Yep, still too swamped to meet my daily blogging obligations, but my hilarious and articulate husband is subbing in for me this week. Here are his thoughts on the closing ceremonies of the Olympics, for your enjoyment:
Best. Olympics.
Ever.
–Stephan Cox
Lori and I were a little sad to see the Olympic torch
fade out after two incredible, Tivo-jamming weeks of events, and we both agreed
that these were probably the best Olympics ever. Say what you will about China
(and there’s plenty to say), those cats know how to put on a show.
So
much so that last night it became clear they may have raised the bar a little
high even for themselves. Certainly, the closing ceremonies were lovely, but
they couldn’t match the Opening Ceremonies. You hire Jiang Yimou, director of
two of the most visually stunning films ever, “House of Flying Daggers,” and
“Raise the Red Lantern,” add a cast of about ten thousand, and that’s what you
get. As Jiang said, “We had the people and we had the money, so why
not?”
Accordingly, everyone was left wondering what the hell the Brits
could do in 2012 to live up to such a scorched-Earth presentation. As far as
Lori and I were concerned, the only logical answer was to go minimal. That, or
see if they could do a Monty Python reunion, one that resurrected Graham Chapman
from the grave. Or better yet, a Beatles reunion. Featuring John and George.
As it turned out, the Brits were on hand at last night’s closing
ceremonies to give us a little taste of what they’ve got in store for us in four
years. And, well… I’m wracking my brain to come up with the proper metaphor
here: Bringing a gun to a knife fight? Wearing Toughskins to a Prada show?
Putting peanut butter on caviar?
Or better yet, how about “trotting out
an aging rock star and what looked like the cast of Rent to compete with a
four-story Memory Tower decked out with a thousand people in two-tone leotards
on harnesses who are performing intricate synchronized movements intended to
simulate the movement of a flame”?
I mean, you have to feel kind of
sorry for them. But come on. A double-decker bus outfitted with Astroturf? And,
look, I like Jimmy Page. I think most people like Jimmy Page. But Jimmy Page’s
time is past. Didn’t they have anyone a little more… current on hand? Someone to
show that England’s “hip” and “with it?” Or, if you’re gonna go the geezer
route, then for God’s sake, at least get Plant to sing with him. Instead, they
opted for some bubblegum poseur whose name Lori knew but I didn’t standing atop
what looked like Liberace’s wedding cake. In the words of Tim Daggett, “Absolute
disaster.” Too bad Amy Winehouse wasn’t available.
The flag
handover was a tip off, too. Again, say what you will about Chinese stiffness
and efficiency, but at least their leaders know how to comb their hair and wear
a suit when they’re in public. But representing Britain was the newly elected
mayor of London, Boris Johnson, looking like a sack of potatoes stuffed into a
suit. They hand him the flag, and… I never thought it was possible to wave a
flag flaccidly, but that guy swung Britain’s newly inherited Olympic flag like a
spent teabag. Huzzah.
I have to mention, China did have one down moment,
when it decided to trot out its cavalcade of freshly scrubbed pop stars on the
Memory Tower. Did you recognize any of them? Me, neither. You know when you go
into a karaoke bar, a real karaoke bar, one frequented by Asian people taking it
all extremely seriously and singing Asian pop songs? Those songs were originally
done by these Chinese pop stars. It’s crazy when you think about it. Our pop
stars have a few million fans. Theirs have billions.
Clearly I’m a
tough critic. But those Brits have a long way to go before they convince me to
show up in 2012 and pay $38 for a plate of bangers and mash.