Paris 2024 Olympics Opening Ceremony

Before I dive into this wildly ambitious Opening Ceremony, just a brief announcement from me: You might see me posting a bit less often until things calm down around mid-September or so. This is for a variety of reasons: I’m moving to Edinburgh in September to begin this PhD programme at the University of Edinburgh. That means flat hunting in the midst of Fringe while also trying to work in the actual Edinburgh Fringe Festival, Camden Fringe here in London, and let’s not forget, I still have a full time job for another month and a new visa on the horizon! So things may be a bit quieter here, but I’ll be doing lots for Fringebiscuit Magazine and Always Time for Theatre over the course of the next month, so keep an eye out for those posts :)

As I am about to embark on a wild multidisciplinary PhD on digitally-mediated theatre, I’ve got hybrid performance on my mind. And this one certainly counts as that. The Opening Ceremony for the 33rd Olympiad - a performance product several years in the making and hotly anticipated as one of the most ‘ambitious’ opening ceremonies to date - takes place along the heart and soul of France’s capital city, the River Seine. Consisting of pre-filmed bits spliced between carefully choreographed live performances that follow the traditional parade of atheletes as they travel via 80+ boats along the river, it’s safe to say there are many, many moving parts to be considered.

Naturally, the main concern for any Opening Ceremony is dramaturgical in nature: how are we presenting ourselves to the world? What is the identity of our locale, and through which media do we express our identity? The creative team behind the Opening Ceremony, which was spearheaded by Executive Director Thierry Reboul and Artistic Director Thomas Jolly, decided to tease out these questions thematically, electing for each scene to express a unique facet about the French people: Enchante, Synchronicite, and Liberte, egalite, fraternite, to begin. As we move from theme to theme, we move to a different bridge, landmark, and/or historical landmark along the Seine. We are moved along the Seine just as the athletes are moved, encountering Lady Gaga, dance and circus performers, heavy metal bands coupled with an operatic choir standing in the windows of the Palais de Justice, Aya Nakamura, and much more.

There are endless logistical factors to consider in a site specific, ambulatory, hybrid (made for both in-person and online/television audiences) performance such as this one. Each one of these factors has been carefully considered by the creatives behind the brief. However, even across a three hour-long performance, there is just way too much going on here.

You can tell that this performance has been made purely for the audience at home. Jolly even admits himself, “It’s the most-watched TV event on Earth.” Confusion ensues from the very beginning, which starts with an unknown, masked individual on our screens who has ultimately taken possession of the Olympic torch. My thinking is that the team has sought to move away from cliches, and what has emerged is a confused motif that the audience struggles to buy into: Who is this person, and why should we care? On the other hand, this is probably exactly what the team want their audience to be asking. Somehow, the pre-filmed scene makes its way to our live setting— the Seine. And the confusion doesn’t end there…

For the first half of the show, I found myself frustrated by sightlines. And I never thought I would be saying this about a filmed performance. After Gaga’s opener, which is isolated to a set of steps along the river’s edge, the drone camera action is too volatile to focus on any single aspect of the show for too long. In a much-admired effort to ensure each and every nation/delegation is captured, the camera endlessly splits its attention from the performances back to the parade of athletes, the parade of athletes back to the performances. And if you’re watching with commentary too? Too much, darling. Too much…

By the time we get to Sportivite, I have lost all sense of the scope of the performance as a viewer watching at home. The breakdancers and BMXers doing their thing on pontoons in the water (Oh, and did I mention it was pouring down rain the whole time? I wanted to see how they were managing it all!) are only slightly larger than the specks of dust on my screen. Even before this chapter, in Synchronicite, we find a contemporary dance ensemble moving to a beyond human, Hans Zimmer-esque composition (Victor Le Masne) along the river bank. They kick and splash at the water below their feet, as if the pouring rain were apart of their piece all along (it certainly was, but as no one could anticipate the weather being this atrocious, at the time I was nothing short of amazed at how well they were working with the unforeseen elements!). But still, I found myself frustrated. A wonderful performance is in the distance, and I would very much like to see the details- down to the beads of water on the performers’ heads, their carefully curated, second-hand costumes (Daphne Burki), and each droplet of water as its kicked away. It’s too bad the Parade of Athletes was in the way.

In the documentary on the making of the performance, “La Grande Seine,” the creative team was warned of this ahead of time by the Olympic Committee: remember that the athletes are most important. Instead of changing their overall vision, which was clear would not be compromised, the team has sought workarounds to resolve this. Ultimately, it works out like an “Oh! And this performance too!” situation, instead of being integral to the journey as a whole. My impression is that it’s too many moving parts to follow across too many locations— like following each individual guppy in a school of fish as you move along the tide with them.

I might have stopped after the breakdancers on the modular swim platforms, but I am glad I forged ahead. As the athletes ended their parade and made their way to land, the performance - and all of the people in it - came together in a beautiful way. After an hour and a half of endless, edgy experimentation that was impossible to digest fully, as the audience at home is moved to the makeshift stadium under the Eiffel Tower, I could breathe a sign of relief.

In this second half, we return to the tradition behind the Olympic Games: the Olympic torch is passed from French olympian to French olympian as they cross the Garden des Tuileries. I found myself tearing up by the time we meet France’s oldest olympian, the wheelchair-bound, 100 year old Charles Coste, who is the last to hold the torch before Paris’ Olympic Cauldron - in the form of a hot air balloon, whose first manned flight was made by the French - is officially lit. Then, we are catapulted to another emotional moment, the finale for the evening. Celine Dion, who has long been suffering with a rare autoimmune disorder that means performances by the singer are now few and far between, belts “L’Hymne a l’Amour” from the Eiffel Tower. As she sparkles in her all silver ballgown with sparkly silver tassels, the Tower illuminates, and the city of lights sings alongside Dion.

I’m at a loss for words.

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