Céline and the Paris Games: the apotheosis

Paris will always be Paris and Céline will always be Céline. That’s what I remember from this opening ceremony of the first Summer Olympics in the City of Lights in a century.

I complain about the Olympics and all the dark things that hide behind the grandiose image, and then every time I get upset. watching thousands of people working like crazy to offer us a universal spectacle while showing the best of the host country, with all the clichés that this imposes to revisit.

But I had never been so stressed before an opening ceremony of the Games. In Paris, really? After the attacks of 2015 and the burning news? With the possibility of countless disruptions? After the incredible legislative elections? After watching on Netflix one of the rare French disaster films, entitled Under the Seinewith sharks eating everyone?

After weeks of wondering if Celine would be there, and if we would perhaps see her collapse live in front of millions of viewers?

Speaking of Céline, I have rarely seen such a well-orchestrated return, enough to feel like I was a bit taken for a ride with the documentary. I am: Celine Dion. We thought she was at the end of her tether, and here she is, flamboyant with Scott Price in the Eiffel Tower, lit up like a Pink Floyd show, bringing a masterful end to a long ceremony lasting more than four hours by theOde to love by Edith Piaf, one of the most beautiful songs in the French repertoire, embodying like never before the highlight of the show.

Watch Celine Dion perform at the Paris Games opening ceremony

A nail that hit me, as expected. I was exhausted after months of conjecture and four hours of television, in addition to having been traumatized by his documentary. To make matters worse, I was on the phone with my mother in tears, while I answered on my iPhone to my friends who worship Celine, overwhelmed with emotion. How could I not be?

Let’s remember one thing: this opening ceremony of the Paris Games was talked about as a disaster that had been announced for at least a year. The first not to be held in a stadium, but in the emblematic places of the city, with a parade of athletes in boats on the Seine.

And what more beautiful setting than Paris, this open-air museum which, unlike London or Berlin, was spared from the bombings of the Second World War? As if Paris needed a postcard, when it is one of the most visited cities in the world.

And yet, what beauty. That’s why we never tire of Paris, whose life is constantly renewed like a weed among the impressive monuments.

This extraordinary show, directed by Thomas Jolly, was not perfect, because the shows of the Olympic Games are always too long anyway. The logistics are crazy, the recording complicated, you have to be a bit of a masochist to accept such a contract. However, it made me want to see his version of Starmania which will soon be presented in Quebec.

I remember being impressed by the discipline and perfection of the Beijing Games opening ceremony, but the Paris opening ceremony really touched my heart, probably because I am French-speaking, I love the city and, of course, because Céline Dion, who unites not only the French-speaking world, but the entire planet.

I watched the ceremony on Radio-Canada, the only channel I could get in the countryside. Horrified by the four or five aggressive commercials that were inflicted on us at the crescendo moments of the show. I understand that the delegation of Radio-Canadian journalists on site has to be funded, but it is such a lack of respect for the public and the artisans that I simply cannot believe it. I was really afraid that the public service would scrappe the Celine moment towards the end.

Radio-Canada needs to take stock: they don’t treat viewers like that. Not to mention that the hosting by Martin Labrosse and Céline Galipeau will not be remembered, it was so bland.

Obviously, the usual reactionaries, with their starched vision of the Nation, see in this ceremony the decadence of France and, once again, the end of civilization. Because there were drags, threesomes, Philippe Katerine naked and Aya Nakamura swinging Aznavour in front of the French Academy. Some see it as an attack on the symbols of France, when they have just been magnified and updated, by reminding us that Paris is still a party to which everyone should be invited.

I admit I had a blast watching the metal band Gojira perform with guillotined aristocrats in the Conciergerie prison, where Marie-Antoinette was locked up before her torture. The Revolution is surely the most heavy of the history of France.

Also seeing the sun set over Paris, despite the rain that fogged the cameras, giving way to the appearance of the City of Light, justified the length of the show, to show that we never sleep there. Is Paris burning? No, it shines. Like Lady Gaga, like “voguing” on a bridge in the capital.

Whether we like it or not, Paris shone brightly in this opening ceremony that was doomed to failure in advance and that will be crucified for having only wanted to show the France of today.

“The earth can collapse, I don’t care if you love me, I don’t care about the whole world,” sang Celine, living up to the expectations she creates, as usual.

That’s how we like it, and that’s how we like France.