Properly, that was a pleasant concept in principle. Paris held the first-ever Olympics opening ceremony to happen exterior a stadium—and on one of many loveliest settings on the earth, the Seine. Athletes paraded not by foot however by boat, waving flags from smooth cruising pontoons, as pageantry unfolded on bridges and riverbanks. The aquatic format promised to do extra than simply showcase the architectural great thing about Paris or convey the magic of strolling throughout the Pont Neuf with contemporary bread in hand. It promised to supply the world—our ever extra jaded, content-drowned world—one thing new to have a look at.
Sadly, that new factor was a large number. Some will blame the rain, which soaked the festivities for hours, including an air of tragedy as athletes waved flags from inside their ponchos. However even on a sunnier day, the ceremony would have served for instance of how to not stage a spectacle for stay TV. The power was low, the pacing weird, and the execution patchy. Paris tried to mission itself as a contemporary, inclusive hub of pleasure—but it surely principally simply appeared exhausted.
Olympics opening ceremonies are inevitably ridiculous affairs, often in a enjoyable approach. The host nation should welcome the worldwide neighborhood whereas cobbling the entire signifiers of its personal id into some form of romping medley that additionally, ideally, expands that nation’s picture in useful methods. London supplied the Queen and James Bond, and in addition a tribute to the Nationwide Well being Service. Rio hosted a rumbling dance social gathering in addition to a briefing on Brazil’s Indigenous historical past. Most essential, each of these cities gave us good TV.
Beforehand, the Paris occasion’s creative director, Thomas Jolly, introduced his intentions to play with Gallic clichés. Key phrases—liberté, synchronicité, and so forth—introduced thematic chapters, however a story hardly cohered. Congratulations in the event you had the next in your bingo card: mimes, Louis Vuitton, parkour, Les Misérables, the cancan, lasers taking pictures out of the Eiffel Tower, allusions to ménages à trois. However credit score the place it’s due—I actually didn’t foresee the Minions stealing the Mona Lisa and bringing it aboard a Jules Verne–model submarine. On reflection, that was probably the most academic a part of the present: studying {that a} Frenchman co-directed Despicable Me.
One drawback with this French fever dream is that a lot of it was prerecorded. Each jiffy, the telecast would minimize to slick cinematography of a masked, hooded particular person—that’s what the NBC broadcasters stored calling her, “the Particular person”—sneaking the Olympic torch round. She went to the Louvre, the place the work got here to life. She went to a film screening, the place a Lumière-brothers movie … got here to life. These segments hit with all of the pressure of a cruise-ship industrial, whereas distracting from the novelty of getting a ceremony on water within the first place.
The stay elements of the present weren’t far more vibrant. A bridge was transformed right into a runway on which trend fashions and drag queens strutted with the gusto and precision of a compelled march. Platforms over the river itself featured extreme-sports performers doing methods that the TV cameras appeared suspiciously afraid of exhibiting in close-up. Woman Gaga placed on a feather-laden cabaret efficiency that was completely positive, save for the truth that “completely positive” shouldn’t be anyplace close to the title Woman Gaga. (Because it seems, that efficiency was prerecorded too.)
One of many solely showstopping moments made clear that the bizarre vibes of the ceremony might largely be blamed on the element work. At one level, the digicam minimize to a lady dressed as Marie Antoinette and holding her personal babbling, chopped-off head. The heavy-metal band Gojira broke into riffage, and flames fired. This was righteous. However then, not a lot occurred. Viewers had been left to develop tired of static, broad pictures of the efficiency. Finally, a pretend boat wheeled into view, wanting fairly a bit like a prop from a high-school play.
One of the best bits befell firmly on land. The pop star Aya Nakamura danced with the French Republican Guard in a flashy assembly of outdated and new cultural regimes. As soon as the solar set, “the Particular person” emerged in actual life to trip a cool-looking mechanical horse down the Seine. (It should be mentioned that this journey was interminable.) The Olympic cauldron was cool too: It resembled a hot-air balloon, and it rose into the air when lit. To complete issues off, Celine Dion made her seemingly unlikely return to singing, heaving with emotion from a deck of the Eiffel.
Maybe it’s no coincidence that fastidiously composed, largely steady pictures had been the highlights of a present that attempted to reinvent the Olympic ceremony in fluid instructions. My favourite second was when the pianist Alexandre Kantorow performed Maurice Ravel’s Jeux d’Eau from a bridge as rain puddled on his instrument. He seemed unhappy and soaked but in addition unbothered, misplaced in music. He made me bear in mind the phrase I’d been attempting to consider, for a type of ineffable French emotions: malaise.