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Paris 2024 — What Did The Opening Ceremony Really Mean? A Conversation With its Co-Creator Patrick Boucheron

This interview can be found in French and Spanish on Grand Continent

The Paris 2024 opening ceremony was watched by 300,000 Parisians and over a billion people live around the world. Many more are discovering or will discover highlights. You were one of its creators, yet you haven’t yet explained your intentions in detail. Why not?

For a very long time we were bound by a strict code of secrecy in order to protect the element of surprise that is so inseparable from the very idea of a party. Then, on July 15th, much later than we had planned  —  but as you will understand, the rushed electoral timetable unexpectedly disrupted our plans  —  the team of authors (Fanny Herrero, Leïla Slimani, Damien Gabriac and myself) was presented publicly. At that point, we could talk about the ceremony’s general intentions without revealing anything about how it would unfold. Now that the ceremony has taken place, we can talk about it more freely.

I would like to say at the outset, however, that I will not be misusing this freedom to comment. I’m happy to speak to you today ¹ amid the momentum of this event that has swept everyone off their feet — because no one saw it in its entirety, not Thomas Jolly, not his team, not anyone — but after this, and for some time to come, it will be better to keep quiet again. What we wanted to do is what you saw: produce a narrative without words  —  or almost none  —  to showcase a city’s ability to freely produce images that speak to the whole world.

The ceremony has taken place. It now exists for millions of people, beyond us. It’s time to let the images do their thing without burdening them with words to escort or box them in. They will find their own way to feed the imaginations of each individual in a way that is intimate and mutually supportive: a single moment, a billion different memories. We are no longer the guardians of these images; let them go their own way, joyfully free, and produce their historical effects.

What drew you to take part in this singular exercise? How did you contribute?

As you may have gathered, I embarked on this adventure primarily as an historian of the city — more precisely, of urban freedoms and the eloquence of monuments  —  and as a historian of the power of images. I started very early, in the summer of 2022, and at Thomas Jolly’s direct request, even before he was officially appointed Artistic Director of the Olympic and Paralympic Opening and Closing Ceremonies. I teamed up with screenwriter Fanny Herrero, novelist Leïla Slimani and theater artist Damien Gabriac to form — this was new for me, and something I was passionate about — a writing collective with Thomas Jolly, whose theatrical work I knew and admired. In concrete terms, the idea was to produce the overall script for the entire ceremony. We worked intensively from December 2022 to June 2023 to develop the narrative in twelve tableaus. The story then went into production and was adapted over the following year. We were present, from a distance, during this final phase, while the artistic team (set design, music, choreography and costumes), took it from there.

What was your role?

We were there to ensure the overall coherence of the narrative, while leaving the artists free to create what we saw: visuals that, I must reiterate, stimulate the imagination. Imagination is also a virtue of history, and its civic value makes it a form of hospitality. In this instance, we wanted to tell the story of a city that welcomes the world and showcases its imaginative powers, powers that are the opposite of force, since there’s nothing militaristic about them — when the French Air Force took to the skies, it was to draw a heart in the sky over Paris.

In this instance, we wanted to tell the story of a city that welcomes the world and showcases its imaginative powers, powers that are the opposite of force, since there’s nothing militaristic about them — when the French Air Force took to the skies, it was to draw a heart in the sky over Paris.

Patrick Boucheron

Using images and a soundtrack  —  since preparing a playlist is indeed the easiest way to welcome people into your home  —  from Lady Gaga’s musical performance reminiscent of the Music Hall to Céline Dion’s incredible rendition of “Hymne à l’amour” at the Eiffel Tower, we repeatedly played with the contrasts between Parisian singularity and universality. The tableau “Festivité” in particular is, in a way, a celebration of the Parisian scene, where music, gastronomy and fashion are open to the world  —  and so, the large banquet table is transformed into a catwalk.

We also thought it would be a good idea to combine pop culture and repertoires. This is also true of the stage at the Conciergerie, where “Ça ira” blared. You can hear both the metal band Gojira and opera singer Marina Viotti, who herself is no stranger to heavy metal. We’re not fusing anything together, we’re simply showing that society is already like this: in fusion. Pop culture is not just music, but also video games like Assassin’s Creed and Minions. We obviously had a set of specifications that we sought to meet in a festive, and above all non-illustrative, way: the economy of French know-how, couture, fine wine, French Tech. The art of Thomas Jolly and his teams lies in metabolizing these ceremonial requirements  —  including those of the protocol  —  in an artistic way.

We therefore wanted to see a long tracking shot on the remarkable, singular, unique ability of Paris to produce images for the world. I want to stress that, for us, there were two components: the city — not the country — and the images — not the stories. But obviously, in the end, it all adds up to a portrait of France and its history. It’s a portrait in motion, one that carries far and wide the hopes and pride that this country continues to project, thanks to its ability to draw on its historical past to fuel the energy of the present. From this point of view, the show’s opening curtain  —  the boat with three children passing under the Austerlitz bridge, ablaze with tri-colored smoke  —  gives the French flag all its explosiveness.

What did you wish to show?

Exactly what we saw: the Seine and its evocative power. A quiet, calm, headstrong statement by young, energetic, different bodies, fighting against adversity. The rain joined in, adding a dramatic element that was as problematic as it was welcome, since it was not at all at odds with the general spirit and the title we had chosen: “It will be fine”. Which, in a troubled city like Paris, you might say through gritted teeth. We drew on this country’s revolutionary past to affirm our faith in the future. Yes, it will be fine. In this respect, the courage of the dancers  —  from the unknown to the great stars of song — in braving the pouring rain with their fierce energy — was ultimately in keeping with the Olympic values they were celebrating. For once, this ceremony was truly sporting.

We drew on this country’s revolutionary past to affirm our faith in the future. Yes, it will be fine.

