Iconic Paris

The Olympics Opening Ceremony shows off the city we love

Theresa and I have a little game whenever we visit Paris: First person to spot the Eiffel Tower wins… well, nothing, except bragging rights, I suppose. But spotting the Iron Lady is affirmation that we have arrived in our favorite city in the world.

For me, Paris is about what you see. Beyond the smells, the sounds, the flavors and the people themselves, it’s the sights that grab me and fill me with the warmth of love. The Eiffel Tower at night… the stained glass dome at Galleries Lafayette… the Medici Fountain at Luxembourg Gardens – they are symbols. They are spectacle. 

Which is why we were excited to watch last night’s Cérémonie d’ouverture - the opening ceremony of the 2024 Olympics. Situated along the Seine, the event would showcase the world’s greatest athletes among the city’s iconic landmarks: Notre Dame Cathedral, the Musée d’Orsay, the Louvre, Pont Alexander.

How could you not be blown away by all of this?

Very easily, if you’re an American journalist, it appears. In various next-day reviews, pundits described the event as “bloated,” a “mess,” and a “bizarre fever dream.” They complained how the athletes had to wave from boats instead of “stately” marching into some stadium. They griped about the music. They tut-tutted at the gay stuff. Oh, and it rained. 

I’ll concede that, as several noted, the whole thing was chaotic. And, yeah - between the literary ménage à trois and the Last Supper romp - a bit sacrilegious. But that was a good thing. 

From the acrobatics on the Notre Dame Cathedral scaffolding to the floating piano in flames to the Louvre’s masterpieces coming alive to the rising statues of feminist heroes to the rap star singing with a French military band to the giant heads emerging from the Seine to a heavy metal rendition of Ça Ira accompanied by a choir of HEADLESS MARIE-ANTOINETTES…!

Were they not watching the same thing as me?

In fact, they weren’t. Most of the criticism came from reviewers tuned into NBC-TV’s broadcast, replete with irritating commercials, split screens and mindless blathering. Theresa and I instead watched it on France 2 TV, and the difference was immediately obvious, from the opening explosion of blue, white and red smoke plumes across the Austerlitz Bridge. It was a spectacular camera shot with the city of Paris as a backdrop, and it left us - and the French commentators - speechless.

On NBC, Mike Tirico felt obliged to interrupt the moment with typical network banality: “And with the colors of the national flag, Peyton Manning and Kelly Clarkson, the show gets off to a rousing start.”

On France 2, the commentators tended to let the event speak for itself. Yes, they explained many of the details, and they seemed to get a little too much kick out of the masked parkour guy bringing the torch across the rooftops of Paris. But because they spoke in French, I mostly ignored the chatter. The pictures were enough for me.

It occurs to me, that’s why I love Paris so much. It’s a place that transcends language.I don’t need someone to explain the grandeur of the Arc de Triomphe. I don’t need to read about the memory of a madeleine. Indeed, without fully understanding the French language, I’ve been able to appreciate the city, and France as a whole, on my terms. 

How else could I have been so moved by Celine Dion, a singer about whom I’m at best neutral. The title of the song, the lyrics - I had no clue. But how could anyone watch her performance amid the sparkling ironwork of the Eiffel Tower and call the ceremony, as one New York Times critic harrumphed, “ordinary”?

I heard Kelly Clarkson was in tears afterward - good for her. She understood exactly what others had missed.

Yes, it rained. Yes it was chaotic. Get over it. It’s Paris. That’s what it does.