The ceremony always walks a line between the national pride of the host country and the optimism of sport. Nationalism is not an American phenom, but the people of “the only remaining superpower” swagger in their sleep. This year, however, the pre-Games controversy over how to include the World Trade Center flag guaranteed that American jingoism would be on a short leash. Even attempts at the “U.S.A.! U.S.A.!” rally chant would fail.
The evening’s first American moment was a surprise, given its Hollywood producer’s reputation for flash. In the opening minutes, when the WTC flag was marched out by eight American athletes, the only sounds heard in Rice-Eccles Olympic Stadium were the patter of helicopter rotors, sniffling women and men choking on lumps in their throats. Hats were taken off and eyes watered. The national anthem’s timeless lyrics had taken on modern meaning: “And the rockets’ red glare/The bombs bursting in air/Gave proof through the night/That our flag was still there.” The lines put a pit in the stomach.
Politics–an odd, romantic form of it–is impossible to avoid at the Games’ biannual reawakening. Close attention this year to the Parade of Athletes brought conflict to mind. After Greece, which as the Games’ birthplace always marches out first, the alphabet of Olympic nations begins with Afghanistan, a Summer Games-only nation suspended in the mid-1990s. Throughout the night, host broadcaster NBC repeatedly cut to Afghanistan, where U.S. troops watched the ceremony and chanted “U.S.A.!” Tepid applause greeted Iran’s small team when it marched out on the heals of India. NBC’s cameras panned to President Bush and the First Lady, whose expressions were blank and hands were idle. Nor could politics be ignored at the announcement of “Chinese Taipei,” the International Olympics Committee’s politically-correct name for Taiwan. Other nations’ names simply inspired bewilderment. “San Marino?” a spectator said. “That’s a country?” One fringe benefit of September 11 is that Americans became at least marginally familiar with all the Central Asian “Stans.”
Throughout, the crowd of 50,000 was tame and polite. Respect seemed to dominate spectators’ minds, not fear. “We’re cheering for everyone equally,” said Salt Lake City resident Kathy Ferguson, embracing Utah’s hospitality offensive. She plunked down $891 (her family could only afford one ticket) to sit in 25-degree weather, twirling her Games-issued flashlight and yelping for Canada and Cyprus with the same vigor. Class was also on display in the form of cultural couture. Germany’s pullovers with fur collars and Russia’s full-length creme coats with black fur accents dueled for top honors. (Honorable mention: The one-man Bermudan team clad in Bermuda shorts.)
All was not so tasteful. When showmanship bumped aside politics, it arrived in equal doses saccharine and sugar. The stage was simple, elegant and functional–at times breaking off like ice flow–while the literal, club-over-head allegory of songs like LeAnn Rimes’ “Light the Fire Within” (the Games’ slogan) sapped some music of art. The nod to Utah’s Indian nations was noble and moving, while the “American West Suite” was corny and belonged in Disneyland. In addition, the animated paper bears and coyotes, native to Utah, were wondrous and fun–but appeared a day after headlines declared the Bush administration’s plans to open the state’s public lands to drilling.
The television broadcast fared about as well. NBC’s cameras displayed the showmanship in all its glimmer and sizzle. But the Couric-Costas patter was stilted, plagued by audio problems, inappropriate (reminders of Argentina’s economic crisis while its team marched) and momentarily arcane (“Oh, wait,” Costas said, “I’ve been waiting to say this all my life: Live, at the Olympics, it’s Australia!”). In the end, the show warmed the hearts of 50,000 shivering souls. The Opening Ceremonies were dominated by class and community, leaving most of the sweetness to the cinnamon smell that mixed with snowflakes in the night air.
