"Your Majesty, your Majesties, your Royal Highnesses, President Rogge, Distinguished guests, Ladies and Gentlemen." In an excellent speech Seb Coe made one serious ‘kick-yourself-afterwards’ omission: his hierarchical list missed out just one group – but the most important to the wonderful spirit of a memorable evening – the children. The thousands of children in the crowd and major contributors to Danny Boyle’s inspirational army of unpaid volunteers, deserved a separate mention in the formal litany of class now universally accepted as the inviolate rule of courtesy on such occasions. Indeed this iron-clad rule of propriety is so quintessentially British in its mixture of polite respect and deference – it was totally apposite for the occasion.

This is how it is done. Especially with perhaps the largest gathering in one place of people of historically genuine Royal Blood the world will ever see.

No political or ideological moan here dear reader: merely a philosophical observation about the animal instinct which all life, human or not, appears to share – the need and desire for hierarchy. As much part of our innate make up as is the drive to eternally surpass each other by running, jumping and swimming ever faster, longer and higher.

Anything truly capturing something of what it is to be British will be, must be, paradoxical. Danny Boyle’s brilliantly realised vision was aspirational, inspirational, proud, ironic; and with the confidence born of a nation that has both learned how to desire and acquire power, and how to to suspect it; irreducibly human and personal in spirit. The warmth, generosity of commitment and spirit of willing, un-coerced citizens uniting in a peaceful common cause exploded across the Stadium and the world last night in a palpable irresistible way that made one not only proud to be British – but absolutely justified in feeling so.

As delicious counterpoint to the formal hierarchy of convention was the wonderful way eminent figures like Sir Simon Rattle and Daniel Barenboim committed themselves with grace and rare good humour to the spirit of proceedings. Rattle was brilliantly unperturbed when his leadership of the London Philharmonic in a rendition of Chariots of Fire, had its viscerally stirring tone utterly sabotaged ad absurdum by Rowan Atkinson’s ineffably droll Mr Bean. Not just British – but sublimely so. No nation on earth….one was tempted to think: not in the humour, but in its cherishable self-mockery that leaves nothing reduced or demeaned. And at last something to rival Andre Previn and Morecombe and Wise.

It was also impressive and heartening to see one of the world’s great musicians give witness to his untiring commitment to peace with Daniel Barenboim’s dash from a sold out concert hall to help carry a flag in London’s East End. So too with UN Secretary General Ban-Ki-moon.

If Danny-Boy is, as he will now be called, a genius; that lies not in the outrageously inventive realisation of his vision before a billion people around the world – but in persuading the Queen to participate in a slyly seductive Bond-spoof that had her accompanied by 007 apparently arriving at the stadium by parachute. Superb casting too: if you want a never-crack-up, dead-pan foil for this resonant visual joke – the Queen’s your girl. Never in 60 devoted public years has a wayward grin or uncontrolled smile escaped that resolute, sometimes stony-seeming face. When one sees pictures of the young princesses Margaret and Elizabeth laughing and giggling naturally together and knowing of Margaret’s wicked sense of humour; one’s frustration that this extraordinary lady can’t crack a smile even for a billion watchers takes on the air of one of life’s many small tragedies.

No slouch himself in the unsmiling contest, though definitely silver to the Queen’s Gold, IOC Chief Jacques Rogge was generous to Britain’s Olympic and especially sporting history as perhaps only a Belgian can be, echoing as he did, the words of French founder of the modern Olympics Pierre de Coubertin. Indeed the organisers showed an apparent subtle sensibility towards the losing applicants for the 2012 Games with all live announcements made first in French. One wonders what the real reason was. But in making the rejection of drugs and especially highlighting the first Games with every national team including women, Rogge’s heart if not his charisma was in the right place.

Boyle’s dramatic physical representation of the Britain’s rapid transition from agricultural to the first truly industrial society was darkly powerful and should have resonated with those people in modern China able to see it, as they undergo the same uncontrolled process and its human price, 2 centuries later. More pastiche than historically literal, Kenneth Branagh’s Brunel was physically impressive but oddly saddled with one of Shakespeare’s more Delphic quotes whose connection with the impressively staged tableaux needed more explanation than the BBC’s pedestrian Huw Edwards saw fit to give us. The likeable Frank Cottrell-Boyce, who scripted the show, apparently provided a commentary on events but Edwards didn’t seem to make much use of it.

Much music inevitably: the Arctic Monkeys offered I thought a fairly ordinary 2 song set that didn’t really connect with proceedings very much. Scotland’s Emili Sande’s rendition of Abide with Me was powerful and affecting accompaniment to some resonantly dramatic dancing in the arena. I thought the segment paying tribute to Britain’s contribution to music was too cluttered and lacked variety in pace and tone. But I accept there’s nothing more personal than taste in pop music.

