It
has taken 7 years, 2 regime changes and 6 bad summers in England, but
finally the waiting and wondering is over, and the whetting and
wonderment can begin. The Olympic Park is a mesmerising 'Green and
Pleasant Land' with thousands of actors
engrossed in their roles. It feels like someone has built a
diorama then watered it with some Olympic-strength fertiliser.
Artificial
clouds lap the Farmsvillesque village like not-so-subtle spy
satellites. When it rains just before the off, the audience trace the
raindrops skywards to see if it's special effects or if God really is
pissing on our parade.
Bradley
Wiggins, one of the most unlikely-looking sports stars ever, bongs
the world's largest harmonically-charged bell to say y'ello to the
2012 London Olympics. Fresh(ish) from his tour de force Tour de
France, he competes again in the Time Trial in the Olympics. It's
heartening to see recycling rewarded.
There
is so much to look at that we take on the persona of ADD kids, unable
to focus on anything for more than a few seconds. Scouting around
quickly there are Morris dancers (folk right off), an orchestra
playing Elgar's 'Nimrod', 2 maids-a-tossing (apples), a water wheel
and a village cricket match. A medieval Malinga has an LBW appeal
turned down but the DRS system hasn't been invented yet so it can't
be referred. Where's Billy Bowden when you need a questionable
decision?
The
British Isles are unified with children's choirs singing 'Jerusalem',
'Oh Danny Boyle', 'Flower of Scotland' and 'Bread of Heaven', all now
sporting anthems. We are all cheering the same side this time though
(except Scotland who will still cheer anyone but England).
The
hypnotic Shipping Forecast highlights the British love of all things
weather, and for a change doesn't interrupt the cricket. It doesn't
exactly go down a storm with the tourists as it is Met with a cold
front. You can already hear the Americans thinking “huh?” like
they have just been told a joke. Lucky their Twitter feed can explain
everything clearly, like Newsround does for children.
You
say you want a revolution? Yeahhhhh I know. Although technically I
don’t know much about the Industrial Revolution as I always dozed
in history. Kids would be so much more interested in learning about
history if they had this ceremony as an educational tool.
The
industriousness of the peasants (complete with Bradley Wiggins-style
sideburns) is reminiscent of a colony of worker ants and a bygone
ethos. I am quite similar to an ant really as I often pull women
several times my weight.
Pandemonium
(the capital of hell in John Milton's 'Paradise Lost') is the next
theme. Pandemonium is what happens when you put Jingjing, one of the
mascots from the Beijing Olympics, in a test tube full
of ammonia.
The
main focus is a toriffic Glastonbury mound which is part
Teletubbies, part Lord Of The Olympic Rings. There are chimneys
popping out of the ground like doggy lipsticks.
A
poignant moment remembers the fallen. A profound sense of sorrow is
felt at this time. The actors who have ruined their 15 seconds of
fame by tripping over the turf stand with heads bowed in shame. Where
there's a games, there's a claim.
We
move onto the Social and Cultural Change in England as West Indians
are integrated into the community courtesy of The Empire Windrush.
Yeah mon! No such tribute to B&I
/ Sealink / Irish Ferries which brought the Irish over though.
A
Tempestuous Kenneth Branagh, portraying Isambard Kingdom Brunel, is
looking very pleased with himself, although no one is sure if he is
acting.
The
five Olympic rings have been forged by the workers. Its a proud
moment, but is there nothing these counterfeiters wont tackle?
The
Olympic rings are coming together. That hardly ever happens! As they
merge above our heads, fireworks explode downwards making them seem
like rocket thrusters beneath a UFOOOOO. Any of us could be beamed up
and experimented on. As it is, we have all been sucked into an
engaging spectacle tonight.
James
Bond strides purposefully down the corridors of Buckingham Palace,
past the chubby dogs to meet the corgi-registered Queen. He is
introduced but she doesn't react as her hearing is knackered from
listening to the National Anthem too loud, so he has to cough to get
her attention We all suspect it's an actress, but no, it's the actual
bona fide Queen for Bond to have a crack at.
They
board a helicopter and take the scenic route to the Olympic
Park, showcasing our wonderful tourist landmarks. An animated black
Churchill statue (we don’t do white Winstons any more) waves at us.
Oh yesssss!
The
helicopter door opens, as do our mouths, when the queen parachutes
out of the plane in perhaps the most surreal moment of her monarchy.
It is as exhilarating as jumping from a plane, commando. Wham bam
thank you maam.
They
arrive at the Olympic Park and are seated safely. The Queen is
looking peachy and the Duke of Edinburgh is in the pink too, first
time in years he has had any.
The
Kaos Signing Choir for Deaf And Hearing Children (all bases covered
then!) get to sign the national anthem. There
truly is something for everyone - even the paedos get to enjoy kids
in jimjams.
'Second
To The Right And Straight On Till Morning' is the next section, named
after the directions Peter gave to Wendy to find Neverland. This part
of the show honours children's literature and the NHS. They overlap
well as the author JM Barrie gave
the royalties from 'Peter Pan' to the NHS. Could be a big
mistake promoting our free health service to a world that already
comes from all over to bleed us dry.
Mike
Oldfield's 'Tubular Bells' comes on. Excitement reaches near orgasmic
levels when I contemplate the possibility that Danny Boyle has
somehow persuaded the Queen to honour 'The Exorcist' by getting on
the bed and screaming “Your mother sucks cocks in hell”. But no,
she shook her head to that one.
