I was really looking forward to the opening ceremony of the 2024 Olympic Games in Paris. I love a big spectacle – I still remember the 2008 opening ceremony in Beijing, which has been deemed “the greatest ever” by many owing to its grand extravagances. And of course the one in London, in July 2012, which included everything, from politics to humour and great music, and successfully presented the very essence of Britain to millions of viewers across the world.
I loved it all, and this is why, last Friday, I could hardly contain my excitement as I sat in front of my TV to see what Paris had to offer this year.
The ceremony, for lack of a better word, was a crashing disappointment. It wasn’t just the rain that dampened proceedings, but the perplexing artistic choices made by the organisers, and the lacklustre performances of so many of the people involved. The French media said it cost around $130m, some four times the cost of London’s critically acclaimed 2012 offering. Where was the money spent?
The performances took place on a bridge over the River Seine, around a table that doubled as a catwalk. Parisian models, dancers, fashionistas and drag queens adorned the table. At the centre of it all was Barbara Butch, a plus-size lesbian DJ, clad in a sequinned blue dress and a golden, halo-style crown.
At first sight, what was before us appeared to be a recreation of the biblical scene of Christ and his 12 apostles sharing a last meal before his crucifixion by a bunch of drag queens. There was a transgender model, a near-naked Greek god of wine, and music by DJ Butch: a woman who, by virtue of being proudly Jewish, fat and a lesbian, ticked a lot of boxes in the A-Z of “inclusivity”, which appeared to be the primary theme of this year’s ceremony.
Butch, whose style was more drag queen than feminist, was in my opinion still the best thing on that stage, as she was at least an actual woman rather than some bloke portraying – or parodying – one. Butch has since revealed some behind-the-scenes details about the opening ceremony, including that the idea behind the tableau was to “celebrate love, inclusivity, diversity through music and dance to unite all of us”.
This tableau supposedly aimed at “uniting” people also included a blue Dionysus – Greek god of wine, festivity and fertility – portrayed by French singer Philippe Katerine, who laid naked on a platter among the drag queens. According to the International Olympic Committee, this performance by what was essentially a man dressed as a Smurf was aimed at making us realise “the absurdity of violence between human beings”.
The ceremony, watched by over 28 million people, certainly managed to unite millions of people, just not in love and celebration, but disappointment and anger.
The French Catholic Church went berserk about what they saw as a parody of the Last Supper, and somehow by extension, their entire religion. Christian conservatives in Europe and America, and even their Muslim counterparts across the world, followed suit expressing their outrage. The show was branded “blasphemous” and “an abomination”. There were calls for boycotts from Latin America to the Middle East. To so many, it seemed, the expensive, poorly performed extravaganza on the Seine was an insult to everything they consider sacred.
As someone who believes all religious doctrine can be ridiculed and that it is actually healthy to criticise and make fun of these things, I am not much interested in this type of outrage. In fact, I recently asked an artistic friend to give the Last Supper treatment to a photograph taken of a dinner I attended along with other feminists, including the Harry Potter author JK Rowling and tennis icon Martina Navratilova. Such appropriation of religious imagery, easily recognisable to anyone, is just harmless fun. Of course, admittedly, our “Last Supper” did not include any man parodying women, or a Smurf-man in a platter.
Further, some suggested the tableau in Paris was not even a parody of Leonardo da Vinci’s famous “Last Supper” painting, but was intended to be a recreation of “The Feast of the Gods” by Jan van Bijlert.
That said, even if we accept, as the Olympic Committee suggested in the apology it offered to outraged Catholics, that the show had no intention of “showing disrespect” or parodying “any religious group”, there is still reason for disappointment and anger, because there is no question in my mind that the show was parodying women.
Indeed, I am sick and tired of drag and the media and the entertainment world’s seemingly never-ending obsession with it. I have had enough of men parading around as caricatures of women, and everyone “celebrating” their “art”, not realising how offensive this all is. It was enraging to see it take centre stage at an event that is supposed to bring peoples of the world together, and according to the organisers’ own testimony, celebrate love and inclusion.
When people look at minstrel shows of the past caricaturing enslaved Blacks, they immediately see there is no art to them – they are horrifically racist and insulting. But somehow, no one seems able to see how similarly insulting drag is to women.
Catholics accused the Olympic opening ceremony organisers and performers of disrespect towards the Church, but I honestly think that women were the ones being mocked and ridiculed on the global stage last Friday.
As a country, France is rightly proud of its artistic freedom but, to me, this ceremony reflected and perpetuated the misogyny within French culture. I don’t think it set a good tone for how the Olympics views women. We’re only a few days in and already there has been controversy over certain male fans complaining that female beach volleyball players have been allowed to reject the bikini bottoms they were previously required to wear – with the International Olympic Committee even mandating how skimpy they had to be – in favour of leggings.
Over the years, there have been numerous controversies surrounding the Olympic Games, from allegations of sexism and cultural relativism to just plain mismanagement. But as far as I’m concerned, the opening ceremony in Paris this year was conspicuous for its mediocracy. It obviously tried very hard to represent an inclusive culture, but it ended up looking like a drunken fight in a fairground.
The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial stance.
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