Sochi’s Impenetrable, Utterly Russian Opening Ceremony
The Sochi Opening Ceremony has come and gone, and like everything Russian, it was tasteful, simple, and flawlessly executed.
That was a joke, of course. Just as every Olympics’ Opening Ceremony showcases the national character (Canada: Charming! Slightly bumbling! So lovable!) or ambitions (China: We Will Own Everyone and Everything Soon, Here Are 100,000 Drummers), Russia was its very Russia-est self for three hours that included confusion, beauty, terror, amnesia of every single thing that has happened in the past 150 preceding years, and a stray dog that somehow survived the Great Dog-Killing Purge.
The land of plutocrats, crushing human-rights abuses, impossibly beautiful women, and all-gold-everything outdid itself as it told the story of one little girl who dreams of fish-shaped villages, a ballet treatment of War and Peace, and the glorious Severed Heads of Revolutionary Spirit.
The first hint of the double-toilet-style operations issues came as the recalcitrant fifth Olympic ring refused to open. Even now, if you close your eyes and listen carefully, you can almost hear the hungry wolves, circling a cold and desperate set designer. That is not a joke; it’s mandated under Russian statute. Sorry, set design guy!
You could also see the first of many instances of Big Group Representative Dances Where One or Two People Did NOT Memorize Their Cues and Were Consequently a Half-Step Behind Throughout. I’m not saying I could do any better at this sort of thing, but I would absolutely put, say, the Ohio State Marching Band up against them anytime. This would never have flown in Beijing, I’ll tell you that much.
Also, if you’ve ever looked at a teddy bear and thought, “Man, this is great. But I really wish I could have one with the soulless eyes of Vladimir Putin,” then I have some wonderful news for you vis-a-vis the mascot.
All the countries came in—the Jamaican bobsled team (thanks, Reddit!) and Canadians among the most popular; the Americans, as the BBC announcer put it, “wearing some of the loudest knitwear we’ve ever seen” (U!S!A! U!S!A!) and that was well and good.
The historical montage, however, was the weirdest, Russian-est, and therefore best part of the proceedings. The floor projections were dazzling, the fish-shaped village magical, and the view back at the golden days of 20th-century Russia absolutely accurate—Soviet Russia is for lovers!
Spirits were high as blood-red farm equipment was on the march, crushing doubts and pessimism like so many misplaced forearms!
Then, it was time for the doves of peace—or, unfortunately as it sounds to American ears when rendered in a Russian accent, the Dumps of Pees.
As the Doves of Peace/Dumps of Pees/jellyfish ladies/virus cells spun and spun (lots of visual interpretations there), the following jokes were made in terrible Russian accents:
“In Russia, beautiful Dump of Pees adorns each and every mantle.”
“Just when spirits are lowest, sometimes, we look to sky and see giant flock of dumps soaring together overhead.”
“Putin—the biggest pees-maker of all. Vith a heart like hawk, and a soul of dump!”
Then, after a brief debate over whether or not it’s OK to make fun of Russian accents (yes) and Russian people (no), what was supposed to be a moving tribute to peace (yes, because Russia paying tribute to peace is like Sarah Palin paying tribute to scientific inquiry) and Russia itself (yes, yes, a thousand times yes), it was time for what we can all agree was the most stunning synchronized rollerblading display that anyone has ever seen.
Under the glow of the beautiful hockey-player constellations (used by ancient Russian mariners to guide them home), the rollerbladers swirled and twirled and mostly kept in formation except for that one guy who still could not hold it together. Finally, the celestial hockey puck was shot—has anyone adequately explained yet Putin’s hockey obsession?—and it was Torch Time.
After a montage that looked like it was shot in 1973, five Beloved Russian Athletes and one Putin’s Girlfriend jogged around with the torch for about 30 minutes, and then finally—finally—the climax neared. Russian Alec Baldwin and Russian Lady that Tweeted Something Racist About the Obamas trotted toward the great flame and whooooosh, up it went into the sky, just like the hopes and dreams of Russia’s sexual minorities.
Happy Sochi Olympics, everyone!