The
hyperactive kids are jumping around on their beds like a scene from
'Annie'. Lights go out as they are subsequently sent to sleep, but
you know how kids like dicking around instead of sleeping.
It's
the perfect time for JK Rowling to read a passage from Peter Pan.
Literary wrong 'uns appear in the form of the Child Catcher (modelled
on Noel Fielding), Cruela De Vil, Queen of Hearts and Voldemort, who
is on the end of a fierce shit-kicking from a miasma of Mary
Poppinses who have swooped down from the roof like harpies.
Sir
Simon Rattle charms the London Symphony Choir through 'Chariots Of
Fire'. For many this is the cue to make a cuppa, but the audience are
quickly fired up by a classic and genius revelation – a deadpan Mr.
Bean who has somehow got the job of maintaining the monotonous synth
beat. Key moment! There's a few seconds of disbelief before it
registers with the crowd and rapture crackles around the Olympic Park
like a Mexican wave.
Rowan
Atkinson's deadpannery in front of the keyboard is simplistic and
synthlistic brilliance. Playing the one note repeatedly quickly bores
him into a daydream where he is running down the beach with a group
of fitter types, in the opening scene from 'Chariots of Fire'. He
quickly runs out of puff and disappears from shot only to re-emerge
being chauffeured down the beach in a classic British automobile,
rejoining the group at the head of the pack just before the winning
line. There's still time for him to rub his rival's face in the sand
as he trips him and strips him of a deserved victory. He awakes from
his daydream to a glare from Rattle and finishes with a final
flourish to plaudits.
'Frankie
and June Say...Thanks Tim!' showcases our rich musical, televisual
and film history. It starts optimistically with the infamous footage
of Michael Fish telling us not to worry as there isn't a hurricane on
the way. It turns out to be a metaphor as this section of the show
fails to blow me away.
We
get 'Pretty Vacant' from Sex Pistols rather than 'God Save The Queen'
and her fascist regime. You can just imagine the sourpuss turning to
Phil and saying “Thank God they aren't playing that awful one about
me”.
Dizzee
Rascal gets to “reprazent” (shittest word ever) his manor with
'Bonkers'. I spent the entire song holding onto my mum's leg, crying.
Some people think I'm bonkers, but I just think I'm three.
The
face of God is revealed in a major coup for London 2012. The Tim in
the title of this segment is Sir Tim Berners-Lee, the Godlike genius
who invented the world wide web. His hub is a house with iconic
images being been projected onto and it rises to reveal him sitting
in front of a blank screen. Everyone knows when you walk in on
someone with a blank screen, they have been watching porn. What a
tangled web he weaves.
He
uses his NeXT computer, which became the world's first web server, to
type “THIS IS FOR EVERYONE”, the words he used in 1995 about the
web. It flashes up around the stadium, doubling up as an
inspirational message about the games.
Berners-Lee
has an impressive CV. He doesn’t need to bother with fancy fonts or
formatting or the Saturday job he had in McDonald's (Paid
advertisement). A simple “I invented the fucking web!” under his
name gets him any job he likes.
We
see a smooth-looking David Beckham whizzing down the Thames in a
speedboat with the Olympic torch. There is no sign of the omnipresent
Sue Barker atop Tower Bridge with her rocket launcher. Probably busy
with the day job.
'Abide
With Me' is woefully sung by Emeli Sande. Her breathing is erratic
and she sounds like a deaf person at times. It accompanies a puzzling
embarrassingly-bad expressive dance display that adds nothing to the
occasion. It is easily the worst part of the ceremony and so dreary
that NBC decide to cut it entirely from their delayed coverage.
The
10000 athletes from the 204 nations who are competing in 302 events
in 26 sports then launch their parade. We could do with a faster
pace-setter as it's a 90-minute plod. It's not helped by the fact
that half the competitors are more interested in recording extra
footage for their personal archive.
Luckily,
Arctic Monkeys follow the snoozefest with a couple of songs, 'I Bet
You Look Good On The Dancefloor' and a cover of 'Come Together'. It's
a relief that the Queen can finally declare the 30th
Olympiad open cos she wants to get home to bed. That parachute dive
has taken it right out of her.
Mohammed
Ali makes an appearance, a ghost of his former self. The poor man
looks dead and gets carried around by a beefy carer in a scene not
too dissimilar to 'Weekend At Bernie's'.
Becks
passes the Olympic Flame from the boat over to Sir Steve Redgrave,
who transports it into the park and onto the next generation - seven
up-and-coming athletes sponsored by seven great British heroes.
'Caliban's Dream' by Underworld provides a soothing and uplifting
soundtrack for the transition.
The
bright prospects light 204 petals around the Olympic cauldron,
one for each country competing. They merge majestically at the top,
bringing each country together for a warm embrace, or possibly even
some hot love. It has echoes of Wicker Man but our ending is more
serene and satisfying as our natives aren't blazing mad. Couldn't
remember the name of that film, had to look it up on Wickerpedia.
London
has reason to feel triumphant and optimistic. Almost a year to the
day that feral youths were running around the capital setting fire to
people's livelihoods, the disorder has been superseded by hope of the
highest order as the kids with illuminating futures ignite the
passion in all of us.
Truly,
a generation is inspired.
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