Patrick Boucheron

I would remind the reader that it was in 2015, after the January 2015 and the November 13th attacks, that the city’s third bid to host the Olympic Games took on, I would say, a political necessity, gravity, and intensity. It was also at this time that I, as a historian of cities and images, was gripped by the question of the fragility of our relationship with the world. When I joined the Collège de France, I understood that I had a responsibility, and it was in this spirit that we produced Histoire mondiale de la France, which was published in 2017. This book, and above all its national and international impact, obviously changes the view people have of me as a public historian. It was because I had published this book that Thomas Jolly  —  whom I met the following year at the Avignon Festival with his extraordinary show Thyeste, which already demonstrated his genius for large-scale forms and the joyful alliance between the repertoire (Seneca, Shakespeare) and popular entertainment  —  felt the urge to work with me. But if I agreed to work with him, it was also because I had written Conjurer la peur, the subtitle of which was An Essay on the Political Power of Images, and I felt that our ceremony should also be a manifesto against fear.

Were you approached to take part in this project as a historian?

Yes, but if I joined the project it’s because I understood, and everyone knew, that I wouldn’t just be the historian of the bunch. I’m not going to be the one insisting on adding historical references. Rather, I would do the opposite. I wanted to let go, to play the game of collective writing, to allow myself and the co-authors to be carried along in an imaginative parade, trusting not only the images but also the energy of the bodies. That’s what we wanted to show and, I think, what we saw. But our intentions don’t really matter now, especially as the rain forced us to adapt. There are things that have not been seen, that only we know about, and that only we miss.

I wanted to let go, to play the game of collective writing, to allow myself and the co-authors to be carried along in an imaginative parade, trusting not only the images but also the energy of the bodies.

Patrick Boucheron

Some people have expressed surprise at the absence of certain “great men”: Napoleon, Louis XIV…

Precisely. There was a tableau entitled “Sportivité” in which, although it was barely seen on television, large barges representing the gardens of Versailles appeared. The idea was to put Versailles back in the heart of Paris, which is an urban reconciliation in terms of revolutionary history — and the curtain of water under which the first boat of Greek athletes passed evoked the great waters. These gardens of Versailles, transformed into an urban skateboard and BMX park, were home to historical figures such as Napoleon and Louis XIV as well as Senegalese riflemen, medieval peasants, and Gavroches ² , all of whom played sports  —  as we said at the time, in order to downplay this pompous relationship with our history: “soyons sport avec notre histoire” (“let’s be sporting with our history”). It was joyful, acrobatic, surprising, and it made historical references dance. The rain, however, made this part of the show impossible. If we had seen it (and all it took was a high-pressure weather system at the wrong place at the wrong time), people would be asking us a lot of questions about it today. But we didn’t see it. And we don’t really feel its absence.

How did you approach your relationship with history and the historical record?

Fundamentally, our relationship with history was about completing the tableau rather than taking something away from it. It wasn’t a matter of dropping statues into the Seine, but of bringing new ones to life, thus replenishing and enriching our imaginations. I think we can all agree that when it comes to the presence of women in public statues, there’s a real imbalance in Paris with just 40 out of 260. So in the “Sororité” tableau, we suggested ten, which we hope will remain in the public space. We chose them because they were tenacious  —  Paulette Nardal, Alice Milliat, Louise Michel or Christine de Pizan all fought hard to win their freedom. They appeared to the sound of the Marseillaise, re-orchestrated by Victor le Masne and magnificently performed by a women’s choir and mezzo-soprano Axelle Saint-Cirel  —  she was the one who chose, at the last minute and in the pouring rain, to perform as planned on the roof of the Grand Palais ³ . For me, it was one of the most powerful images  —  one of courage, youth and talent.

As soon as you step out of the stadium and embrace the city, you leave behind an empty, neutral stage to work with the almost limitless network of meaning that is specific to the Parisian space. How did you adapt to this unique, semantically charged setting?

In a stadium, you have complete control over the set design; you can build your own stage. Moreover, in terms of live performance, you can also rehearse, which wasn’t possible for us. By leaving the stadium, we were turning the city into a theater. And the first question Thomas Jolly asked himself as a theater artist was that of relationship: What do we see? Where do we see from?

But this concern for what spectators will see from the upper or lower banks of the Seine cannot distract from the fact that there will be a billion television viewers, and that we’re also addressing them. I say them as well, not them first, despite their greater numbers, for a theater artist cannot mourn the loss of presence. The presence of the city’s past, with its inhabitants coming to see how the story unfolds, is also what was shown on screens around the world. You can’t build a set in Paris  —  it’s already there, and it’s not a set at all. The Seine is the most eloquent protagonist on our stage.

Paris’s monuments will always be stronger than we are. We’re not trying to compete with them: they speak louder and more clearly, and have done so for so long that it would be ridiculous to try to make them say anything other than what they say. And so we didn’t force our meaning by placing a painting about the Revolution in the Conciergerie ⁴ or another about love in the Square du Vert-Galant, “the sex of Paris” as André Breton used to say. I would remind readers that 1924, the year of the last Paris Olympics, was also the year which saw the publication of the Surrealist Manifesto, which was a great inspiration for us, as we wanted to work through associations of ideas, visual rhymes and repetition.

The Seine is the most eloquent protagonist on our stage.Paris’s monuments will always be stronger than we are. We’re not trying to compete with them: they speak louder and more clearly, and have done so for so long that it would be ridiculous to try to make them say anything other than what they say.

Patrick Boucheron

There is also Notre-Dame and its construction site, visible reminders of the April 15, 2019 fire, undoubtedly the last event to thrust Paris into the global spotlight…

In the case of Notre-Dame de Paris, this obviously meant taking the “latest catastrophe” as a starting point, the one that had aroused so much world-wide concern about the building’s heritage when it caught fire. We’d known for a very long time that there would still be scaffolding, so we decided to make the most of it. This year, all Parisians marveled at the profane beauty of these giant cranes framing what poet Dominique Fourcade called an “inverted stained glass window”, as the cathedral seemed to illuminate the city from within. As we can see, modern technology does not desecrate anything  —  quite the contrary. What we wanted to show was the echo between the cathedral’s original builders and the work of its restorers  —  to show the very idea of repair, which doesn’t mean erasing scars. In terms of staging, a whole new range of sounds and horizons opened up to us. Notre-Dame was not just a monument, but something less obvious that allowed us to step over to the other side of the image and describe what it’s like to be a global city at work.

Of course, we could have been even more illustrative. As in London in 2012, we could have shown a panoramic view of the city at work: frontline workers, nurses and firefighters (they were there, but unfortunately we didn’t see them on TV), public services and so on. We chose to stick to a choreographed presentation, and I think the audience understood exactly what we were talking about.

