Opinion
Becoming a Celine Dion fan had nothing to do with her songs
Michael Ruffles
Deputy state topic editorIt’s all coming back to me now. The power, the voice, the sheer cultural dominance of Celine Dion in the 1990s, and just how deeply, crushingly uncool the queen of power ballads was for us teenage boys in a country high school.
The Canadian diva may have scaled the charts with My Heart Will Go On, but when the song became part of the school choir repertoire in year 9 our spirits sank as a diamond necklace might plunge to the bottom of the Atlantic alongside the ill-fated Titanic. That, combined with our droning interpretation of The Rose by Bette Midler, formed the recipe for memories best left repressed.
Celine Dion at the height of her powers in 1996.Credit: AP
Then there was that time in year 10 when our phys ed teacher’s mixtape switched from unremarkable guitar-based rock to The Power of Love towards the end of a workout. It still ranks among the most awkward five minutes of my life. The cringe was almost palpable among the sweat and testosterone. It was a time and a place where you’d have to think twice about admitting to enjoying any kind of pop music; less Beauty and the Beast, more The Number of the Beast. The teacher’s reputation never recovered.
There was no denying she was a force to be reckoned with. Dion was so big, so brashy, so bold, she won with sheer volume and a mastery of her instrument few in the pop world have ever matched. She was also easy to ridicule and, in my adolescent attempt to be the next Weird Al Yankovic, I may have penned some joke lyrics to the tune of the biggest of her mega-hits. (And I know in my fridge, that the cheese has gone off ...)
Given this history, a rather unexpected thing happened at the NSW State Library theatre on Thursday night. I fell in love with her.
Celine Dion when she announced her rare condition.Credit: Instagram
It happened at some point during a special screening of Irene Taylor’s documentary I Am: Celine Dion (available via Prime Video from Tuesday).
There’s much to enjoy, such as when Dion wanders around a warehouse full of the glitzy memorabilia of her glittering career nattering about the sleeves on her jackets and telling of how she would curl her toes into any shoe she was determined to wear. The shoes never wear her.
She recounts the time her mother disguised her worries about an empty pantry and stretched dough and carrots into enough pie to feed her 14 children. Celine as the youngest of the Dion clan was making her voice heard from a young age, singing at weddings aged five and shooting dirty looks if the guitarist played a bum note. And the moment a heavily pregnant Dion is captured staring at her seemingly never-ending shoe rack despairing at the lack of options is delicious.
Dion fumbles with her medicines, feeds the dog and vacuums after her children. She cries about lying. She rehearses not-quite-truths. It’s showbiz. It’s human. Taylor’s camera captures the framed photographs of Dion’s late husband Rene Angelil. His absence is profound.
The film is at times harrowing. Dion is unsparing about how her body has turned against her as she grapples with a rare autoimmune neurological disorder known as stiff-person syndrome. The condition results in muscle stiffness and spasms, and perhaps most cruelly in Dion’s case it has affected her voice. A voice that for 50 years has been her connection to the world and the millions who have loved to hear it.
She is shown in states of crisis, curled up and unable to do much more than moan as her body is racked with pain. It is heartbreaking. Horrifying. Mesmerising. The camera never flinches. Dion wants us to see.
Her determination, resilience and humour in the face of tragedy and a rare debilitating condition is impressive. The fact such an imperious music icon has shared her most vulnerable moments makes it even more surprising.
I walked away no more a fan of Celine Dion the singer than before. My Heart Will Go On is never going to be on high rotation on my playlist. Awesome as her voice is, her songs will probably never resonate with me as other artists have. They are jewels to admire rather than wear.
But I will never listen to Celine Dion the same way again. I walked away a fan of her as a person.
Michael Ruffles is the deputy state topic editor at The Sydney Morning Herald.
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