Madame Chanel changed the way all women dressed and deserves a better biopic than this. Not that exquisite Pisier is subjected to hours of make-up to achieve the withered beldame of later years. The film simply ends in the '20s, by which time Chanel had made it. But how? When Pisier isn't pouting 'adorably', she's occasionally discovered pinning something, but there's no sign of the hard work that created a huge business empire. Chanel's world apparently revolved round men, and all her intuitive genius is unfortunately attributed to their influence: the bobbed hair is created in pique, and the trademark pearls are a reconciliation gift. A Lesbian affair is treated as an aberration. Worst thing in the film is Dalton as the twit lover. Best thing is a sweaty, corseted Black as a member of the demi-monde. Otherwise, chaps, save your money and put it towards that little black dress.