What were your major constraints?

An Olympic Games opening ceremony is made up of three moments that are traditionally kept separate: a performance, a parade of athletes, and a protocol. Our basic concept was to combine the three moments, especially as protocol is structurally boring: speeches, Olympic oaths, flags…. So we had to distribute the protocol throughout the event in order to make it more entertaining.

We also had to be careful of the Trocadero. Its 1930s architecture obviously creates  —  through transparency, afterglow and resemblance  —  certain connotations, some of them not exactly pleasant ⁵ . We feared that these connotations could suddenly be revived, because we also had to imagine that the ceremony could have taken place in an entirely different political context.

Whatever the context, there was reason to worry about bringing anthems and flags to the Place du Trocadéro, where the heads of state would be. But that’s what we had to do. So we had to find a way to maintain the solemnity of the scene  —  which is the very name of the painting  —  while disarming its aggressive connotations in advance.

How did you go about this?

We made some risky choices. At one point, we imagined re-enacting a major protest. We were writing this scene at the time of the pension reform, when millions of French men and women were protesting in the streets.

We thought it would have been fitting to stage a protest that brought not flags, but demands to the world’s leaders… For a variety of reasons, not necessarily the worst ones, it didn’t happen in the end. I was worried, of course, but the beauty of the scene where volunteers would arrive with the national flags soothed me  —  and that’s also the message: we have a right to beauty, because beauty soothes.

Is this the inspiration for the impressive figure of the rider on the Seine?

Yes, that’s how this other, deliberately mysterious symbol came into being. These twelve minutes crossing Paris on horseback were meant to feel like a dream  —  a dream of our own relationship with the imaginary. The rider is whatever you want her to be. She could be the Gallic goddess Sequana who gave birth to the Seine, she could be Joan of Arc if you like, but if you think of Beyoncé’s horse, that’s fine too. Here again, it’s impossible to control its connotations. The most important thing is that it races across the black water, fast and straight, like the edge of a blade. It evokes a mechanical movement that’s also in tune with what the audience saw for three hours, namely bodies struggling against adversity and despair, fighting giddiness through detachment, speed and percussion  —  that’s how I saw it.

These twelve minutes crossing Paris on horseback were meant to feel like a dream  —  a dream of our own relationship with the imaginary.

Patrick Boucheron

It is within this overlapping of imaginary layers, without the denotation or precision of historical reference, that an image is produced for the whole world. Between pop culture, the history of Paris and its “fluctuat nec mergitur” ⁶ , this symbol speaks to people in Japan, America, Nigeria, or Norway.

Some people saw an apocalyptic reference in this horse  —  which is a symptom of the anxiety that defines our ’20s  —  and the Olympic truce that is occurring in a world that seems to be suspended between peace and war: “And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.”. Did you ever consider this?

This reference is called for by this very powerful moment, which is, in any case, welcoming to popular culture. Thomas Jolly is a great artist and like all creators, he has his own imagination. Those who have seen Starmania or Roméo et Juliette, to name only his most recent shows  —  though we should also mention Le radeau de la méduse and I’m really surprised that theater critics haven’t made the connection  —  will recognize certain themes. Some have an eschatological connotation. Have we mastered all the meanings? Probably not. Did we really want to avoid this image of the horseman of the apocalypse? Not at all.
I myself have done work on the Black Death, so I wasn’t totally unprepared to warn that such an image could evoke death. In any case, it’s there. In this tableau, which for a long time was called “Anxiety” and was finally named “ Obscurité ”, we’re dancing on the edge of the abyss. This was our job as authors, if not to police references or repair leaks in meaning, then to at least be the ones constantly casting a paranoid eye over what we were doing.
Now, I think the work is open. The conceptual and imaginary availability of this rider runs headlong into the distance, away from us.

Could it be said that, through this work, you’ve tried to produce a grand narrative, or even a national novel?

This story is, almost literally, that of a “river novel” of French history, in which the entire history of Paris emerges, or spills over, at the Trocadero.

We told a story that was part of the river’s course. We were quite comfortable with the timeline, since the Seine cannot be used as a kind of historical frieze: the Austerlitz Bridge doesn’t really tell us anything about “our ancestors, the Gauls”. All we can do, then, is to straighten out the flow of time, to disrupt chronological order. We are therefore inevitably drawn into a free, playful exploration.

This story is, almost literally, that of a “river novel” of French history, in which the entire history of Paris emerges, or spills over, at the Trocadero.

Patrick Boucheron

We kept the self-deprecating spirit from the opening ceremony of the 2012 London Olympics. The ceremony begins with a prologue: the torchbearer makes a mistake when entering a stadium, an ordinary venue for Olympic celebrations. It’s a mistake, the stadium is empty. He has to change destination quickly, but to get to the city center, there are always traffic jams. It’s a nostalgic and sneaky reference to Jacques Tati’s Paris, reminding us that there were already traffic jams in the 50’s. So, we take the metro. There are the hassles of Paris, but we overcome them, thanks to three children, like in a video game, and everything comes together…

A key figure at the London 2012 opening ceremony was Queen Elizabeth II…

Yes, the image of London in 2012 is of course the Queen of England parachuting into the stadium.
We simply point out, without malice, that in France, we tend to decapitate queens. Marie-Antoinette’s head singing “ça ira, ça ira, ça ira, les aristocrates on les pendra” ⁷ is the ironic equivalent  —  and not at all confrontational or aggressive  —  of London’s opening ceremony with Elizabeth II. But then again, you have to relax. This is theater. It’s not real blood, it’s all very clearly exaggerated. It’s not even a historical re-enactment. Queen Marie-Antoinette is both a cephalophore saint and a pop icon. The inspiration is melodramatic, a great French tradition. This follows the tableau “Enchanté”, where on the banks of the Square Barrye (though unfortunately we didn’t see enough of them on TV) there were large caricatured heads of French celebrities, from Marie Curie to Marcel Proust, not to mention Little Red Riding Hood, the Mime Marcel Marceau and Arsène Lupin  —  all evoking satirical drawing and caricatures, another French tradition.

