The director, Olivier Dahan, made use of the format you see often nowadays for biography, starting at the very end of a life and then cutting back to the beginning. This pattern shuttles back and forth along the length of a life, in ever decreasing distances, until the two parts close in at that final collapse on stage. The implicit message being: this is what she was like and this is why, where and what she came from. And what a life it was: carnivalesque, baroque, dark and tragic, the stuff of a made for TV movie. It was like Danielle Steele crossed with Marilyn Mans*n - she was born to a down-and-out lush who is scraping a living singing for a few centimes on the streets of Paris, when her father comes and takes her away and leaves her in a brothel (which, strangely, is not the worst part of her life, at all) where she loses her sight for a time. He comes back and takes her on the road - he's a contortionist, and she learns to sing alongside him to make some money. And then on to music halls, and her agent getting murdered by the mob, and being trained by another minder, and making it, her rise to fame, touring in the States and falling in love with a married man, who then dies in a plane crash, and so to drug dependency, and the rapid decline in her health. A catalogue of a life intensely lived, but in such a succession of drama, at such a pace.
What interests me though about biography is what is left out, what is edited out, and what decisions are made about accuracy to historical detail. With no experience of Piaf as a performer, I had no other version to check it against - sometimes I thought the acting was a bit large, but I don't know, maybe Piaf was truly that way. It had to stand on its own.. which it did, finally - the final scene was good, she was singing that song that is so associated with her, that anthem, that statement, that olden day "I will survive", now so out of style and yet with its own power, for all time:
Non! Rien de rien.
And then, sudden blackness. The End.