Aline (2021)

Aline is special because it doesn’t just trace a superstar’s milestones; it sings them back to you with a big, beating heart, turning a Céline Dion–inspired life into something warmly mythic and disarmingly personal. Valérie Lemercier directs with an affectionate, slightly off-kilter humor that keeps the film buoyant even as it makes room for real hardship, love, and the strange loneliness that can follow applause. The vibe is earnest and idiosyncratic—part crowd-pleasing musical rush, part intimate family portrait—so you feel the pull of the stage lights and the pull of home in the same breath. If you want a strictly factual biopic, its playful fictionalization may not be your tempo, but if you’re open to a heartfelt, committed celebration of talent and resilience, it’s an easy film to fall for.

Aline is clearly aiming to be a big-hearted, crowd-pleasing musical fairy tale about a Quebec kid with a monster voice who grows into global stardom, and it does capture that warm, family-first spirit. The problem is the execution can feel oddly staged and overly reverential, like it’s so determined to celebrate its icon that it forgets to build real dramatic tension or a sharper point of view. The casting/performance choice of Valérie Lemercier playing the character across ages—especially the early years—is the kind of creative swing that will either charm you or completely take you out of the movie. If you want a hard-edged, insightful biopic with emotional bite, this may feel flat, but if you’re happy with a glossy, affectionate, music-forward tribute, it can still be an easy watch.