Marie-Antoinette’s head singing “ça ira, ça ira, ça ira, les aristocrates on les pendra” is the ironic equivalent  —  and not at all confrontational or aggressive  —  of London’s opening ceremony with Elizabeth II.

Patrick Boucheron

This is a far cry from the national novel.

Yes, but what I’ve been reading since yesterday, if I may put it more bluntly, is a sense of pride. And that moves me deeply. For me, L’histoire mondiale de la France was already a way of articulating not only a narrative impulse and the will to think critically, but also of reconciling a sense of national belonging with a taste for the world. To reconcile, yes. To repair, perhaps. As for the opening ceremony, I’d say it’s more or less the same thing. We’re at a moment when France is welcoming the world, when we’re watching the athletes go by, and where, at the end, the medals will be counted.
Still, our mission was to come up with something we could be proud of. As a historian, it would have been easy for me to say no. It would have been easy enough for me to argue that this wasn’t what I was there for. But from one person to another, I’ve been working on this question of pride, of the emotion of belonging, of the relationship between here and elsewhere. It’s about the ability to live together, despite everything, to restore confidence in the ability of each and every one of us, precisely because we are different, to write our own history, and that there is no national history other than the one that is written in this way. This is the grand narrative, our true national story. It’s the setting in motion of a history that moves towards its vision rather than reciting the story of its origins, a nation that does indeed move towards its goal, which remains its political vision: how we want to live with those who are here.
We wanted this idea to come out into the open, and for people to feel, I’m not ashamed to say, a sense of pride in it. In fact, that’s the word we hear most often from the audience. In a way, we had to redirect this pride. Look at the emotion it has aroused; it’s obviously not unanimous, but it’s rarely been shared so widely. What have we been hearing? “We’re proud”, “This is a beautiful moment”, “It makes us feel good”, “We can still do great things together”, “It brings me closer to our country”…. This emotional vocabulary expresses a political joy.

It’s the setting in motion of a history that moves towards its vision rather than reciting the story of its origins, a nation that does indeed move towards its goal, which remains its political vision: how we want to live with those who are here.

Patrick Boucheron

One of the most impressive moments of the opening ceremony saw Aya Nakamura singing and dancing with the Republican Guard on the Pont des Arts in front of the Institut de France. How did you prepare for this scene, which had already sparked some particularly fierce controversy in France?

Yes, and as luck would have it, it was this footage that was leaked and which sparked  —  in advance and on principle  —  a torrent of hatred. At the time, we were extremely uncomfortable. We were ashamed to have exposed the world’s most popular French-speaking artist to such a flood of racism. But we didn’t back down. And above all, Aya Nakamura defied the attacks. We wanted to carry out this segment calmly, without causing a stir. Still, you have to admire Aya Nakamura for doing what she had to do. The entire artistic team accompanied her to stage it with the Republican Guard. Everyone can agree that it was a powerful, uplifting, and energetic moment. Aya Nakamura ⁸ didn’t set fire to the Académie française ⁹ , she lit it up with a thousand lights. She magnified it. She made the Republican Guard dance as they moved towards her. In this case, who is welcoming whom? We all meet on a bridge and dance. And in the end, everyone wins.

This image could be a stopping point. Perhaps we can use it as a starting point to stop letting ourselves be intimidated by a right-wing identity movement that talks very loudly on social networks, but who represents whom and what? She tells us we’re out of touch with the ground  —  but the ground is there. And even when the ground is slippery, there are young people who  —  whatever their body, origin or life difficulties  —  dance on it and shower us with their energy. That’s what we saw. And Aya, she dances, and she makes the Republican Guard dance. I want to believe, and I’m beginning to realize, that this image of Aya Nakamura making the Republican Guard dance, singing her own songs and mixing them with Aznavour ¹⁰  —  “I’d better go and choose my vocabulary, to please you, in the language of Molière”  —  this image can bring us all together.

This image could be a stopping point. Perhaps we can use it as a starting point to stop letting ourselves be intimidated by a right-wing identity movement that talks very loudly on social networks, but who represents whom and what? She tells us we’re out of touch with the ground  —  but the ground is there.

Patrick Boucheron

It would be difficult to continue this conversation without taking a counterfactual detour. Would the story you set out to tell, and the emblems and symbols it features, have had a different meaning if the Rassemblement National ¹¹ had succeeded in seizing power? How did you integrate or anticipate this possibility?

It was impossible to anticipate this, since, for obvious production reasons, at the very moment when this possibility was beginning to worry and distress many people at the beginning of June, we had no alternative but to present the ceremony we had prepared, barring some catastrophic scenario. Had any of us imagined symbolically subverting some of these tableaus, as we know that all it takes is to visually jam a small cog in the wheel to derail the meaning of a scene? This is not out of the realm of possibility. But I don’t want to talk about that here because in any case, that’s not what happened.

What interests me today as a historian is what you call the counterfactual. In any case, it didn’t happen, so we’ll never know what might have been. We’ll never know whether or not the political conditions were right to do what we thought, but we do know that the same thing, in this case the same image, produces different effects when the context changes.

Take the horse rider. No doubt, as we’ve said, she could resemble Joan of Arc. In any case, we didn’t rule it out. There’s no reason to give these symbols  —  these emblems, as Thomas Jolly puts it  —  to the identity-based extreme right. And when it comes to exploiting Joan of Arc, we could talk about it for a long time. But it’s true that if it were this identity-based extreme right-wing that was in power at the time, it would be a different story, and one that we would face with dread. To reiterate, that didn’t happen.

I don’t know what a ceremony can do. But, in a subordinate relationship to images, I can’t help seeing them as apparitions and fixed elements which, as I said, can constitute stopping points  —  “when thought suddenly stops in a constellation saturated with tensions”. We wanted to paint a portrait that looked somewhat like the moment we’re living in. In other words, the fragments of the past that make up the present, as well as the glimpses of the future it hints at. How do we want to live together? Who and what do we do this with? The answer: we make do with what we have, in other words, our differences. In this wounded and battered city, no two things are alike, but everything can come together. Is it raining? Everything will be fine, it’s okay.

