Athens 2004 Olympic Ceremony: a review
Created | Updated Aug 13, 2004
The residence of a TV in our kitchen dates from that opening ceremony of the Sydney 2000 Olympics. Quite why I bothered escapes me, seeing as Olympic Opening Ceremonies are traditionally such a grand visual spectacle that I can’t even pretend to be doing the chores while one is in progress - I might just as well make myself comfortable in the living room and sit down with a glass of wine to watch it properly. Sydney was jaw-droppingly brilliant, fantastically Australian as well as suitably Olympian, and it was generally agreed that even if the stadium at Athens were finished in time, there was no way the Greeks could match it.
The opening ceremony of Athens 2004 was inconsiderately timed to coincide with putting the children to bed. Honestly, when will organisers learn? Couch Olympians are not all beer-swilling visitors of pubs with Large Screen Sport Every Friday - All the Big Matches. I missed all of the cultural stuff at the start, and arrived just as lots of bits of marble (look, that’s what Barry Davies said they were, even though it was quite clear they weren’t) were hoisted up into the air above the stadium and transformed into, er, bits of marble sort of arranged like - well, like Mount Olympus, thinking about it, with an olive tree growing out of the top. Luckily, the BBC strung together a precis of the cultural bit at the end, so I was able to see what I’d missed. Water, marble, woman pregnant with a lamp inside her, people steering marble over water, people dancing in a multi-cultural stylee, people moving in a slow but determined way ... and ooh, there go the bits of marble. So I didn’t miss much, and was there in front of the TV in good time for the best bit - the arrival of the athletes.
I love this. Greeks first, because they invented the Olympics, then all the other countries in alphabetical order; host nation last. But these Olympics are in Athens, so we couch Olympians had to be on our toes for once. The Greek flag came first, but the Greek athletes were saved until last (host nation, see?); and then all the other countries were in alphabetical order, sure - but Greek alphabetical order! It’s surprising how many countries begin with Alpha in Greek. Great Britain begins with Mu, or Nu - I lost track a bit - there were 202 countries and we were about half way. While everybody was parading, an Internationally Famous DJ (one of these new ones, not the old-fashioned Simon Bates sort) was mixing music. Trendy, thumping, whizzy music. I’m not sure why he had to wait until the ceremony itself to mix it. I’m sure that, with a little planning, he could have sorted it out beforehand and maybe even put it on a CD so he could have enjoyed it, instead of having to wear headphones and bounce his head about a lot. But, still, it gave a certain vibrancy to what we were watching.
Each country was led by a Greek lady dressed in a vase, carrying a clever crossed sign with the name of the country in Greek, French, English and possibly the native language (the cameras didn’t really dwell on the ladies in vases). She was followed by the flag bearer, and then came the rest of the athletes (those that hadn’t been sent to bed early because they had a medal to win next day, that is). There were countries with hundreds of athletes and countries with just a handful; countries with athletes in traditional dress, and countries where the athletes were wearing clothes which had clearly been designed as part of a national children’s competition. Our athletes looked jolly smart, although I wasn’t keen on the curly “Great Britain” plastered across the backs of their jackets, and I’m not sure what the ladies were waving - silk scarves, I think. One of the teams was wearing a pleasing combination of desert beige and burgundy (several teams wore desert shades), and the Dutch team had orange ties (nice touch), but the Pacific Islands tended to have the most eye-catching team colours, and garlands around their necks as well.
It takes hours for the Olympic athletes to parade around the stadium. Barry was with us all the way, flicking through his atlas to tell us where the countries we’d never heard of could be found, riffling through his Book of Olympic Statistics to tell us about the most successful games Peru had ever had, identifying every Olympian who walked past him and telling us what they won in Sydney and how they were hoping to improve on that this time. Or, of course, he might have been making it all up as he went along, because who would know the difference, but it sounded impressive.
But I was fascinated by the faces. Different colours, different shapes, different cultures - but all smiling. People representing countries that normally I associate only with awful stories on the Ten o’clock News were here, in Athens, showing that politics and fighting are not the only forces at work in the world. Hundreds of people, who have worked for years to be part of this - and hundreds of other people, quietly making sure that all the athletes had their moment and then went to stand in the right place. It was a triumph of individual and collective achievement.
I think it was at this point, after the Greek team had stormed around the stadium to applause that would have raised the roof, if the stadium had one, that Bjork appeared. Bjork is a small Icelandic singer who does interesting things with music. For example, for this particular song she chose not to hire violinists for the string accompaniment, but brought her friends along to wail instead. I did think it was a bit of a concession to international modernism, roping Bjork in for the singing. Why couldn’t the Greek entry to Eurovision have given us a quick reprise? Or Nana Misskouri or Demis Roussos done a turn? But perhaps the organisers are saving the Internationally Famous Greek Singers for the closing ceremony.
Then the speeches. Short and to the point, but in a mixture of languages, so giving the appearance of being long and meaningful.
