The Little Sparrow Flies Again

When I think of great actors and great performances, there are several that spring immediately to mind. Meryl Streep in "Sophie's Choice". Maximilian Schell in "Judgment at Nuremberg". Katharine Hepburn in "The Lion in Winter". Dustin Hoffman in "Kramer vs. Kramer". The list goes on and on.

Now I add to my list, proudly, and easily in one of the top ten spots, Marion Cotillard in "La Vie en Rose". Portraying the iconic French chanteuse Edith Piaf (aka The Little Sparrow), Cotillard's performance is nothing short of miraculous. Indeed, even labeling her work here as a mere "performance" is to not do it justice. It is, quite simply, a channeling. Almost supernatural, Cotillard's characterization is a complete and total transformation, as if she has summoned the spirit, integrity, and fire of Piaf to flare magnificently in every cell in her body, every inflection in her voice, every corner of her very soul.

These are big words, I realize that. And high praise coming from me, a self-anointed movie snob with a cold and critical heart when it comes to the arts. But I own my praise of Marion Cotillard wholly. Her work in "La Vie en Rose" is one of those rare performances that makes you believe in the magic of the movies, forces you to acknowledge that there are some true artisans left in the world, and inspires you to jump out of your seat and examine your world in entirely new and fresh ways.

I've always felt that portraying a real person is infinitely more difficult than playing a fictional character. Especially when that person is someone who is as internationally known and beloved as Piaf. Comparisons will inevitably be drawn, critics will scrutinize the tiniest of details, and in the end, the performances either really work or really don't.

Cotillard's Piaf, I don't need to tell you, really works. Watching her burn up the screen for 140 minutes, it is impossible to feel you are watching anyone but the real Edith Piaf. Cotillard ceases to exist. With every raise of a penciled eyebrow, with every painfully-hunched shuffle, with every finger outstretched tautly in song, a Frenchwoman who's been dead for 45 years is suddenly achingly, beautifully alive.

To say Piaf's life in "La Vie en Rose" is "tragic" is to minimize it. She knew her share of pain, without doubt, but we never for a second believe that she will be weighted down by it, so intense is her passion for song and her passion for life. Cotillard has some amazing, gut-wrenching scenes exploding with the most tortured of human emotions, but she also winningly conveys the slightest subtlety and flickering nuance with no more than a sparkle in her eyes or the firm line of her lips. Just by looking at Cotillard's face, we can read the autobiography of a complicated, stubborn, funny, egotistical, and scarred woman named Edith Piaf.

This is obviously a meticulously, lovingly researched performance without rival in modern cinema. It is physically, emotionally, and technically flawless, and Cotillard clearly deserves the Oscar, BAFTA, and every other award she won for her work. Never have I seen an artist emerge herself so selflessly and totally into a role.

In this world of action movies caked with blood, actors choosing roles for the big fat paycheck, and studio executives running it all without the slightest respect or homage for the concept of art, I urge you to see Marion Cotillard and "La Vie en Rose". Hell, just seeing it for the final scene alone is worth it: a camera fixed on Piaf's ghostly face and haunting eyes as she performs one of the most beautiful songs ever written, "Non, je ne regrette rien".

It will renew your faith in film. In art.

In life.