We’re not in Beijing in 2008, where the opening ceremony of the Olympic Games seemed like a demonstration of power. This is joyful chaos. This is France. And in any case, there’s no Plan B, just as there’s no Planet B. We’re making do with what we have. And I think we’ve given a pretty strong indication that the far right can’t win every battle, and that it didn’t win this one. We’ll have to remember that. Not just to say we won, but to make something of this fleeting victory.

We wanted to paint a portrait that looked somewhat like the moment we’re living in. In other words, the fragments of the past that make up the present, as well as the glimpses of the future it hints at. How do we want to live together?

Patrick Boucheron

Not only have we shown what we’ve shown, but it’s been shared and received. So, let’s stop being scared or impressed. If, in fact, we have moved so many people in such a broad way  —  I may be wrong, but that’s what seems to be happening  —  without making concessions, by presenting a story that is multifaceted, open, diverse, full of people, and compelling, well, from now on, let’s not forget it. We have to take that into account. It’s a moment and it happened.

In Middle England, Jonathan Coe turns the London opening ceremony into a spellbinding moment of communion between all the souls of England. As in a Greek tragedy, this moment becomes the pinnacle of hubris, a pride that is broken in the fractured British identity of Brexit. Are we not running this risk as the ceremony plays out and belies the divisions in French society?

This is why it’s out of the question for me to share in any kind of blissful optimism. We are the sons and daughters of disenchantment. Particularly of 1998, of black-white-brown France and its broken promises ¹² . Jonathan Coe warns us of this danger, and that was important to us when we were putting the story together. It is because we have been warned that this time we may not allow ourselves to once again become intoxicated by the childish desire to cling to the hope that a celebration inspires. Celebrations don’t make history, but it’s rare that history’s powerful and fertile moments aren’t accompanied, as Marc Bloch said, by powerful public rituals.

On a deeper level, this is why I’m not talking about victory. I’m simply saying that we have not been defeated, that we have not lost, that we are not beaten in advance. In any case, what lies ahead is a highly unsettling political situation, not just in France, but also in the United States and Europe, where those who defend a progressive vision of history will have to make sure they don’t end up convincing themselves that they’re only talking to themselves. This is not the case. It’s very clearly broader than we think. We must continue to avert the danger.

Jonathan Coe warns us of this danger, and that was important to us when we were putting the story together. It is because we have been warned that this time we may not allow ourselves to once again become intoxicated by the childish desire to cling to the hope that a celebration inspires.

Patrick Boucheron

One of the difficulties of the exercise you have undertaken is to write a show for a global audience. You ran the risk of limiting yourself to a soft consensus, while at the same time speaking to only a fraction of this heterogeneous audience, thereby upsetting or offending some of them. We know that what may seem banal in Paris can shock elsewhere. How have you integrated this factor into your work?

We had no intention of lecturing the world. We started from the premise that France was no longer in a position to do so  —  and so much the better, because that’s how I like it, in all its vulnerability  —  either from the standpoint of its universal values, even if we do talk about them a lot, or in the name of freedom of morals.

We are still in the same paradoxical position: the challenges of freedom are regularly renewed in Paris, and even though we know that we have betrayed them many times, and that on many occasions we have failed to live up to their expectations, the world sends them back to us.

Paris is said to be the home of freedom, of a kind of liberation of morals, notably of social pluralism, diversity and inclusiveness. The trap, as we all know, is to be free by proxy for a world that doesn’t want it. So, when you welcome the world, you have to say something to it, but you also have to be respectful of its values and culture, especially as it’s a parade of athletes and these athletes come from all over the world. We needed to strike a difficult balance between restraint and audacity. But we weren’t going to avoid saying who we are. “Liberté” is indeed about the freedom to love. It’s a recurring theme, right up to the “Hymn à I’amour” in the finale. This is achieved through literature and a scene filmed at the National Library, where the pages of books rained down, not because they were being torn apart, but because they were flying towards other horizons, to quite literally set us free. In this way of equating books with freedom, there is both a defense of French culture, from Marivaux ¹³ to Annie Ernaux ¹⁴ , and a slightly ironic way of not being fooled by the supposed heroism of the liberation of morals.

We are still in the same paradoxical position: the challenges of freedom are regularly renewed in Paris, and even though we know that we have betrayed them many times, and that on many occasions we have failed to live up to their expectations, the world sends them back to us.

Patrick Boucheron

We knew, of course, that certain images were shocking. The national TV stations had access to a guide detailing the ceremony, so they knew what was going on shortly beforehand, with the possibility of stopping coverage.
We are speaking to everyone, but we can’t speak to everyone from the same world. Otherwise, we would be holding a globalized ceremony reduced to a few very vague and primarily commercial values. Obviously, we didn’t want to create an advertising hub where everyone could find themselves in the lowest common denominator. We wanted to tell the story of our scattering.

Following the ceremony, there has been considerable controversy about a painting that has been likened to the Last Supper, with figures as diverse as Jean-Luc Mélenchon, the bishops of France and Elon Musk seeing it as an attack on Christianity. Were you trying to promote blasphemy? What’s your reaction to this?

Neither blasphemy nor mockery. In fact, if we’re willing to stop acting in bad faith, we ought to admit that we’re not making fun of anyone, except ourselves. Again, there may be humor or self-deprecation, but certainly not the desire to mock, which is totally foreign to Thomas Jolly’s emotional repertoire. He’s said all there is to say about this subliminal Last Supper, and I would refer you to his statements. Nothing in the initial script explicitly referenced this. If anything, we wanted to draw on the Dionysian connotations  —  and the thread that runs through Olympic Greece and Paris, since Dionysus, or rather Denis, is Sequana’s father. And so, this great table is a feast for the gods, which becomes the catwalk for a wild fashion show.

Then, in the choreographic energy of this large drag show (where there is both trance and transformation), the images crackle and spiral, thanks to the talent and imagination of the choreographers. And it’s thanks to a freeze frame, an image that’s practically been lifted from their great performance, that from a certain angle (remember that the stage is dual-facing and involves dozens of dancers), at one point in Barbara Butch’s set, we can see an interpretation of the Last Supper painted by Leonardo da Vinci in Santa Maria delle Grazie in Milan at the end of the 15th century  —  I happen to know a little about the subject, having worked on it as a historian.

