ALINE

[4.2]

This is a wild ride.  As someone who really doesn’t know all that much about Céline Dion or her music, I found this imaginative “loose” biopic to come the closest to converting me into a Dion-head (“Dionphile?” “Celeniac?”).  On the face of it, ALINE follows all the traditional biopic beats: opening with a brief view of the star in crisis, followed by a chronological tour through her life, from scrappy small-town nobody to international star, and climaxing with the personal crisis and breakdown that is the devilish companion to her own success.  And yet… ALINE doesn’t feel like WHAT’S LOVE GOT TO DO WITH IT, WALK THE LINE, or BOHEMIAN RHAPSODY (thank God). There is a unique quirkiness and offbeat tone lurking beneath the surface that seems as if it’s trying to evoke Céline’s oddness without constantly drawing attention to it.  It’s a mood that is carefully crafted by writer/director/star Valérie Lemercier, who is a well-known comedian in France, but sadly unknown to me.  It definitely feels like there is a layer of humor and resonance that is missing for me because of this: Lemercier’s star-turn, complimenting and contrasting her impersonation/performance with her already-built public persona. It’s a fascinating level of meta-commentary that I’m unable to tap into, but even without it, Lemercier’s performance is fascinating to behold.  

As many commentators have noted, Lemercier’s bonkers decision to play Aline at all ages of her life immediately descends us into the uncanny valley. Seeing Lemercier’s middle-age face computer-contorted onto the body of a small child (which also seems to contain Lemercier’s own body movement, just shrunken down) is bizarrely hilarious.  She belts out a very adult-sounding, earnest version of “Mammy Blue” for her mother, while everyone else acts perfectly normal, but when we cut back to Aline’s face, it’s hard not to drop your jaw in awe at the strange troll creature that Lemercier is eagerly displaying for us.  She must have known how odd this looks, but in a funny way, by the end of the movie, the bold choice makes sense.  While Aline as a character grows up, falls in love, and learns the superficial adjustments needed to make her a star (better hairstyle, more humility, more intimate connection with her fans), her personality never truly changes.  By physically portraying Aline throughout the movie, Lermercier is suggesting an unchanging continuity. Aline was always a singer, always a star in her own mind. She was always goofy and loving and utterly sincere in her emotions. While other biopics strain to find the faults in their stars, trying to plumb the unseen depths and pains of their characters in order to bring us behind the curtain, ALINE seems to shrug and say, “what you see is what you get.”  Apparently much of what we see in the movie is already public knowledge, with only some details elaborated on and expanded for dramatic effect (such as when Aline tells her husband/manager Guy-Claude that she is pregnant, and she draws her response to him in a bowl of carrot puree).  The movie assumes we are familiar enough with Céline’s hit theme song for TITANIC that it casually jumps from her being requested to record a demo for the song (which she hates) to her performing the song at the Oscars… with no mention of the actual movie title at all (and maybe, in the fictional world of ALINE, “My Heart Will Go On’ wasn’t written for TITANIC at all, but that worldwide smash THE HINDENBURG).  

While Lemercier is utterly charming and infectiously likeable, her captivating performance is matched by the incredible vocal work of Victoria Sio, who does the singing for all of Dion’s songs.  The rest of the cast is great as well. Danielle Fichaud is the stage-mother-from-heaven, gracefully ushering Aline into the spotlight while still being the rock by her side and her best friend.  But special acknowledgement must be given to Sylvain Marcel, who plays Aline’s manager-turned-husband. In present day mindset especially, it’s a miracle that he is able to present the much-older man who controlled Aline’s career and groomed her (for stage and love) from the age of 14, and yet still make him a sympathetic loveable figure. Lemercier shrugs off any judgmental attitude and presents Aline and Guy-Claude as destined for love, despite their age differences, and, more shockingly, despite their business entanglements.  The only time we see Aline’s mother angry is when she finds out about Guy-Claude and threatens him to stay away from Aline, but Aline is single-mindedly obsessed with the man, so when they finally do get married, Aline’s mother’s reservations quickly melt away.  The film refuses to complicate the situation beyond that. Aline is never show loving anyone else (and within the confines of the film, it seems impossible that she ever could). Her life is devoted to singing, and Guy-Claude is the keeper of the stage and microphone. They understand each other, and she when he dies, she seems as if she will never recover. In one of the most poignant scene of the movie, Aline wanders the Las Vegas streets in a daze, finally seeing the city for the first time. She’d worked there for nearly a decade, but had never set foot outside of her theater and home. It’s as if her eyes have been opened, she is seeing the full spectrum of life’s colors.  This is a new chapter for her, one that she must lead herself, without the guiding hands of her mother or lover.  The only thing left for her to do is simply sing. ALINE is a winking love letter to Céline fans, but also a joyous celebration of what we love most about biopics: a display of perseverance and triumph, that cathartic release of achievement.  Even if the final scenes strike the most melancholy tone of the movie, we know Aline’s heart will go on.