‘I was ashamed,’ said my friend in a hurt tone at the church I attend in Angoulême. He was, of course, referring to the impressive, if provocative, opening ceremony of the Olympics in Paris.
Praise first. The ceremony took big technical risks, most of which paid off, even under pouring rain. Focussed on the River Seine, it was a dazzling kaleidoscope of sound and light, an often breath-taking (and frequently breathless) melange of drama, singing, dancing and acrobatics performed with skill and flair.
Yet, even within a France that wanted something to be proud of, the event has been widely criticised. I’ll mention the ‘anti-Christian’ element shortly but the whole venture was the epitome of postmodernism or possibly post-postmodernism. History and culture were ransacked to give episodes that were flashed up, given a sharp twist of deconstruction, only to be replaced by something else. Any overall theme was unclear and forcing viewers to make their own response to the mysteries before them. There was a consistent jokey, cynical and provocative tone and anything that could, within the law, be lampooned was. So the warlike Marseillaise was given a charming makeover that made it sound suitable for pacifists. The band of the illustrious Republican Guard were reduced to a swaying accompaniment to France’s leading popular singer in front of the home of the dignified Académie Française. And so on. What was affirmed – to the point of weariness – was diversity and inclusivity. Inevitably the LGBTQIA+ agenda endlessly emerged with romance being represented by implied sexual activity between three individuals of indeterminate gender. I gather many parents put their hands over their children’s eyes or just switched off.