The celebration of the NHS through focus on Great Ormond Street was paradoxically full of life and exhuberant good health. And rightly so. It’s a shame that the ethical and social spirit of the NHS was not explicitly explained to a world where much medical treatment is left to market forces. But the wonderfully pumped 100s of delightful kids trampolining on their beds would have warmed the coldest heart. The segue from NHS into children’s literature introduced by J.K Rowling worked well with the dark side of good children’s books nicely manifested by a scary, giant Lord Voldemort.

Boyle was apparently impressed with the quote “The world does not lack wonders, it lacks wonder.” Well he provided both in this cleverly conceived and brilliantly realised show: from flying Mary Poppins’ to beautiful luminescent cycling, circling representations of doves. But we watched, truly in wonder, at the iconic sequence of the forging of the first of 5 Olympic rings seemingly impossibly linked up in the sky above the stadium. One of those things we witness that fill us up emotionally and brings a tear we can’t categorize in any way other than wonder, to the eye.

If the forging of the rings was the highlight of the first half, after the dramatic hiatus of the entry of the athletes tension built up again to the arrival of the Olympic flame and lighting of the cauldron. One momentarily feared this might be the cock-up of the Games: we’d all, literally, seen the torches and the flames but “shh, don’t tell anyone, someone’s forgotten the bloody cauldron - oh sh*t" “I thought you were doing the cauldron”. In all the fuss about who was going to light the bloody thing it was beginning to look as if there was no bloody thing to light.

When in doubt drag Beckham out. Looking like James Bond’s better-looking brother Becks got to race the torch by speedboat the length of the Thames to be appropriately accepted by our greatest Olympian Steven Redgrave. (We accepted without demur the choreography of this for if he'd kept going from when he started to when he delivered the torch he could have reached Belgium). But then in a beautifully conceived and choreographed ceremony the torch was handed on from the older generation of Olympians to aspiring young athletes, 7 torches were used to light up the 200+ vessels carried in to the stadium by each country and assembled at its heart. When first lit, this created a circle of fire that seemed to extend almost to the edges of the arena. A passing thought that this was likely to cause a few problems for the spear-chuckers and egg-and-spoon carriers was soon dispelled when our underused wonder-buds were again sated with the absolutely extraordinary and deeply symbolic sight of this most beautiful functional sculpture, built up from elements provided by every competing nation, converging into a breath-taking cauldron of fire to preside over the serious sporting business of the next two weeks. Magnifique! Magnificent.

Nearly there and mercifully no Sir Cliff in sight (sorry that was bit mean). How to end? After the wondrous rings and cauldron, a dramatic crescendo was a non-starter. So in the only bad judgement of the night they wheeled out dear old Paul with the turgid dirge of Hey Jude, perhaps the worst song he ever wrote with gibberish lyrics and nowadays distinctly wobbly pitch even without the intro-cock-up where either Sir Paul had to catch up with the band or vice versa. Frankly Jude isn’t a show-stopper it’s a mind-number. If we wanted an anthemic, sentimental, harmlessly anodyne sing-a-long why not ‘All You Need Is Love’ that after all was premiered live for the first world-wide satellite broadcast years ago.

Given the magnificence of what went before the ending could be nothing but bathetic; it’s just a pity than on a night of aspiration, innovation, flair and confidence in the future either Sir Paul, or someone could not have done better than this clunky old dirge.

Mind you – if she hears it any more the Queen will soon know the words. Then we can at least dispense with the only dirgier tune in music – the national anthem.

Well done Danny - the Knighthood's in the post. And the Queens agent says to give him a call. She's got the bug.

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Great review, Zettel! It was bonkers but brilliant and loved the nod to Morecombe and Wise and Andrew Preview.

So enjoyed reading that. Made me tearful all over again!

Good review, Zettel. I'm so glad I watched this incredible event. You echoed two of the only three criticisms I voiced last night: the lack of explanation of some of the historical stuff (quite difficult for a world audience to understand without just a little more guidance) and the appalling McCartney contribution. The close deserved better than that. On the third, I must disagree about the 'otherwise excellent' Huw Edwards. I fear he has the ability to make almost anything sound dismal. Still, at least he is not idiotic, unlike the presenters of the recent Jubilee river celebrations - small mercies always appreciated.

Might you be being a little hard on the Queen? I've seen her smiling time after time in news items during the Jubilee celebrations. If you or I were 86 and had just had to host a dinner for world heads of state then travel to Stratford to sit on view amidst what must seem to a person of that age a deafening racket, I think either of us might be feeling a bit jaded by the time midnight came round.

Chris

Brilliant, Zettel. What a shame he didn't bring in Elton to sing 'Candle in the Wind' instead of Macca. That would have been the clincher.



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Point taken, Chris. But then if she's not up to it, she has an easy way out.

Great review, Zettel.

One rather pleasing possible explanation for Hey Jude is this, which I posted in Private Members, from Sports Illustrated's exploration of the ceremony as a celebration of political protest and dissent (Jerusalem, Suffragettes, Jarrow...)

"Somewhere in the cacophony of last night, during what might have been the world's largest Twitter storm, this nugget emerged: Hey Jude was No. 1 on the charts the day Smith and Carlos raised their fists [in a black power salute on the 1968 Mexico Games podium] -- and that single's B-side was Revolution."