If anything, we wanted to draw on the Dionysian connotations  —  and the thread that runs through Olympic Greece and Paris, since Dionysus, or rather Denis, is Sequana’s father. And so, this great table is a feast for the gods, which becomes the catwalk for a wild fashion show.

Patrick Boucheron

If this were the case, it would be just one of a great number of pop reinterpretations of this theme, which has long since been appropriated by popular culture. Naturally, this controversy can be of interest to a historian of images; if I say we should let them go where they want, I can’t argue that people are wrong to see what they saw, since by definition the meaning of an image always goes beyond the intention of the person who planned or imagined it. Now, let’s not be naive. This controversy is anything but spontaneous. The image in question wouldn’t have shocked anyone if certain people hadn’t made it happen by pointing it out, and it wouldn’t have hurt anyone if people hadn’t gone out of their way to claim it was hurtful. And who would that be? Those who have an interest in dividing, separating and disuniting. They were furious to see that the ceremony produced powerful and widespread emotion and jumped at the chance to demonstrate their masterful art of hatred, which we are happy to let them have.

And let’s be clear, what we see here is the expression of run-of-the-mill homophobia. We all know that the world is far from united when it comes to love stories. But we are indebted to our youth. And the youth of this country  —  and not just from this country, but from many countries  —  also need to be given a message. Personally, the entire “Festivités” tableau captivated me  —  and I say this all the more gladly because I had nothing to do with it, it really is a choreographic work  —  because it projects, in a rhythmic way, everything that is compelling about a gathering of young bodies who, once again, are confronting adversity.  

Let’s not be naive. This controversy is anything but spontaneous. The image in question wouldn’t have shocked anyone if certain people hadn’t made it happen by pointing it out, and it wouldn’t have hurt anyone if people hadn’t gone out of their way to claim it was hurtful.

Patrick Boucheron

Several of the tableaus were censored. In Morocco, for example, television sometimes showed still shots of the Louvre instead. Was this something you had taken into account and prepared for? How do you view this censorship?

This was to be expected. However, to the best of my knowledge, no such instructions were given. We find ourselves in a rather unusual situation, given that Paris is hosting the Olympic Games, but that the opening ceremony of the Olympic Games is organized by Paris 2024 and the IOC, meaning that neither the city of Paris nor the French government are responsible. The IOC’s rule is to send what is known as a “global signal” to the whole world via their OBS broadcast channel. We didn’t choose the director, who was appointed by OBS. The editing process is also governed by its own rules. For instance, all the delegations must be shown equally, and, unlike in competitions, where each country can watch what interests it most, the countries broadcasting these images are not allowed to edit them for national purposes. So here we’re in a bit of a bind. Once again, if we had absolutely wanted everyone to see the same thing at the same time, with no risk of censorship  —  which may indeed be a fine universal idea  —  we would have ended up with very little.

We therefore wanted to address the universal, but without being overbearingly universal. It was absolutely not a question of imposing this vision of the world, of the Paris experienced by Parisians, but rather what Souleymane Bachir-Diagne, inspired by Maurice Merleau-Ponty, calls a lateral, horizontal universalism, which takes into account diverse points of view. This is where the theatrical aspect comes into play: a live performance that allows for a diversity of viewpoints.

While television censorship can be bypassed by the simultaneous circulation of images on the web, smartphones and social networks also enable images to be produced directly by athletes. We witnessed, for example, an unprecedented moment in the history of the opening ceremonies when Algerian athletes commemorated October 17, 1961 ¹⁵ from their boat on the Seine. Was this moment something you had planned, or was it a surprise for you?

This was obviously not planned. But as a historian and as a citizen, I’m very happy that one of the images we’re going to remember from this ceremony was produced, thought out and chosen by the Algerian athletes themselves, who were fully aware of and responsible for what they were doing.

Our whole idea, of course, was that the ceremony should not be an ode to power, whether military power, state power, historical power or power of identity  —  I think it was clear from the outset that this was not our intention.

From that point, we had to integrate the challenges  —  and to say we had some would be an understatement. I’ve never worked within such a complex environment. There were constraints of all kinds  —  political, of course, but also social, organizational, technical, economic, environmental… That was the nature of it. If I want to be master of the ship and take full responsibility for what I do, it’s easy enough for me to stay at home and write books. I have never done anything so difficult, which is to say, I have never done anything so interesting.

Our whole idea was that the ceremony should not be an ode to power.

Patrick Boucheron

And since we are now feeling relieved, happy, and, why hide it, proud to have overcome all these difficulties, what may await us is the equally haughty expression of omnipotence and creative freedom. We thought of some things, we imagined others, and it all came to fruition; people saw it, and many of them said they liked it.

There is, however, always an element of uncertainty and, as I said, we have to respect the autonomy of the images. I’m very happy  —  and personally all the more so as I had nothing to do with it and we weren’t aware of it  —  that there was this clandestine, or at least surreptitious, ceremony within the ceremony.

Is there anything we didn’t see that you would have liked to show us?

Among the things you would not have seen (I’m talking about earlier versions of the script, which “fell apart” over a year ago) was a tableau called “Modernité” set around the Musée d’Orsay, showing the invention of photography and cinema. All that remains is a filmed sequence featuring Méliès and the Little Prince, among others. We had come up with a very beautiful  —  but far too expensive and technically complicated  —  segment in which hot-air balloons took to the skies while various films were projected onto them, spanning from the Lumière brothers to the Nouvelle Vague, and beyond to contemporary cinema. It concluded with images of social networks, of ongoing revolutions. In other words, of citizen use of the smartphone. But in a way, if we weren’t able to do this on a grand scale, I’m really very happy that, despite everything, something along these lines was done by the Algerian athletes in an unexpected way.

You said you didn’t want to create an ode to power, yet a certain contradiction has emerged. You staged a show that promoted Olympism, and therefore peace and fraternity. We danced on bridges and broke barriers. But to make this show possible, barriers had to be erected all over Paris. Tens of thousands of soldiers had to be deployed, making 5% of the city inaccessible. Is this perhaps a metaphor for the situation in Europe? In order to make peace and be free in a broken world, do we need to arm ourselves and put up barriers? Should we rethink our relationship with power?