Then the Olympic Flag was paraded around the stadium before being hoisted by the Greek navy, while a mixed choir sang the Olympic Anthem. Not exactly a karaoke favourite, but uplifting and inspiring nevertheless.
The representative athlete, and the representative official, swore the Olympic Oath on the Olympic Flag. I always think that’s the best bit - but then the flame arrrives.
One year the Olympic flame was fired across to the torch by arrow (yeah, right); Muhammed Ali had a trembling hand in it one year; Kathy Freeman had the only dodgy moment of the entire Sydney opening ceremony, when she had the flame. This year, the flame had been right around the world, through “all five continents” and all previous Olympic cities, and to indicate this lots of people on wires walked through the air above the athletes, carrying - well, not flames, because that might have been dangerous - truncated light sabres. Or possibly extremely large mobile phones with one hell of a backlit display. I thought at first that the people on wires might have been about to do something useful, but no - they disappeared again, and the flame arrived. Six athletes relayed it about the track (one of them was a dreadful show-off and seemed not to have noticed that this was the Solemn Climax of the ceremony), and then the final Famous Greek Olympic Athlete carried it up an enormous flight of steps, while a cauldron (that’s what Barry called it - maybe he doesn’t read Harry Potter) shaped like the worlds’ biggest cigar tipped forwards to meet him.
This was worrying. I mean, clearly the Olympic flame is gas-powered during the course of the games, so here presumably is an enormous gas lighter positioned right in front of an innocent man clutching a naked flame. One false move, one inaccurate calculation, and a Famous Greek Olympic Athlete could easily have become a human barbecued kebab. But it seems that somebody on the organising committee had at least thought this one through, and when the Famous Greek Olympic Athlete put his flame to the cigar, nothing much happened until the cigar had swung up again and out of range - at which point WHOOSH, massive Olympic flame, and cue half an hour of fireworks.
The fireworks were excellent. My best ever fireworks, in ascending order, are:
3. Royal Wedding 1981
2. Paris, 31 December 1999
1. Sydney, Olympics 2000
The Royal Wedding may now have been knocked off that number 3 spot.
I really would not want to be in the Bejing 2008 committee having watched Athens 2004 tonight. I suspect that tonight’s ceremony looked good partly because we had been led to believe that the stadium would still be covered in scaffolding and all the athletes would have to wear hard hats. This added to the advance tension, and hence the relief, considerably - the Greeks know how to play a drama, after all. If an Athens official had been wheeled out a fortnight ago to say “Yah boo sucks - we’re ready for yah!”, we, the couch Olympians, would have been all relaxed and expecting the best, not the worst. But even with that factored out of the equation, it was an excellent opening ceremony.
Apparently there’s now going to be rather a lot of sport on TV for the next 16 days, which will allow the couch Olympians to recover from the excitement before the closing ceremony. Just as well, really.
The opening ceremony of Athens 2004 was inconsiderately timed to coincide with putting the children to bed. Honestly, when will organisers learn? Couch Olympians are not all beer-swilling visitors of pubs with Large Screen Sport Every Friday - All the Big Matches. I missed all of the cultural stuff at the start, and arrived just as lots of bits of marble (look, that’s what Barry Davies said they were, even though it was quite clear they weren’t) were hoisted up into the air above the stadium and transformed into, er, bits of marble sort of arranged like - well, like Mount Olympus, thinking about it, with an olive tree growing out of the top. Luckily, the BBC strung together a precis of the cultural bit at the end, so I was able to see what I’d missed. Water, marble, woman pregnant with a lamp inside her, people steering marble over water, people dancing in a multi-cultural stylee, people moving in a slow but determined way ... and ooh, there go the bits of marble. So I didn’t miss much, and was there in front of the TV in good time for the best bit - the arrival of the athletes.
I love this. Greeks first, because they invented the Olympics, then all the other countries in alphabetical order; host nation last. But these Olympics are in Athens, so we couch Olympians had to be on our toes for once. The Greek flag came first, but the Greek athletes were saved until last (host nation, see?); and then all the other countries were in alphabetical order, sure - but Greek alphabetical order! It’s surprising how many countries begin with Alpha in Greek. Great Britain begins with Mu, or Nu - I lost track a bit - there were 202 countries and we were about half way. While everybody was parading, an Internationally Famous DJ (one of these new ones, not the old-fashioned Simon Bates sort) was mixing music. Trendy, thumping, whizzy music. I’m not sure why he had to wait until the ceremony itself to mix it. I’m sure that, with a little planning, he could have sorted it out beforehand and maybe even put it on a CD so he could have enjoyed it, instead of having to wear headphones and bounce his head about a lot. But, still, it gave a certain vibrancy to what we were watching.
