Three hundred and eighth film: La Vie en Rose, the 2007 Edith Piaf biopic that is Frencher than Pernod and twice as intense. Marion Cotillard acts very well, if for the back row, both avec and sans eyebrows, and absolutely deserves the resulting Oscar. Piaf’s life is deeply interesting and sad — heroin addiction, an affair with a boxer, being partially raised by sex workers, falling down multiple times on stage — but I, like no doubt many uncultured Oceanic swine, do not get the whole French chanteuse thing. The accolades and standing ovations in this movie feel forced purely because I come from a cultural background unmoved by sad ladies with uniquely Gallic vibrato. Well made, deeply tragic, and pretty much fine. No regrets, I guess. Two and a half hand-knitted jumpers out of five.