Known as the Little Sparrow - the diminutive singer sprang from the gritty impoverished streets of Paris - where she enchanted passers-by with her robust naive renditions of popular songs of the day.

Unfortunately, her childhood was fraught with humiliating misfortunes.

For good reason, the filmmakers intently scrutinized those tender years with great sensitivity and in minute detail with the specific aim of shedding light on this complex intriguing personality.

For the most part, the subject matter is handled well.

Abandoned by her parents as a toddler, Edith was taken in by a Madame at a local brothel.

Understandably, it wasn’t long before the diminutive songbird was out on the mean streets mixing with ne’er do wells.

The conniving beggars, crafty pick-pockets and unsavory pimps - who traverse the seedy landscape onscreen in the engaging screen bio-pic - often pressured her for a take of her daily spoils.

At one point, Piaf was under investigation for her alleged associations with thugs in the underworld. But, the prosecutors caved in when they realized the evidence was lacking and they were essentially holding an empty bag.

Edith was released without much ado, but for a short period, her image was tarnished publicly.

There is some focus on Piaf and the monkey-on-her back, as well.

The emotional songstress was inclined to slosh down the ale with gusto as a young woman. Self-medication, perhaps?

And, sadly - years later - she became addled by a dependency on drugs.

Piaf, after all, was an uneducated unsophisticated woman who generally fluttered in the wind - this way ‘n that - without any particular purpose or direction in life.

Undoubtedly, the fragile woman was traumatized by haunting images of her troubled past.

One day, an Angel appeared in the form of a talent manager, who was versed in the Musical Arts.

He spied the young diamond-in-the-rough belting out a tune on a street corner and took her under his wing.

Probably one of the most entertaining segments of the film fires up when the audience witnesses the magical healing transformation from lonely street urchin to Concert-Hall vocalist under his tutelage.

At one point, Director Olivier Dahan, flashes back to the exhausting rehearsals Piaf endured at the hands of her new mentor.

With keen insight - he manages to convincingly depict the Maestro as he allegedly was - a relentless taskmaster hammering away nonstop pointers on phrasing, proper breathing, and the importance of persona on stage.

“Such beautiful hands,” he assures her. “Use them.”

Aghast at the thought, she awkwardly thrusts them into her pockets as if they were dead-weights. In time, though, hand gestures became an integral part of the vocalist’s emotionally-thrilling performances.

The film shifts non-stop from one rough and ragged period of her life to another, then back again.

Frankly, I found the storytelling methodology choppy, distracting, and not very impressive.

In contrast - the producers of “Lady Sings the Blues” facilitated the powerful stylish technique to sweep up an audience of yesteryear to emotional heights, with great effect.

A plateau - that ”La Vie En Rose” was in dire need of - which was never realized.

My favorite scenes occur when the spotlight is turned on Piaf and her on-the-down-lo tryst with a Professional Boxer.

In an era of restrained social graces, the high-profile couple were forced to sneak around in out-of-the way love nests for fear of being found out.

The winsome twosome were quite a duo.

He knocked ‘em out in the ring, she on stage.

In one scene, the handsome virile athlete laughingly noted their jig was obviously up.

“Every time I go into a restaurant in Paris, the band starts playing your hit song, La Vie En Rose,” he chuckles.

Sadly, the romance ended tragically.

Without ruining it for you - I’ll just suffice to say that the subtle encounter inferred in the box-office hit - has been bestowed upon but a precious few.

The scripted tale of her mystical experience with St. Teresa of Lisieux moved me, as well.

In the past, I have experienced the Saint’s presence in my own life, and can attest to the veracity of such claims.

One of the most powerful scenes breathes to life on the screen when a young composer is ushered into Piaf’s elegant suite to play a tune he has penned for her remarkable voice.

At the urging of a handler, the young man slips onto the piano bench and nervously begins to play.

Hardly a few bars into the tune, Piaf issues a command. Stop!

“I like it,” she cries out excitedly to the pianist.

“It’s me. It’s what I’ve been looking for. I want it. Continue.”

In what is probably the most powerful dramatic moment in the film, the audience witnesses Piaf’s remarkable performance of her signature song - “NO REGRETS” - which causes movie-goers to openly sob in the theatre.

In fact, there was barely a dry eye in the house.

As I sit here keying in this observation, shivers run up-and-down my spine.

They say, that’s a sign of a spiritual presence in the room.

Of course, all this was only made possible, due to the remarkable performance of Marion Cotillard which won her the coveted Oscar this past year.

New York Times critic Stephen Holden put it this way,

“Marion Cotillard’s feral portrait of the French singer Edith Piaf as a captive wild animal hurling herself at the bars of her cage is the most astonishing immersion of one performer into the body and soul of another I’ve ever encountered in a film.”

A little over the top, but a bang on assessment.

Although flawed, “LA VIE EN ROSE” is potent filmmaking.

If you take the journey, be sure to take along some tissues.

You’ll need ‘em!