Obviously, we knew this, and we could have refused on principle  —  but on principle, I respect principles. We knew that the Olympic Games would also be a great opportunity to experiment with new surveillance techniques, such as the famous QR codes, drones and biometric controls. If you’ve been in Paris in recent weeks  —  and I’ve been there quite a bit  —  you’ll no doubt have noticed that all this has been going on, but that these worrying security trends have been tempered by a degree of caution on the part of security forces who, whether through unwillingness, carelessness or, conversely, a desire not to ruin the party, haven’t really imposed drastic measures. Let’s just say that we’re not quite in an Alain Damasio ¹⁶ novel yet  —  and that’s a good thing.
I don’t underestimate the dangers of these attacks on freedom of movement. We must be aware that, while we need to defend the rule of law against surveillance society, this rule of law is also a state of vigilance  —  it doesn’t support itself; it only holds together if citizens hold on to it. That’s why it was so important to remember during this ceremony (not just in what it represented, but in the way we made it our own, the way we wanted to experience it) that we live in a country where we discuss and debate.
Now, there’s the paradox you mentioned about Europe and power. When the European flag appeared, it was at a moment when our narrative shifted into a painting that had long been called “Anxiety” and which was ultimately called “Obscurité”. In order to depict this world in crisis, teetering on the brink of capsizing, it could have been even darker. We didn’t get a good look during the ceremony, again for technical reasons  —  the cloud ceiling was too low for the shots seen from the sky to be clear enough. But it’s a scene where young people dance on a barge made of screens where different abstract images intermingle, evoking climate disruption and environmental dangers, everything that’s hurting the planet. The floor becomes unstable, it breaks away, and the dancers fall, one after the other, separated. And it is on a detached fragment of this volcano on the edge of which we were dancing that Juliette Armanet, accompanied by Sofiane Pamart and his soaring piano, performs Imagine.

There’s the paradox you mentioned about Europe and power. When the European flag appeared, it was at a moment when our narrative shifted into a painting that had long been called “Anxiety” and which was ultimately called “Obscurity”. In order to depict this world in crisis, teetering on the brink of capsizing, it could have been even darker.

Patrick Boucheron

Among global reactions, the ones coming out of the United States obviously shape Western perceptions. These reactions have two aspects. On the more positive side, there is enthusiasm and a sense of being struck by such a powerful show ¹⁷ . Everyone agrees that you’ve set the bar very high. Los Angeles will host the Olympics in 2028, and we have to wonder how they can top this. On the other hand, we saw the ceremony as the French epicenter of a “global cultural war” that Trump and his many supporters are seeking to wage with such diverse allies as Putin propagandist Alexandre Douguine ¹⁸ and Viktor Orbán ¹⁹ . The ceremony is said to have shown “Western decline”. The “anti-Christian woke” is pitted against a “white and Christian” French identity: the Puy-du-Fou ²⁰ against Philippe Katerine ²¹ or Aya Nakamura. Is this kind of narrative construct, in which an offensive provokes a counter-offensive, something you sought to replicate or thwart? Do you think you succeeded?

It’s interesting to see how Los Angeles, the capital of fiction, has declared itself impressed by the imaginative power of Paris, meaning its ability to also create images and fictions. But the opening ceremonies of the Olympic Games are not about competition. The question is not whether we should do things bigger, better or higher. One of the opening ceremonies that really touched me was the 2004 Athens ceremony for its humility and intensity. We’re not condemned to one-upmanship.

Your second question must be understood in a Franco-French context. Together with Mohamed el Khatib  —  with whom I work on other public entertainment projects  —  I carried out a survey at the Puy du Fou to see, sincerely, what worked. And, to my surprise, while popular success generally comes from drawing on predictable themes, the Puy du Fou doesn’t really do that. It doesn’t glorify the national story, as one might expect, with all its glories and great men, but rather a desperate history, reminiscent of Christian martyrdom, from the Christians mauled by lions in the Roman circus to the French infantrymen dying in the trenches, not to mention the Vendéens massacred by the Bleus  —  all the while reveling in the feeling of powerlessness in the face of a decline that is portrayed as both ancient and inescapable. It’s an interesting matter to think about, provided you think about it in a way that respects the fact that it’s a huge popular success.

I allude to this in the final pages of my book Le temps qui reste ²² , where I also talk about the work of Boris Charmatz, who staged L’histoire mondiale de la France, in a dance show called “La Ruée”. What impressed me at the time was the striking clarity of this abundant energy: seeing young bodies allow themselves to be swept along by history, seeing them expose themselves in this way… I said to myself that there was something that appeared to be vulnerable but was in fact indestructible. When I wrote these lines, I knew what we were going to see on July 26, 2024, but I wasn’t yet allowed to say.
So, when we finally decided to reveal that we were the authors of the ceremony, on July 15th, just eleven days before it was due to take place, when we were asked if what we had done was the anti-Puy du Fou, we replied, to put it simply, that it was. This is because our show is not counter-revolutionary, because it doesn’t recount the immobile history of a nation forever unchanging, because it wagers that history is in motion. But once you’ve made that statement, you can’t obsess about it. I saw that on the very day of the opening ceremony, C8 was broadcasting a documentary on the Puy du Fou on a loop. They seem to be interested in a rapprochement. Us, less so.

Our show is not counter-revolutionary, because it doesn’t recount the immobile history of a nation forever unchanging, because it wagers that history is in motion.

Patrick Boucheron

The Puy du Fou has been a huge success in France and Europe, and could become a worldwide success. We’ve also done something else, the opening ceremony of the Olympic Games. Let’s just say that, for the moment, we’re not quite in the same league. What interests us, and what interests Thomas Jolly, is reconciling pop culture with the classical repertoire. One point that hasn’t been stressed enough, but which I think is interesting, is that all of Thomas Jolly’s set designers on this show, as on Starmania or his Romeo and Juliet, are set designers for the opera. The organizers of Paris 2024 have therefore chosen someone who has staged Shakespeare and Seneca, and who also knows how to address millions of people. Thomas Jolly wants to create a popular and ambitious theater. There are many of us who defend the possibility of a history that is both learned and popular. That’s where we find common ground.
For the moment, the Puy du Fou remains the most popular historical show in France, but we have shown that we are not bound to repeat this model. We can  —  and I’d go so far as to say we must  —  invent a new one. What we’ve shown seems likely to move a lot of people. But let’s be fair, this is not a competition, either with Los Angeles or with the Puy du Fou. And above all, let’s be realistic. France is a country where, contrary to what the columnists of the “bollorosphere” believe, many people can sincerely love both the Puy du Fou and what we presented. That’s who we need to appeal to. If we want to break free of the political deadlock we find ourselves in, this must be our top priority today.

