In no particular order, these are all especially vile and an insult to the great stars they are supposed to represent. One gets the impression that the sculptors were drunk, on drugs, or maybe trying to recapture images from childhood nightmares.
Valentino looks like a rent-boy who has gone home after a night on the tiles and put on his mother's bedsheets.
Gracie looks like a cross between an old washerwoman and a poor impersonation of Saddam Hussein, again dragging up in his mother's bedsheets.
Barbara looks like a badly-rolled lump of pastry to whom the artist has added an extra foot of neck. She is holding up one arm as an encouragement for the birds to shit all over this very bad joke and spare her fans the humiliation of trying to imagine that, in real life, she was a very beautiful lady.
Piaf...well, what can one say? It looks like the wax has started to melt on one of those dummies in the Vincent Price movie, just as it's being sodomised by an elephant. It's ghastly.
Indeed, they're ALL ghastly, and I for one would feel ashamed to be asked to pose for press pictures, grinning like the cat that got the cream, as opposed to gagging over these vile monstrosities. For what better way is there to INSULT the memories of these lodestars by giving the impression that one supports these hammy constructions that a five-year-old could better?