The details of the composition, the fluidity of the camera's movement and the magical elision between personal grief and "performed" grief are so confidently organised that one detects the shadow of a much subtler film. I wish that we could have seen it.
Yes, she sings 'Je ne regrette rien', and, yes, we cry. Yet the tears are for the song and the memory of a remarkable artist. They're very little to do with this strenuously crafted yet ultimately bungled 140 minutes of celluloid.