Newsletters: The Unauthorized Céline Dion Movie Is Here

The Unauthorized Céline Dion Movie Is Here—And It’s Glorious

with Kevin Fallon

Everything we can't stop loving, hating, and thinking about this week in pop culture.

This week:

The unauthorized Céline Dion biopic is finally here. (My Super Bowl.)
The hidden-gem series you should be watching.
Turns out the perfect man does exist.
Have you cried about CODA today?
The wildest headline of the week.

When We Talk About Cinema, We Talk About Aline

To get to talk about Aline, to share what it is like to watch the film for the first time, is the honor of my career. I am touched. Privileged. Blessed.

Having the platform to preach about and celebrate the unauthorized French biopic of Céline Dion, which secured the rights to a handful of her songs but cannot use her name and in which the film's 58-year-old writer-director also stars as Aline/Céline from ages 5 to 50, is incredibly meaningful to me.

The last time I felt this euphoric, I was in Las Vegas as Dion herself was standing on an ascending pedestal surrounded by a cascade of water, whipping her crystal-beaded cape as she unleashed the key change in "My Heart Will Go On." I saw God then, and He She has returned to me again now in another, if perhaps eyebrow-raising and slightly unnerving, form: as Aline.

There are events in life that shake you to the core of your being. The essence of your soul shifts. The metadata that dictates who you are transforms. This happened on June 3, 2021. That was the day the first trailer for Aline was released.

The film would premiere that summer at the Cannes Film Festival, where a slew of bewildered and yet ecstatic—truly, the Céline vibe—write-ups first emerged. An eternity has passed since then, during which it's become my mission to experience Aline for myself. Now that I have, it is my wish that all of you get to one day do the same.

Aline finally hits select theaters in the U.S. April 8, which will henceforth be a religious holiday.

There are things that one must know about this film, questions that must be answered, such as: Excuse me? Huh? What the…? And, why?

Aline is directed by, co-written by, and stars Valérie Lemercier. The French filmmaker plays Aline Dieu, a French-Canadian entertainer who is discovered at age 12, forges an intense romantic relationship with a manager two decades her senior, and becomes one of the most successful entertainers in history thanks to songs like "My Heart Will Go On" and a groundbreaking Las Vegas residency.

This might sound like the life of a woman we know and love named Céline Dion. But it is actually that of Aline Dieu, a name that translates to "Aline God," to the extent that the disclaimer playing before it starts reads, "This film is inspired by the life of Céline Dion. It is, however, a work of fiction." Sure!

The movie takes place over the course of nearly 90 years. Yes, you read that correctly.

It begins in 1932, when Aline's parents meet in Quebec and start their brood that eventually grows to 14 children, the last of whom is little Aline. Things hopscotch through time. We meet the Dieu family at a wedding, where 5-year-old Aline gets up to perform. It is imperative that you be reminded at this point that, even at 5 years old, Aline is played by Lemercier, who was around 55 at the time of filming.

The little girl who skips to the microphone looks every bit the normal child, but then she turns around and you realize it is Lemercier, adult woman, shrunken through VFX to the size of a kindergartener.

It's not the last time you think, "What in the Eddie Murphy's Norbit damned hell?" as you watch this film. Things, somehow are even more unsettling as Aline is age 12, and then a teenager, with all her gawky movements embodied by Lemercier. And it's not that you ever get used to it so much as you accept the absurdity as a fact of life, one that finally blurs into a semblance of normalcy as Aline ages into her teenage years, then her twenties, and beyond.

This casting gimmick is so unshakably bizarre that you'd imagine it would define the film completely. (In a recent interview with the Los Angeles Times, Lemercier said that they had even shot footage of her playing Aline at six months old, but, thankfully, scrapped that.)

So let me blow your mind when I say that, in the end, this movie is actually… great? Not in the cheeky, histrionic way where we exaggerate how much we love something for laughs. No, Aline, as unusual as it is, is also quite moving, at times even invigorating—and, above all, a poignant homage to Dion herself.

The adult-as-child casting nightmares aside, the start of the film is a lively and quite funny portrait of a large, loving Quebecois family.

There's a bit of camp and cheekiness to that opening stretch. When manager Guy-Claude Kamar (Sylvain Marcel), the stand-in for Dion's eventual husband René Angélil, accidentally calls her "Céline," her mother (played by scene-stealer Danielle Fichaud) corrects him: "Aline." You're forgiven for waiting for her to look into the camera and wink.

But the remarkable thing about Aline is that it, overwhelmingly, takes itself seriously.

Yes, it's a brisk sprint through the various milestones and personal struggles of a singer who is "inspired by the life of Céline Dion." But it's also a passionately-made love story and, to be honest, pretty rousing recreation of Dion's most memorable moments.

I don't love the fact that the controversial relationship between the 12-year-old and the 30-something who eventually became lovers is at the center of the narrative here, but it was the center of Dion's story, so it makes sense.

