted portrayal of Adolf Hitler can be as tiresome as any of the predictable throngs of easily led critics crying "Oscar!" immediately afterward. A.O. Scott had a good essay about this very thing.

I speak of this as a prelude to one of the best performances of the year: a mimicry, one would say, or, if one were to go into the "Faye Dunaway as Joan Crawford" level of absolutism, a reach into the realms of camp. Of course, I am talking about Marion Cotillard's performance as Edith Piaf in the new film by Olivier Dahan, which chronicles the French cabaret chanteuse's rise from lower class poverty to the great heights of international stardom. Cotillard might be remembered in America (or not) for her roles in Big Fish and A Good Year, but the marking point for my interest in her came after Jean-Pierre Jeunet's A Very Long Engagement. Her vulnerability shone through in the role of an icy, sadistic femme fatale in wartime France, and that vulnerability once again rears its head, albeit in a frightening performance of lashing out and barely-controlled tics. The chameleon ability of Cotillard shows in Piaf's younger years, making her shy deer in the headlights with Zooey Deschanel eyes and a sexy pout, as opposed to the last twilight years of her life, as she caved in to booze, injections and love, which played a heavy price on her heart.

Credit must also be given to the makeup; throughout the history of cinema, where would we be without Boris Karloff's distinguishing facial patterns for his Frankenstein monster? In that case, though, the makeup may have overshadowed the man. In the case of Mademoiselle Cotillard, the makeup is a part of her performance, as it if oozed out of her skin like Venom's symbiote. While she was acting on screen the torment of a woman gone to pot, I felt like I was watching a woman suffering from a destroyed liver, crooked and bent over as if searching for anything on the ground that will give her one last jolt of youthful inspiration -- the makeup and acting is THAT GOOD. One might feel she looks a little too much like Judy Davis as Judy Garland (and the film won't be defended as something outside the standard biopic to refute that similarity), but the performance is real beyond the lip synching. Thank goodness most of the trade reviews weren't spent on divulging whether or not Cotillard actually did sing, because what is up their is simply the Little Sparrow herself, matched with a performance to carry it out.

I've spent a little time on the film, as opposed to talking about Dahan's direction -- therein lies the problem. Where I understand what appears to be editing Piaf's story in an unusual way to escape the Hollywood way of biopics, he finds himself jumping a bit back and forth too much in time to distinguish the high points and juxtapose the dramatic scenes of license with the music, and so on. The problem is that many of those scenes alternate between drunken reverie and shattering tragedy, which brings one of the most important pieces of the film to a halt -- in an extraordinary single take shot that lasts a couple of minutes, Piaf learns the fate of a boxer lover she has pleaded with to come see her, and this is one of the purely cinematic moments of the year. Dahan, though, thinks he's Christopher Nolan, and flashes forward a few years following to a comical scene in an American desert with Piaf taking a tour. And, so on...

I'm a sucker for the standard biopic -- hell, I loved Ray, fer the sake of Pete Venkman -- but prefer a performance grounded in creating a character, not one which waves arms around, flailing wildly as if looking to wipe the dust off the mantlepiece for another shiny naked gold dude. But, in this instance, I will take Marion Cotillard's performance as one of the strong, indelible images of 2007 film. Quite strangely, Picturehouse could've placed this at a more snug winter date in order for the film to receive any award recognition, but to be relatively this early in the year to see such great female performances (Cotillard joins Julie Christie) shows that all I can do is count my blessings.

This was one of the first showings I've been too in a theater where the audience applauded once the perfomer's name came up during the end credits, as in the case of Cotillard. Impressive.

[Fisting Ackbar]

This was released in my area a few months ago, but I never got around to seeing it. I actually am interested in learning more about Piaf, but hearing that the movie was way too long and badly structured was a turnoff.

[Lazy Boy]

If you're not a fan of biopics taking liberties in regards to the person's life, this may be another turnoff for you -- certain characters in the film are created for dramatic license, but never existed in Piaf's life, i.e. a prostitute who became her surrogate mother.

[Bourne101]

Looks like a snooze fest. I would have to bring a pillow and blanket to survive this one.

[Fisting Ackbar]

If the creative liberties made for a more compelling story... acceptable. I don't trust that's the case with this film. But perhaps I'll check it out on dvd with a ladyfriend, as it may function as nice background material.