Closing Time

That’s it.  The XXXth Olympiad is over and the focus now switches to 2016 and Rio de Janeiro (have the Paraolympics been forgotten before they have even started?  To get true equality for those with disabilities, this skipping over will have to be addressed in the future).  But before London bade farewell to the Olympic flame, it would have a party to thrill the world.

That was the brief for the Closing Ceremony and whereas as Danny Boyle had the honour of co-ordinating the Opening Ceremony, the master of ceremonies for the closing event was Kim Gavin, impresario behind Take That’s comeback tour.  I feel, unquestionably, that Boyle was the greater showman and not just in conjuring the spectacular.

It started off so-so and the homages to The Italian Job and Only Fools And Horses would have been wasted on a global audience (I think it’s bad form if a host greets a guest with an injoke that the guest is not in on).  That Prince Harry was ‘allocated’ (there can be no better word) to stand in for The Queen was a bit of a snub.  Given that she sat through most of the Opening Ceremony as if someone had placed a large and particularly smelly turd in the royal box and no-one deigned to remove it, it behove her to at least to turn up for the seeing off.  Is this what her father did in 1948?  So if she and Phil weren’t going, where on Earth was Prince Charles and Prince William (Kate was in attendance)?  Did they fear a grand terrorist attack and were guaranteeing the succession (Wills can find a new bride if need be)?  It fell to the ‘spare heir’ (more like spare part) to officiate in his capacity as Henry, even though he doesn’t have a drop of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha/Mountbatten blood in him.  At least, he could adopt royal airs, appearing heartily bored throughout.

Redemption was at hand.  Timothy Spall popped out of St Stephen’s clocktower on the Damien Hirst-designed set, which was very clever in chronicling pieces of English literature in the form of newspaper headlines (cos they’re still contemporary, natch), all arranged to form the saltire and the cross of the Union Flag.  In his The King’s Speech Winston Churchill garb and holding the same cigar as Branagh’s Brunel, he declaimed the Isles of Wonder speech from the best seat in the house.

Then, in a depiction of rush hour (huh) on the M25, we had the pop entourage: Madness (the wife criticised Suggs, saying he couldn’t sing.  I chose to enjoy the nostalgia) representing Ska, The Pet Shop Boys representing electronica, a Blur tribute band representing Britpop and One Direction representing, er….  They are not, as Trevor Nelson said, “the biggest boy/man [?] band in the world.”  Not even in the UK.  The Wanted or JLS would have been a better fit.  Perhaps there were reasons for both to pull out and Direction Down were the only British boy band they could get at short notice.  Then as the athletes paraded in to the centre of the Olympic Stadium, the songs were repeated, as if they couldn’t fashion a medley out of other choice music (though I was correct in thinking Morrissey would veto any Smiths’ participation).

The nadir came with John Lennon’s Imagine.  The Olympics is supposed to be about inclusiveness and the anti-religious lyrics would have been an affront to many of the athletes, crowd and television audience, unless it was absurdist satire given that it also criticises countries and the athletes were herded in according to their national squads. It should have been Herman Cain singing his version for his Godfather pizza chain (an exception made for ambush advertising). It is quite an insidious song, a strident agenda set to a beautiful piano recital and a reasonable chorus and when it was being composed Pol Pot was implementing the underlying message.  This is not to say Lennon supported the Cambodian genocide but utopianism is dangerous.  The organisers could have had an instrumental (like the preceding bars for Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody), could have skipped to the inclusive third verse, indeed, could even have had Mike Oldfield’s Moonlight Shadow.  No and this is the primary reason why Ross is not as smart or cute as Boyle.  They really went to town on celebrating Lennon with a pyramid built for kids emblazoned with ‘imagine’ to sit on and a collage of his face was assembled.  The BBC compounded this by drearily repeating the song at the end of its coverage.  Was this commissioned by the same editor who cut out Anthony Joshua acclaiming God after winning the super-heavyweight boxing gold and scenes of marathon winner Steven Kiprotich crossing himself from all news bulletins?

Competing biases could have been a way out and, as George Michael was next up, a rendition of Faith (“you’ve gotta have faith”) would have been inspired.  Or having the King James’ Bible among the quoted works of literature in the newspaper format.  Maybe that’s a notch above Gavin’s intellect.  Michael wearing a crucifix necklace was undoubtedly a personal choice then wardrobe design.  The show got better from the moment the Lennon idolatry ended, though a bitter taste was left.

I enjoyed Fatboy Slim’s appearance (sadly The Housemartins were not on the bill; maybe their work is a bit too Christian-tinged) and Jessie J singing “It’s all about the money” hit the nail on the head regarding the IOC.  Tinie Tempah and Taio Cruz had a group song with Jessie J.  There was a second helping of Queen, plenty of The Beetles, a Who tribute from The Kaiser Chiefs and then later The Who themselves (or at least their surviving two members).  Eric Idle understood the stage he was on and cut out the irreligious verse when he led the singing of Always Look on the Bright Side of Life, demonstrating class.  A hodge-podge of David Bowie concluded with one of his more obscure songs to introduce the British fashion section.  Oasis were in the mix as Beady Eye, Liam Gallagher singing Wonderwall, a song penned by the brother to whom he no longer speaks.  Take That (minus Robbie) were wonderful, Gary Barlow very brave so soon after his and his wife’s baby was stillborn.  The fireworks were spectacular, as they should be. 

The handover and Rio’s performance was fun and frolicsome and left me salivating for the next Games.  I doubt they will celebrate the 1960s and 1970s as much as the British organisers, as they were under military dictatorship for most of those two decades.  The street sweeper at the start reminded me of the government death squads that ‘cleansed’ the city environs of street children ahead of the Rio Earth Summit of 1992.  Another piece of history that will be certainly overlooked.

As the ceremony exceeded three hours, there would be too much to recount and, admittedly, each is a personal vision of how Britain should be sold.  My wife was impressed by both Opening and Closing ceremonies in more or less equal measure.  I was far more exulted by the former, which did have an agenda but it was subtle and one all decent-thinking people could rally behind, as well as one of its aspects fulfilling a bid message – ‘The World In One City’.