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Vive la culture populaire?

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Well, the French were very keen on the Olympic opening ceremony, as well they might be. Many stars of sport and the arts were featured, but only one of them starred throughout – the French language. Every time an announcement was made, it came in French first. I wondered how many people heard a (to them) incomprehensible announcement in French, then struggled to make out the English which was often half-obscured by cheering or fireworks. Even when the teams filed in, in English alphabetical order, the French name of their country was given first, despite the fact that this put the nations in the wrong order – Côte d’Ivoire, for example, should have come just after Costa Rica, not before Japan. This was all in accordance with the Olympic charter, of course, which dates back to the days when French was still an important language on the international diplomatic scene, spoken as a second language by most of eastern Europe. According to the charter (or la charte), all Olympic announcements have to be made in French, English and the local language, if that is different. But a double announcement already sounded like one too many in this pixellated world of ours, so from now on, maybe they should just have them in the local language over the PA system, with TV commentators giving the translations.

Or given that the Olympics has become such a huge market for sponsorship, with so many seats empty just because sponsors haven’t bothered to use their tickets, maybe countries could earn some extra money, or reduce ticket prices, by selling off the second language spot. I look forward to the day when some billionaire geeks get together and make sure announcements are read out in Klingon. Though I’m not sure Klingon has a word for synchronized swimming.

The French didn’t seem to notice the place of honour given to their language (they took it for granted, of course). What their newspapers loved most was l’humour anglais. And rightly, too. I was amazed and gratified to see comedy given such prominence. And they could hardly believe that they’d actually seen the Queen playing a Bond girl. I tried to think of a French equivalent, in which a classic, internationally famous, film character meets up with the head of state – Emmanuelle inviting François Hollande to join her in her curtained limo? Cyrano de Bergerac whisking Valérie Trierweiler off for a gallop? I was almost disappointed that it wasn’t an Anglo-French film segment, in accordance with the charter – Inspector Clouseau coming to fetch the Queen, accidentally kicking one of the Corgis out the window, then forgetting his parachute when he jumped out of the helicopter so that he had to clutch on to Her Maj’s knickers as she descended gracefully into the stadium. (Sorry, letting my fantasies run away with me.)

None of the French people I know appreciated the importance of hearing two famously banned songs during the ceremony – “God Save the Queen” (the Sex Pistols’ version) and “Relax” (an instruction manual about a different sort of sex pistol). Inclusivity was right. I wondered whether the French would have dared broadcast their equivalents, which would probably have been Serge Gainsbourg’s reggae version of the Marseillaise and his “Je t’aime moi non plus”, the latter of which contains the delightful lines “je vais et je viens, entre tes reins” – I come and I go, between your kidneys.

Actually, the answer is probably yes, because the French love to shock, especially while proving how sexy they are. But what France wouldn’t have done was, typically, what I loved most about the ceremony. The glorification of popular culture – hip-hop, punk and rock, excerpts from sitcoms and soaps, James Bond – and the acceptance that this, today, is our culture, whether culture snobs like it or not, is something that is still beyond the French establishment. They might well have had a separate section celebrating “la culture populaire”, but it would probably have been geared to selling French movies overseas, and would definitely not have permeated the whole show. Though if they ever do come around to this very British way of thinking, I look forward to singing along with a billion TV viewers, “I come and I go, between your kidneys”, in however many languages they want.


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