Huh! Why I liked CWG better
www.telegraphindia.com - 5 hours ago
New Delhi, July 28: Memories can play tricks and patriotism is an insidious sentiment. But I don't think either was at work as I watched the breathlessly paced hodge-podge over-the-top m�lange of music, dance and imagery beamed live from London last night and could not help but recall with nostalgia our very own, much maligned CWG opening ceremony that unfolded on that same television set back in October 2010.
Don't get me wrong. I love the Brits as much as the next Indian. I grew up on Enid Blyton, Agatha Christie and P.G. Wodehouse (plus the 19th century classics that makes the English the best story-tellers in the world to this date); I remain a die-hard fan of The Beatles; and was brought up to believe that the British sense of humour and self-deprecation, as much as their discipline and order were key to the making of the Empire that so informed our own struggle to become a nation.
Perhaps that's why last night's spectacle left me dizzy, bewildered and not a little bored. Too many things happened too quickly with too many people prancing about the vast arena with too little rhyme or reason. There was a bit of everything, it seemed ' from literature (Shakespeare to J.K. Rowling), movies (James Bond, Mr Bean, Mary Poppins), music (unsatisfyingly short snatches of Beatles and Stones and more recent bands), history (a pastoral isle transformed into a bleak, smoke-filled landscape with the Industrial Revolution) and politics (the wonders of the National Health Service, now under threat).
But most of it failed to jell together into a narrative for a world audience at a ceremony which, after all, is meant to have a universal appeal.
And like a P.C. Sorcar magic show that seeks to destroy the attention of the audience from the real tricks by the sheer pace and spectacle on stage, Danny Boyle's "quirky" take on British history and culture left huge gaps ' the biggest of which was no mention of the age of empire as the show jumped from the Industrial Revolution to NHS as though there had been nothing in between.
Well, okay, no one wants a history lesson at a spectacular opening ceremony but some allusion to what made Britain "great" once, even a tongue-in-cheek take on a time when the sun never set on the Empire with or without a cloud cover, would have made the story a little more real and relevant, I feel.
But let's forget what was missing and focus on what was there. And that's where the difficulty begins. There was just no time to focus as we were subjected to a relentless exuberance of music and dance ' or rather an energetic flaying of limbs in all directions. Danny Boyle is clearly influenced by Bollywood choreography, but sorry, when it comes to such tamashas, the Brits are still aeons behind their erstwhile colonies.
Cool Britannia may be trying hard to shed the stiff upper lip, but that stiffness alas has permeated to their limbs.
And it was when I saw young children jumping up and down on the NHS hospital beds and women dressed as nurses doing a really bad imitation of "ringa ringa roses" or some such "dance" that I looked back with wonder at the CWG opening ceremony.
In Delhi too, that early October evening, there were thousands of performers on our far-less-grandly designed set. But there was melody and rhythm, grace and harmony. The CWG opening ceremony began with drummers from all parts of India with seven-year-old Keshav taking the lead, and the sounds from myriad percussion instruments echoed through the nation for a long time afterwards.
The "swagatam" segment, where thousands of schoolchildren came together, was an even more mellifluous symphony. The CWG ceremony focused on dance and music too, and our arts and traditions, our clich� of unity in diversity ' which was best captured by the railway train sequence with each compartment showing some or the other "we are like that only" peculiar Indian trait. It spoke to us and it spoke to the world.
London 2012, in contrast, was like a montage of selective, sepia-tinted images strung together by a hand-held camera, set to fast-forward music, and made into a home movie, full of inside jokes unintelligible to the rest of the world, for a people who miss being Great but are trying hard to make light of it. As home movies go, it was a pretty decent production. I am just not sure the Olympics opening ceremony was the right venue to screen it.