And better that (though I agree about the dirge-like) than a song which was about Munroe and re-written to suit Diana, and has nothing to do with the Olympics, unless I@m missing something - although Elton's in much better voice than Macca is these days.

Good review of a great spectacle.

I thought the segment paying tribute to Britain’s contribution to music was too cluttered and lacked variety in pace and tone.

Yes; it missed out those who preceded the Beatles and set the music scene so as to enable them to emerge.

no Sir Cliff in sight

Yep, that's the one. After virtually ignoring him for a decade, the world of music could, just this once, have acknowledged his contribution, and that of The Shadows. Everybody else seemed to get a look in.

It missed out those who preceded the Beatles and set the music scene so as to enable them to emerge.

Those people were American though!

Those people were American though!

No they weren't. There were British acts such as Tommy Steele, Joe Brown, Lonnie Donegan, Marty Wilde (Kim Wilde's dad) and, of course, Cliff and The Shadows. They all put their mark on music, and the Beatles largely built on that.

Having watched Grayson Perry's series on taste recently, however, it made me realise just how much this ceremony appealed to middle class taste. Hence Rowan Atkinson not Roy Chubby Brown. Not to mention the abundance of left wing politics - that, and the virtual omission of any royal history (unless I missed it) was probably what had the Queen scowling. And if Pink Floyd and Mike Oldfield, why no Radiohead? Middle class and English, now I think about it. Not a lot of cricket played in Scotland. And sorry, Z, but I disagree on Coe's speech: he looked and sounded like mediocrity incarnate; played it grey and safe and boring. Whatever else he might be, at least Boris is enthusiastic.

Alex I'm not sure The Beatles would have agreed - their early stuff was much more influenced by American rock 'n' roll and blues.

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I mean they may have been encouraged to perform by seeing other Brits doing rock'n'roll but I suspect their music was more influenced by Elvis than Cliff.

Thanks for the comments everyone. Just one or two responses:

I don't think the show was middle class, Danny boy had pretty authentic working class credentials and I thought his emphasis on rebellion and dissent was absolutely right. It would be nitpicking but the ethnic mix of his industrialists was more politically than historically correct I suspect.

On the music thing: one of the unremarked things about popular music is that it appears to offer material for endless debate in a way that even exceeds classical music which because it is more structured makes discussion less open-ended.

On that, sorry Hazel but of your list I would say only Lonnie Donnegan was very original; Brown, Wilde (and the whole Larry Parnes stable of adjectival singers) and oh my GOD Tommy Steele! All utterly derivative copies. Cliff himself would admit to starting out as an Elvis clone. I guess fairness should have given him a mention at least it's just that in art or in life - there's no PASSION in the man. Not that comes across anyway. And if Boyle's beano was about anything it was passion.

No my problem was the selection from post-Beatles: with all the material to choose from how the hell did MUD (Tiger Beat) get in there? And why no current forward looking young people? Even Emili Sande sung a hymn!

I'm no Coe fan but he has demonstrated a confidence and competence in the face of a massive practical challenge one wonders why he doesn't replace one or two of the total incompetents currently running the country. Across politics, communication, practical project management - he delivered. How rare is that from a politician nowadays? There was only so much he could put into his speech and I thought it was OK. Danny Boy gave him a 'follow that' challenge anyway.

On the Queen: I wasn't suggesting that she bench press the crown jewels; only that she smile when greeted with due respect by Rogge in front of a billion people. She didn't smile because she believes in the iron-clad protocol when she is 'in role'. I'm not a monarchist but nothing will more destroy the monarchy than this unbending attitude - it is so unnecessary. Also a wonderful opportunity lost - just a hint of a smile following on from the Bond spoof and she would have instantly showed she shared in the fun.

Last point: the only persistent cock up of a brilliant organisational process has been the ticketing - a screw up from the start - like the GS4 debacle, the problem with outsourcing I suspect. Outsourcing functions without having a clue how to manage the contract is the besetting vice of governments of all stripes. With a little imagination accredited freebies could have been withdrawn without formal guarantees of attendance; unsold tickets could have gone into a raffle at £10 a pop etc etc.

In the end the only problem about a well conceived and delivered process is that it is because of the ticket pricing, the Olympics of the reasonably well-off in terms of actual attendance. Although there were a few 'cheap' seats £2,000 official price for a seat at the opening is obscene. Even Bruce Springsteen tries to limit the official price of tickets to his gigs. Even at the other end prices were too high - just add up a day out for a modestly incomed family of 4 - well on the way to a foreign holiday for a week.

Enjoy the rest of the games guys. Go Team GB!

Z

I agree Candle in the Wind has nothing to do with the Olympics, Emma, but it would have provided at least an oblique reference to a woman of huge importance to the British public and our cultural history. And not just the British, Diana was a global icon. I think there could have been some reference to her, given that the ceremony was essentially about what it means to be British, and many of the things that unite us as a nation.

Yes,
That is the one