Edith und Marcel

This is pretty much the style of TV movie adaptations of Danielle Steele's books.

It's pretty awful. You will also see the poorest shots of boxing you will ever see - gently place the glove against the man's face, slowly move the face by gently extending the gloved hand...

You will also be somewhat sickened by: a) camera circling, and b) drumbeat accompaniment to camera circling.

All that said, it is about as entertaining as Danielle Steel - so if you're in that mood, go ahead, but you'll KNOW instantly this is BAD!

I purchased this movie 15 years ago. It was expensive and worth every dollar. I feel that this movie is a masterpiece. The weaving of the story lines were magnificent as it showed the interconnectedness of people and their common ground, namely love. Piaf's intensity of loving was reflected by her intense, child like wonder in her spiritual beliefs. One of the things I adore about Claude Lalouch is his depiction of the complexity of human emotions. The film captured the times. In these times, we also must remember that love is the best spell against hatred. Love is what fuels the fire to go on fearlessly in times of horror. He captures this remarkably well. I refuse to intellectually dissect this movie as it means too much to my heart. As a painter, I judge a film on what the piece does for me emotionally. For me this film is a song of the heart.

At first sight, Lelouch is a pretentious character making stupid movies but, hopefully, there is a film starting from which you fell in love with the man and his way of filming, this film might be "un homme et une femme", "tout ca pour ca" or "les uns et les autres" but it can as well be this one. Lelouch takes the story in the most anti-Hollywood way as possible. We are quite far from the films which try to recall the legends of the great human beings and to explain their great geniuses with great sounds and filming effects. Lelouch makes a film as realistic as a movie can be. Of course, Lelouch proposes an agreement, you accept is naive-concrete way of doing things and he will take you back to the 40's and, you will met both Cerdan and Piaf. The film is an invitation that you wish never to finish. The actors are simply incredible, Evelyne Bouix never acted so good, Jean Bouise is, as always, fantastic etc. Certainly, the suicide of Dewaere influenced Lelouch so to make a masterpiece and he did it.

Inevitably having seen 'La vie en rose' I will want to draw conclusions between these two films. 'La vie en rose' is a film that's nicely packaged. It resembles most bio-pics with just slight deviations from the formula which are milady interesting. As a film it faithfully uses common techniques whilst adhering to a strict sense of reality.

Now for Marcel and Edith. Like another reviewer pointed out this film is an invitation into a different world. The camera twists spins pans and hovers through this world. Edith moves away from the microphone singing yet we still hear her voice. Lelouch interposes a second story unrelated to Ediths life. Lelouch exchanges strict adherence to reality for a dream like flow. This could be interpreted by less open-minded people as amateurish filming, as I can see it has by another reviewer who unfailing pointed out the boxing scenes as I knew some fool would.

Let's not forget we are watching the 7th art here. We have the choice between a faithful somewhat lifeless bio-pic or a film that explores the boundaries of film as an art form. I think the latter was more rewarding.

There is one scene almost identical in both films, when Marcel & Edith have their first date and eat pastrami. Lelouch's interpretation is the one full of charm the other well, it's charmless.

It's easy to laugh at Claude Lelouch, and most critics do. He is blissfully devoid of genius, but not necessarily of interest. His biggest problem is that he has humble skills, but grand pretensions. He's seen, like the rest of us, great movies, and thinks that if, say, Ophuls used a particular tracking shot, that if he completely replicates it, he'll be great too, not realising that the initial shot belonged to a fully-worked out style designed to convey meaning, and a particular view of the world. It's not that Lelouch is all style and no substance - the usual complaint; he doesn't know that style IS substance.

And yet audiences flock to his pictures (apparently he is the most successful 'foreign-language' (what a horrible term) filmmaker in English-speaking countries), and dozens of important stars with little sense (or just a great deal of cynicism) queue up to decorate them. Edith and Marcel is an exception. There are recognisable faces (especially a humiliating turn by the once sublime Brialy), but they are relegated to the margins of the film's great thesis: Lelouch On Piaf.

To his credit, Lelouch does try to tackle the Piaf myth, and her status as symbol, saint, essence etc. of the French people. For instance, many of her greatest love songs are third person narratives, and so he mingles her most notorious love story with that of an imaginary couple, one of whom is played by the same actress as Piaf, as if to suggest that Edith and Marcel are only larger-than-life embodiments of all the passions, pains and loves of France.

Unfortunately, to adequately contextualise Piaf, one would need a firm grasp of French history, something Lelouch spectacularly lacks. Like many of his films, Edith and Marcel has a significant historical backdrop, in this case World War II. But it's not a World War II you or I might recognise - no savage Germans, no concentration camps, no collaborators; indeed, military prison seems like a hoot. Edith's and Marcel's 'symbolic' resistance is glossed over in a couple of offhand lines, leaving one dissatisfied and suspicious.

This failure of history extends to Piaf's music. What should be the glory of the film is ruined by 'artistic' distortions, fatuous contextualisation, and the sacrilege of getting some heinous impersonator to 'do' Piaf to Francis Lai's more 'contemporary' (arf!) music, both unforgivably denying history, and suggesting that Piaf could be improved upon.

None of this would really matter if the film was entertaining. Some of Lelouch's monstrosities are so preposterous as to become compelling. But here - in contrast to Piaf, whose songs were compact, passionate, melodramatic, melancholic, tragic; packed with gangsters, whores, young lovers: the outsiders - the film's story is laborious; the insistent, self-satisfied, handheld camerawork is tiresome; the barrage of showy shots for their own sake is wearing; the confusion with beauty of the most ghastly bad taste is embarrassing; the film's hurtling sense of momentum when there is actually nothing moving is exasperating; the replacement of acting with mannerism is infuriating.

That a film about such an extraordinary woman, about that most cinematic of sports - boxing; with so much hysteria and shrieking and talk about love and the Eternal; with so many quotes and allusions to classic movies, books and music, should be so passionless, cold and dull is unfathomable. The film's only redeeming feature is the cameo by Charles Aznavour, as sad and self-effacing as ever (playing his youthful self as an old man 35 years later!), singing some narratively pointless, but beautiful songs.