Another biopic about a larger-than-life 20th-century musician, which I was only really tempted to watch because it is viewed not (ironically) through Hollywood's rosy lens, but with the French eye that generally leads the audience to spiral as deep as possible into despair. I like that, as a rule.But it must be said at the outset: this film is all about Marion Cotillard. I’m sure I first saw her in the Luc Besson Taxi franchise, but I must admit I don’t remember. It wasn’t until 2003’s Jeux d’Enfants (Love me if you dare) and Big Fish that I thought she was Someone Worth Watching.
In La Môme, she is completely transformed for the title rôle: the hair, the face, the voice, the gait! Cotillard appears to be channelling Piaf, and there’s something magnetic about her performance that recalls Piaf’s legendary stage presence. She bravely manages to present a rather flawed Piaf, injecting an at-times-unlikeable character with admirable pathos.
It’s a shame the film, directed by the relatively inexperienced Olivier Dahan, doesn’t provide the proper setting for such a towering interpretation of one of France’s best-loved singers. The narrative structure is unnecessarily complex, flitting from era to era with no discernible logic. To an extent, this exposes the workings of the artifice: it is hard to suspend one’s disbelief when one is constantly trying to orient oneself in the schizochronic world.
Therefore we lose to an extent the proper development of the character, and the attendant emotional journey. Indeed, it is only in the film’s final moments that we learn one of the most important elements of Piaf’s real-life character arc. This is curious choice, matched by the decision to dwell lengthily on Piaf’s 20s, and skip the war.
Nevertheless, I have to rate this as my second-favourite film of the year so far. Admittedly, this goes against the grain of my general scepticism of French cinema, but Cotillard’s tour de force really won me over.
