After tragically losing her lover, a grieving illustrator attempts to ease her grief by sending text messages to the deceased’s old number, unaware that a reporter assigned to write an article about Celine Dion is receiving them.

Two movies. Two completely different attempts at homage. Same lukewarm result. Two years after Aline, this dreamlike and unsettling biographical film by Valérie Lemercier, Céline Dion is at the heart of a new, unconvincing feature film. But this time, good news, her accent is not massacred by any other actress since she plays her own role.

Before explaining the reasons why Love Again will pass incognito at the box office, let’s make one thing clear: Céline had nothing to do with it. Although due to the script by Jim Strouse (who is also directing), the Quebec artist plays a watered-down version of herself, saving energy, she does well. His tone is right. And every time she mentions René Angélil (because indeed, his lines were custom-written for her), the queen of Las Vegas exudes a lot of sincerity. When she recounts with nostalgia her first kiss with the impresario, backstage at Eurovision in 1988, we believe it.

Sadly, this is where the bragging rights stop at Love Again, which could be described as a pale copy of You’ve Got Mail, that 1990s Hollywood classic in which Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks corresponded anonymously by e-mail. This time, the messages flow through text messages, gender-sensitive, generically esoteric, heavily depressive text messages, like, “I am heartbroken. I carry immense pain within me, blah blah…” Faced with such a trolling of clichéd phrases, seeming to come out of a second-class power ballad, a normally constituted person would have immediately blocked the telephone number in question, but for some obscure reason. , our accidental recipient (played by Sam Heughan) succumbs. A boy like no other, apparently.

Love Again respects most of the codes specific to romantic comedies: an impromptu dance sequence in public, colorful secondary characters, an unfortunate misunderstanding, a soundtrack rich in violins, etc. However, Sony Pictures Studios’ offering has a significant lack of jokes, an essential ingredient of the genre: laughs. The producers may well use the services of the spouse of Priyanka Chopra Jonas, the singer Nick Jonas, to play an ultra-douchebag blind date, nothing helps. Like Zora, at most, we smile. The rest of the time, we fight boredom.

And above all, let’s avoid addressing the implausibilities of the story (adapted from a novel by the German writer Sofie Cramer), such as when Celine Dion religiously listens to a reporter unpacking her love troubles during her interview time. All this while sitting on the ground and barefoot. The real Céline (or any other celebrity) would never have endured such logorrhea…unless she had been dancing in her head the whole time.

For her film debut, the singer deserved better than a sentimental bluette with 50 shades of beige.