POP MUSIC REVIEW : Dion’s Valentine Is Way Too Sweet : The singer’s vocal skill was apparent, but the love songs were so dramatic and exaggerated that her act became an odd blend of the farcical and the pretentious.

Call it the curse of Whitney and Mariah.

The latest victim: Celine Dion, who made her Los Angeles headline debut on Monday at the Wadsworth Theater.

Like Houston and Carey, the Quebec native has wonderful vocal skills.

Given her power and command, Dion--best known for her duet with Peabo Bryson on the title song from “Beauty and the Beast”--should be able to convey all the celebration and heartache in today’s most compelling pop songs.

Yet Dion is devoid of character--wasting most of her talent on arrangements so overblown, choreography so overwrought and songs so over-baked that her act becomes an odd blend of the farcical and the pretentious.

Her five-piece band was as colorless as the worst ‘70s corporate rockers, the lighting was as gaudy as an MTV dance party and a modern dance interlude was so clumsy that it had to be seen to be believed.

The difficult thing about this ‘90s pop curse is that the performers themselves are the last to recognize the symptoms. In an age in pop culture that seems especially susceptible to middlebrow overstatement, Dion and the others are selling millions of records and playing to adoring crowds.

For many in the adult, date-night crowd, in fact, Dion’s Wadsworth performance was probably a sweetheart of an affair.

It was Valentine’s Day, after all, and love was either in the title or prominent in the chorus of virtually every song she sang, including “The Power of Love,” which is currently the nation’s best-selling single. Even the one song Dion sang in French had amour in the title.

Yet these songs--like the material favored by Carey, Houston and Michael Bolton, with whom Dion has toured--are colorless and a bore. They rarely explore love on anything but the most superficial terms.

Rather than the intimacy and revelation of, say, Cole Porter and “What Is This Thing Called Love?” or Joni Mitchell and “Both Sides Now,” the sentiments are reminiscent of Erich Segal and “Love Story.”

In her three Epic albums, Dion has told us how love can move mountains . . . how love doesn’t ask why . . . and how it is sometimes out of the question. She has sung about being halfway to heaven and left with nothing broken but her heart.

Dion, who is in her mid-20s, isn’t guilty of writing these songs, but she did choose to record them--and she compounds matters by singing them with a larger-than-life bravado, complete with dramatic gestures as exaggerated as those of Meat Loaf, who at least seems to be in on the joke.

What made Monday’s 90-minute set doubly discouraging was that the lanky singer seemed so personable between songs.

Dressed in a long black jacket, ruffled white shirt and tight black stretch pants, the pixieish Dion told stories that were long and silly, but disarming--and she exhibited a flair for physical comedy that would make her an ideal cinematic partner for Robin Williams or Steve Martin.

Musically, you could feel Dion’s potential in the duets where she tended to be more intimate and controlled--both “Beauty and the Beast,” where she was joined capably by Terry Bradford, and “When I Fall in Love,” where she teamed with Clive Griffin, who also performed with her on the hit version from “Sleepless in Seattle.”

Most of the time, however, love--in Dion’s music--is not what makes the world go round. It’s a big brass drum that she beats to death.