Dion, begone!
An experiment in cultural shunnery; part one
Evan Johnson, staff
Shortly after Céline Dion cancelled her Aug. 23, 2008 concert, to be held in Halifax, city of heresiarchs, it was revealed by Dion’s husband-manager, René Angélil, that the cancellation was due to the negativity issuing from that city’s media and public. One of the instances of cruelty to which Angélil objected was Halifax Daily News columnist David Rodenhiser’s barbed claim that he would rather see a rock band perform than Dion.
The concert would have been part of the Taking Chances tour, during which Dion will presumably “take chances” by travelling only to cities that promise to endorse the view that she is immaculate and that mild criticisms of her are tantamount to outright insurrection, punishable by the un-Christ-like withholding of her grace from legions of fans who have shown nothing but slavish, brainwashed devotion. Currently, as of press time, Winnipeg is technically one of the chosen cities, in that Dion is scheduled to play here on Oct. 28, 2008.
Naturally, as someone with unfettered access to weekly column space, I cooked up a little experiment: what if I, just some nobody like David Rodenhiser of the Halifax Daily News, was able to write enough “sub-complimentary” things about Celine Dion that Angélil decided to cancel her Winnipeg concert? Is it possible? Just how much would it take? If I succeeded, what would that mean? Would headlines read “Local asshole irks beloved megastar,” or would I be doing a service to the community?
To begin on a pleasant note: I’ve seen backstage footage of Dion and I found her quite funny and oddly charming. She possesses the kind of extravagant, mannered strangeness one often sees in ultra-famous celebrities who have been forced to buttress themselves from the difficulties of their fame by surrounding themselves with the most snivelling and obsequious people money can buy. This is why Dion cannot grow as an “artist.” All she can do is get louder, which she does, every day.
For the record, I don’t think Céline Dion is entirely untalented. Rather coincidentally, since I’m writing about her, I believe that she and I have exactly the same amount of talent. We are less talented than, say, William Baldwin, but slightly more talented than Stephen Baldwin. Dion’s talent is concentrated for the most part within her voice, which is “effective” but usually overbearing. My talent, on the other hand, is mercurial and difficult to pinpoint and is not the topic of this article. In any case, neither of us is so talented that we should be selling tens of millions of albums.
In the interests of full disclosure and ruthless self-examination, I will admit to having enjoyed one or two of her songs. I like the one that goes “You were my strength when I was weak, you were my voice when I couldn’t speak.” That’s a good one. It sounds like Christian soft rock. I shouldn’t like it, but I do. My head says, “No,” but my heart says . . . actually, my heart also says, “No.” I think it’s my colon that says, “Yes.” Or something down in that area.
But there’s a lot about Dion that’s annoying, like the fact that her titanic popularity appears to legitimizes the stifling, prison-like narcissism which has trapped her artistically. This can only harm the young people of today, a generation already on the brink of narcissistic self-cannibalization. Currently, Facebook.com is the clearest expression of this unpleasant trend (a trend in which this article, with its me’s and I’s, unrestrainedly partakes, in both concept and execution), but I don’t think I can get away with blaming that entirely on Dion. Still, she’s a bit much, you know?
And please don’t tell me I’m “just jealous” of Dion’s extraordinary wealth and success. Of course I am.
Dion, begone! will return in the coming weeks to further explore the ramifications of the column’s official goal: cancelling Celine Dion’s Winnipeg concert.
