From Tim Stanley
At the Olympics they often sing Imagine, containing the line, “Imagine there’s no countries?…” Well, if there were no countries, there’d be no Olympics, which would be marvellous. Who wants to watch two weeks of muscular women throwing sticks and balls at each other? The only entertaining bit is the opening ceremony. Britain did a good ’un back in 2012; so good that it entered folklore, along with the 1966 World Cup and Dunkirk. When our grandkids ask, “What did you do in the clash of civilisations?” we shall reply: “We pushed Elizabeth II out of a helicopter.”
Paris, by contrast, offered us drag queens doing a parody of the Last Supper – insulting Christians, mocking God. When I described the scene to a priest, he replied: “That explains the torrential rain, then.”
It was blasphemous, sure, but it was also tacky; the crime aesthetic as well as religious. You have a once-in-a-lifetime chance to sell your country to tourists, and what did France go with? A dozen men – one with a beard – twerking to Freed from Desire. Actual culture necessitates discipline and taste. In the 21st century, people just “party”, cos it requires zero effort and any idiot can do it.
Kicking Christians is very easy because we have no power and, when we’re angry, we don’t fly planes into things. And yet some people cannot leave us alone. They feel a need to ridicule our beliefs and subvert our images, to drag Christ down to the gutter – as if crucifying him once wasn’t enough.
It’s probably because faith is beautiful. People don’t know how to react to it. When you’ve been raised in ugliness, to be confronted with the profound, transcendent beauty of the Last Supper can inspire awe, yes, but also fear. Think of those apes going bananas at the mysterious monolith in 2001: A Space Odyssey. Beauty pierces the illusion of a comfortably banal existence.
Imagine if instead of the drag queen parody, the ceremony had paused to display the real painting by Leonardo da Vinci. No music. No fireworks. Just Jesus&Co. Millions would’ve switched off the telly – because they’d find it boring, no doubt, but also strange, unnerving, possibly offensive. There would’ve been thousands of complaints. We have engineered an entire existence around pleasure and distraction. Stop the disco for one minute and people might fill the silence with thought, even prayer?… or they might riot.
Either way, you’ve got a revolution on your hands, and the powers that be can’t have that. Organisers have apologised for any offence caused, but wise-guys insist the whole thing was a very French joke the world didn’t get. But how French was the ceremony in total?
Celine Dion is Canadian. Lady Gaga is from the United States. “This is France!” tweeted Emmanuel Macron – in English, something one could never imagine De Gaulle or Mitterrand doing. In fact this version of France looks suspiciously American, and drag is another import. Men have been dressing up as women for a laugh for centuries, and long may it continue. But the art form’s current vibe was promoted by Ru Paul – obviously influenced by Voguing – and the notion that drag queens are apostles for progress is 100 per cent “made in the USA”.
I’m old enough to remember when a drag act meant a bloke, often married, dressed as Barbara Cartland telling filthy jokes about foreigners in the Dog and Duck. The Yanks have mainstreamed this subculture, transforming it into a mass consumer product, which was another reason to yawn rather than boo at the drag disciples. This stuff ceased being brave or transgressive 20 years ago. Like the rainbow flag (designed by an American) or Pride (begun in America), it is banal because it is ubiquitous.
So, Brits shouldn’t gloat over the tawdry French games. If we held them today, we’d make identical mistakes. Our ceremony would also be a celebration of diversity – every Western nation has become diverse to the point of looking exactly the same – for diversity is something one promotes when you’ve lost confidence in your historical identity. When you’ve decided everything you did pre-1960 was racist, and you’ve stopped writing great novels, composing symphonies or painting beyond primary school standard.
The West is culturally dying. It only looks alive because we’re dancing among the relics of what we used to do well – and are so embarrassed by these past accomplishments that we feel moved to ridicule their ideals. –FP