The whole question of grooming is briefly addressed, as Aline's mother confronts Guy-Claude and threatens him: "If you ever put your fat paws on her…" But the film is explicit that Guy-Claude doesn't pursue a relationship until she is 20, and that Aline is of age when physical acts are initiated. And Lemercier has said one advantage of her being an adult playing Aline at age 12 is that it makes those scenes less creepy. OK.

But the portrait of how Aline balances her success and fame with wanting to be a mother and wife ends up having more substance than you might expect in a kind of film that could easily veer into terrible Lifetime TV biopic territory.

Lemercier even won the César Award, the French equivalent of the Oscar, for her performance. She's that good. The Céline Dion kookiness and the endearingly clumsy performance style is all there, but so is an unexpected humanity.

What I'm saying is that I've found a way to save the Oscars. The Academy Award goes to: Céline. Shit, I mean: Aline.

I Beg of You: Watch Starstruck

If I were to choose my favorite recent TV joke in the Non-Abbott Elementary Category (see here for that winner) it would be from the premiere of the new season of Starstruck on HBO Max.

I'm not sure why we're not all talking about Starstruck, because, for the kind of show it is, it is perfect. It is a TV comedy that impeccably executes every beat and cliché that we know and crave from a classic romantic comedy. And it has an irresistible fresh voice underscoring it all, thanks to creator and star Rose Matafeo.

To the point of its familiarity, the first season of the series essentially unfolds like a smart, modern Notting Hill remake. Jessie (Matafeo), a broke, hustling millennial in London has no idea the morning after a one-night stand that Tom (Nikesh Patel), the man she slept with, is actually a very famous actor. That incredibly charming first season of episodes dealt with them figuring out how to be together—or if they should be—given their difference in uh… fameness?

It manages to do the thing of glancing at the grand-gestures-and-cheesy-speeches of beloved rom-coms without explicitly going the "I'm just a girl, standing in front of a guy…" route. (I will defend that Notting Hill speech until my dying day, after which my tombstone will say, "That Julia Roberts monologue was great!")

That's especially true of season two, which has a romantic overture in row boats on a pond that manages to both upend and pay earnest tribute to the genre.

In any case, season one ends on a The Graduate moment. They decide to try to be together… now what? What you don't see after The Graduate ends is the freak-out. It's a riot to see Jessie and Tom come to terms with the decision without trying to offend the other. But the best moment is when Jessie starts reeling over the repercussions of not getting on the plane she was supposed to board to leave London for good.

Jessie: "I had it all planned out. I had the window seat. I booked two window seats for both the flights and a gluten-free meal… and I was going to watch Dunkirk, so now I guess I just never watch Dunkirk."

Tom: "We can watch Dunkirk."

Jessie: "On the ground? In a house?!"

This show is a gem. You should watch it.

You're Telling Me He Also Sings!?

Among my greatest regrets in life is that I watched Bridgerton Season 2 far too quickly. I am having separation anxiety. It is physically painful. It has been far too long since I have met my husband's smoldering gaze.

It is with a deep understanding of how Basic Bitch I am being by harboring the most intense crush of my adult life on the cute leading man from the romantic drama that happens to be the most popular TV series in the world right now. But I am prepared to risk it all if it means a shot with Jonathan Bailey. Or, to be honest, just be in a room with him, have him look intensely at me for a few seconds, and then smile and say hi. That'd be enough to take me to the end, I think.

This obsession only intensified this week when a video made the rounds online of Bailey auditioning at one point for the musical The Last Five Years. (Watch it here.)

Yes, a quick Google search reveals that Bailey can obviously sing; he won an Olivier Award for the West End production of Company that is currently playing on Broadway.

But it is an entirely other, highly erotic experience to watch a camera trained closely on his face as he sincerely, desperately even, sings a love ballad.

Someone please come stage an intervention.

Yes, I Am Still Crying About CODA

You'd think that with an entirely new award show having already happened since the Oscars and no one being able to talk about anything but The Slap I would have stopped crying about CODA. Ha! Fools.

On separate nights this week, I rewatched the speeches from the CODA wins on Oscar night and legitimately choked on tears each time the camera panned to the audience and the celebs were doing the sign for applause—whimpering during the part of Troy Kotsur's speech when his interpreter began to break down with emotion while translating for him.

I, of course, watched the movie again, and then after that the musical numbers, just to cry again.

I Do Have Questions

This is in no way to make light of a tragic situation, but I do need to read 10,000 words and watch an 8-part docuseries on what the fuck happened here:

Ambulance: You won't believe the chemistry between Jake Gyllenhaal and the ambulance. (Fri. in theaters)

The Kardashians: Resistance is futile. (Thurs. on Hulu)

Elite: Or you can wait for your gay friends on Twitter to post screenshots of all the horniest moments. (Fri. on Netflix)

Sonic the Hedgehog 2: There's "it's funny to see a silly movie," and then there's saying the words, "I'd like one ticket to Sonic the Hedgehog 2, please." (Fri. in theaters.)

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The Unauthorized Céline Dion Movie Is Here—And It’s Glorious

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