La Vie En Rose

A few weeks back I saw La Vie En Rose, a fractured and bruised telling of the life Édith Piaf. Its saving graces were Marion Cotillard, the fact much of it was shot to look like an Edward Hopper painting and the gloriously restored versions of Piaf’s songs. Today, after only limited buggering around by the postal services, the original soundtrack was delivered. Despite its lack of Cassandre Berger’s version of La Marseillaise that brought me close to tears when I first heard it, I am mightily pleased by its arrival.

Some music is meant to make love to, some to cook to. When it comes to Sunday roasts Frank Sinatra is king. On a Monday evening when the cold rain is a relentless, brutal tattoo on the canal, Piaf is untouchable. Drama, passion, humour and a robust sauciness. Against a soundtrack containing all of those ingredients, it is would be impossible to not summon up a decent meal.