For the moment, the Puy du Fou remains the most popular historical show in France, but we have shown that we are not bound to repeat this model.

Patrick Boucheron

Of course, identity-based doctrine has no interest in people moving freely from one point of reference to another. And so they assign people to their place, and to one place only. It’s this or that. If you’re not an incurably woke and naturally out-of-touch Parisian yuppie, and you liked the opening ceremony of the Olympics, you’ve either misunderstood or misinterpreted. And so we’re going to explain it to you.

That’s what everyone who is railing against this ceremony  —  this or that interpretation, this or that image  —  is doing. They didn’t need to see Aya Nakamura on the Pont des Arts to know that they were going to have to hate her  —  even if they were stunned for a few hours by the collective enthusiasm the scene generated, no doubt even among many of their own supporters. I’ll admit I was overwhelmed by the speed with which the press, the whole press, after acknowledging (and sometimes even celebrating) the huge popular success of the ceremony, nonetheless echoed a few hopelessly predictable jabs from the essayists and ideologues on TV and social networks. Apparently, it’s difficult to wean oneself off these daily shots of bile. But what if we tried? What if we started to stop letting ourselves be intimidated?

After such a long conversation, we’d like to ask you, in the tradition of classical French theater, to offer us an extreme synopsis of this story. What do you see as the general point of the opening ceremony?

If I had to sum up in one word what this whole story has implied, what it has allowed us to imagine, it would be something like: “Come on, cheer up, we’ll be fine. We still have in our past and in our present many intellectual and inventive resources to revitalize this country’s fortunes. So let’s embrace the city, its past and its people, as they are, in all their incredible diversity. We are different, but we don’t want to live separately. And to all those who want to isolate us, divide us, drive us apart, we say that we’re going to live together”.

But let me add that this argument spans four ceremonies. We’re just at the start of the Olympic Games, and it’s within this framework of clarity that we need to reason. To be precise, I am co-author of the Opening Ceremony, but only a consultant on the Closing Ceremony and the Paralympic Opening and Closing Ceremonies. It’s worth seeing this story through to the end, because as a theater artist, Thomas Jolly (who is also the ensemble’s artistic director) knows what an argument is, but he also knows what a dramatic resolution is. We’ll see you on August 11th at the Stade de France, for the closing ceremony. That’s where we’ll get the rest of the story. It will be an archeological, and therefore post-apocalyptic, moment. And then there’s the Paralympic Games, and we’ll be in yet another moment.

“Come on, cheer up, we’ll be fine. We still have in our past and in our present many intellectual and inventive resources to revitalize this country’s fortunes. So let’s embrace the city, its past and its people, as they are, in all their incredible diversity. We are different, but we don’t want to live separately. And to all those who want to isolate us, divide us, drive us apart, we say that we’re going to live together”.

Patrick Boucheron

We have a plan. Not for the country, but certainly for these ceremonies. In any case, one thing is certain. Against all those who despair, and especially against those who use our despair as a political bargaining chip, we must continue to boldly state that what the July 26, 2024 ceremony expressed in its own way  —  through images, music, dancing bodies and bursts of light  —  that our story is not over.

1. This interview was conducted on July 27, 2024, less than 24 hours after the ceremony, and revised the day after.
2. Translator’s note: Gavroche are Parisian street urchins that also figure in Victor Hugo’s novel Les misérables.
3. Translator’s note: Constructed in 1900, the Grand Palais was dedicated “to the glory of French art”.
4. Translator’s note: The Conciergerie is where many prisoners, including Marie-Antoinette, were held before being executed by guillotine during the French Revolution.
5. Translator’s note: During World War II, Adolf Hitler was photographed on the terrace of this building when Paris was occupied by German forces.
6. Translator’s note: The Paris city motto (She is tossed by the waves, but does not sink).
7. “It will be fine, it will be fine, it will be fine, we will hang the aristocrats.”
8. Translator’s note: Franco-Malian singer.
9. Translator’s note: The Académie Française is a council which publishes official dictionaries of the French language.
10. Translator’s note: Charles Aznavour, French singer.
11. Translator’s note: The Rassemblement National, or National Rally, is a French right-wing political party led by Marine Le Pen.
12. Translator’s note: The 1998 French World Cup team which led France to World Cup victory.
13. Translator’s note: Pierre de Marivaux, 17th century French playwright and novelist.
14. Translator’s note: French novelist and recipient of the 2022 Nobel Prize in Literature.
15. Translator’s note: The Paris massacre of October 17, 1961 took place during the French-Algerian war. National Police killed Algerians living in Paris who were protesting for Algerian independence. The massage was finally recognized by the French government in 1998.
16. Translator’s note: Alain Damasio is a French sci-fi author.
17. The New York Times put it this way : “The producers proving an old rule of entertainment: If you’ve got an Eiffel Tower, flaunt it”.
18. Alexandre Douguine commented on the ceremony with the following words: “The opening of the 2024 Olympic Games in Paris is the final judgment of modern Western civilization. The West is damned, that much is clear. Anyone who does not immediately take up arms to destroy this satanic civilization, unprecedented in its brazenness, is an accomplice.” We have translated his entire speech here.
19. In his speech at the Bálványos Summer University in Băile Tușnad, Romania, on July 27, Viktor Orbán declared that “Westerners have gradually shed their metaphysical ties, with God, homeland and family, (leading) to the absence of public morality, as you saw if you watched the opening ceremony of the Olympic Games yesterday”.
20. Translator’s note: Puy-du-Fou is a French historical theme park.
21. Translator’s note: French singer and actor. He was the “Blue Man” in the controversial “Last Supper” opening ceremony scene.
22. Patrick Boucheron, Le temps qui reste, Paris, Le Seuil, October 2023.