
Congratulations on winning the Oscar Marion Cotillard!
A confession: I don't like divas. I especially loathe the self-destructive variety — the kind that sentimentally impressionable people are always writing books and making movies about. You know who I'm talking about — the pill-poppers, the drunks, the would-be suicides, all those Judys and Marilyns and Janis Joplins who emerge from their troubled childhoods into careers which revolve largely around making audiences wonder whether they'll actually show up for their performances. And if they do, whether they'll give something other than a pathetic play for our sympathies — which often enough involves our forgiving a sadly diminished voice or presence.
This behavior is more than tiresome, because there is no reason to believe there's a real link between their troubles and their talents. An off-stage battle with booze or drugs doesn't necessarily add depth or soul to their performances. On the contrary, the history of show business is replete with sad stories that are redeemed by disciplined hard work. Plenty of stars refuse to trade on their hard-knock lives; they entertain us, not by forcing us to wallow in their miseries, but by causing us to forget our own for an hour or two.
Edith Piaf, arguably France’s most beloved vocalist, was famed for using her strong, clear voice to bring a spirited, if often heartbreaking, element to songs such as “Non, je ne regrette rien” and “La Vie en Rose.”
Born Edith Gassion in 1913, the 4-foot-8 singer was nicknamed “La Ma me Piaf” ("The Sparrow Kid") by her manager, Louis Leplee. During the course of her relatively short life, the singer moved from singing in the streets to nightclubs and, later, to grand music halls. Called the “soul of Paris” by Marlene Dietrich, Piaf’s 1963 death from cancer inspired thousands of fans to line the streets to watch her funeral procession.
Bon Soir Little Sparrow.