Each country was led by a Greek lady dressed in a vase, carrying a clever crossed sign with the name of the country in Greek, French, English and possibly the native language (the cameras didn’t really dwell on the ladies in vases). She was followed by the flag bearer, and then came the rest of the athletes (those that hadn’t been sent to bed early because they had a medal to win next day, that is). There were countries with hundreds of athletes and countries with just a handful; countries with athletes in traditional dress, and countries where the athletes were wearing clothes which had clearly been designed as part of a national children’s competition. Our athletes looked jolly smart, although I wasn’t keen on the curly “Great Britain” plastered across the backs of their jackets, and I’m not sure what the ladies were waving - silk scarves, I think. One of the teams was wearing a pleasing combination of desert beige and burgundy (several teams wore desert shades), and the Dutch team had orange ties (nice touch), but the Pacific Islands tended to have the most eye-catching team colours, and garlands around their necks as well.
It takes hours for the Olympic athletes to parade around the stadium. Barry was with us all the way, flicking through his atlas to tell us where the countries we’d never heard of could be found, riffling through his Book of Olympic Statistics to tell us about the most successful games Peru had ever had, identifying every Olympian who walked past him and telling us what they won in Sydney and how they were hoping to improve on that this time. Or, of course, he might have been making it all up as he went along, because who would know the difference, but it sounded impressive.
But I was fascinated by the faces. Different colours, different shapes, different cultures - but all smiling. People representing countries that normally I associate only with awful stories on the Ten o’clock News were here, in Athens, showing that politics and fighting are not the only forces at work in the world. Hundreds of people, who have worked for years to be part of this - and hundreds of other people, quietly making sure that all the athletes had their moment and then went to stand in the right place. It was a triumph of individual and collective achievement.
I think it was at this point, after the Greek team had stormed around the stadium to applause that would have raised the roof, if the stadium had one, that Bjork appeared. Bjork is a small Icelandic singer who does interesting things with music. For example, for this particular song she chose not to hire violinists for the string accompaniment, but brought her friends along to wail instead. I did think it was a bit of a concession to international modernism, roping Bjork in for the singing. Why couldn’t the Greek entry to Eurovision have given us a quick reprise? Or Nana Misskouri or Demis Roussos done a turn? But perhaps the organisers are saving the Internationally Famous Greek Singers for the closing ceremony.
Then the speeches. Short and to the point, but in a mixture of languages, so giving the appearance of being long and meaningful.
Then the Olympic Flag was paraded around the stadium before being hoisted by the Greek navy, while a mixed choir sang the Olympic Anthem. Not exactly a karaoke favourite, but uplifting and inspiring nevertheless.
The representative athlete, and the representative official, swore the Olympic Oath on the Olympic Flag. I always think that’s the best bit - but then the flame arrrives.
One year the Olympic flame was fired across to the torch by arrow (yeah, right); Muhammed Ali had a trembling hand in it one year; Kathy Freeman had the only dodgy moment of the entire Sydney opening ceremony, when she had the flame. This year, the flame had been right around the world, through “all five continents” and all previous Olympic cities, and to indicate this lots of people on wires walked through the air above the athletes, carrying - well, not flames, because that might have been dangerous - truncated light sabres. Or possibly extremely large mobile phones with one hell of a backlit display. I thought at first that the people on wires might have been about to do something useful, but no - they disappeared again, and the flame arrived. Six athletes relayed it about the track (one of them was a dreadful show-off and seemed not to have noticed that this was the Solemn Climax of the ceremony), and then the final Famous Greek Olympic Athlete carried it up an enormous flight of steps, while a cauldron (that’s what Barry called it - maybe he doesn’t read Harry Potter) shaped like the worlds’ biggest cigar tipped forwards to meet him.
This was worrying. I mean, clearly the Olympic flame is gas-powered during the course of the games, so here presumably is an enormous gas lighter positioned right in front of an innocent man clutching a naked flame. One false move, one inaccurate calculation, and a Famous Greek Olympic Athlete could easily have become a human barbecued kebab. But it seems that somebody on the organising committee had at least thought this one through, and when the Famous Greek Olympic Athlete put his flame to the cigar, nothing much happened until the cigar had swung up again and out of range - at which point WHOOSH, massive Olympic flame, and cue half an hour of fireworks.
The fireworks were excellent. My best ever fireworks, in ascending order, are:
3. Royal Wedding 1981
2. Paris, 31 December 1999
1. Sydney, Olympics 2000
The Royal Wedding may now have been knocked off that number 3 spot.
I really would not want to be in the Bejing 2008 committee having watched Athens 2004 tonight. I suspect that tonight’s ceremony looked good partly because we had been led to believe that the stadium would still be covered in scaffolding and all the athletes would have to wear hard hats. This added to the advance tension, and hence the relief, considerably - the Greeks know how to play a drama, after all. If an Athens official had been wheeled out a fortnight ago to say “Yah boo sucks - we’re ready for yah!”, we, the couch Olympians, would have been all relaxed and expecting the best, not the worst. But even with that factored out of the equation, it was an excellent opening ceremony.
Apparently there’s now going to be rather a lot of sport on TV for the next 16 days, which will allow the couch Olympians to recover from the excitement before the closing ceremony. Just as well, really.
