Taking place in a torrential rainstorm, the opening ceremony at the Olympics was as much under the water as on it.
A parade of random sized boats with national atheletic contingents that reflected in size the wealth and power of the countries sending them – more for the USA, fewer for Djibouti – all grinning and waving gamely, processed up the Seine alongside cartoon giant heads emerging from the water like an animation by Terry Gilliam accompanied by performances for the TV audience on the bridges and buildings alongside.
These had a extraordinarily surreal feel that had the Rassamblement Nationale spluttering over their post election tarte au ressentiment. Aya Nakamura’s magnificent mash up with the band of the Republican Guard providing accompaniment, where their rigid ranks tapping out rhythm on snare drums broke into a mildly bopping circle around her, which Marion Marechal described as a “humiliation”, may have been inspired by the delirious and liberating scene in the Tin Drum where Oscar taps his drum as the Nazi leaders march into a rally, the band loses the beat for the bombastic march they are playing and settle into the Blue Danube instead; and the iron ranks of the rally break into a swirl of people waltzing. This would be appropriate given how much fuss the French far right made about her singing at the event because, having been born in Mali, she “isn’t French”. Not an issue they raised for Celine Dione or Lady Gaga oddly enough.
For me, the most striking performance was the one in the Conciergerie, the rather grim former prison on the river bank, in which every window was occupied by a Marie Antoinette figure in flame red, singing the “Ca Ira” from a head tucked under her arm, while some dreadful French heavy metal band hammered and shrieked a demonic descant from the balconies, and a boat representing the Paris coat of arms floated by underneath with a soprano at the front – who bore a disturbing resemblance to Rachel Reeves (same Laurence Olivier playing Richard III hair thing going on) – singing “L’amour est enfant de boheme” (Love is a Gypsy child) from Carmen. Lacking the historical context, the BBC commentators translated “Ca ira” as “all will be well”, when it was actually the chant of the columns of the French revolutionary armies as they went into the attack at the armies of the European Ancien Regime in the 1790s. “Ca ira!” We’ll get through! To underline the point, the performance ended with an explosion of red streamers. Take that aristocrats! How unlike the Olympic ceremony of our own dear Queen…
As the tiny Palestinian delegation sallied past, the commentators talked of how they were performing under the shadow of Gaza and added “we wish them well”. The best thing they said all evening.
