I’ve been getting into the Olympic spirit. The Olympics, whether the winter or summer games, have a certain gay appeal. But, while the Winter Games are exciting, those spandex-clad athletes in helmets and goggles and encumbered by equipment just don’t have the same cachet as their summer counterparts.
So to get in the mood, I watched Leni Riefenstahl’s epic Olympia. It’s the first documentary on the Olympics, framing the 1936 Berlin games as both a festival of peoples and a festival of beauty. It opens with pans of the Acropolis and statues of classic athletes. Myron’s discus thrower, glistening in a foggy haze, comes to life, introducing a parade of naked athletes going through their paces. In turn the figures perform exercise like dances slowly becoming engulfed in the Olympic flames. Finally, torchbearers make their way from ancient Greece to modern Germany, lighting the cauldron to open the 1936 Olympic Games.
The film’s second part, Festival of Beauty, climaxes with an extended swimming and diving segment. Chanting fans and a minimal play-by-play by a single commentator accompany the swimmers’ race for their medals. Then, for the last several minutes, divers spin, plunge and soar in slow motion, some shots silhouetted against a cumulus-clouded sky, to the film’s musical score without any other sound. It is a mesmerizing sequence of pure physicality and athleticism.
I’ve been watching the Olympic gymnastics trials, too. A lot has changed since Riefenstahl’s cameras caught those moments of physical achievement. For one thing, the coverage, in high-definition living color, contrasts with the artsy aesthetics of black and white. But the incessant background chatter bantered between commentators can be excruciating. Of course, today it’s all a commercial venture. Adverts for vitamins, cars, credit cards, apparel, leak-stopping Tampax, colon cleansers, psoriasis salves and everything else dilute the Olympian ideal to a mere vehicle to sell products.
Still, watching the gymnastics trials, one cannot but wonder at the specimens of Olympian prowess. The focus on power has transformed the competitors’ physiques. Once merely well-toned and trained, modern athletes are now hyper-muscular eye-candy. Today their bodies are much more sculpted, shredded and defined. Granted there’s an appeal in that.
And in just a couple of weeks, the games begin. The Opening Ceremony on Friday, Aug. 5 is bound to be overwhelming in a style only Brazilians can accomplish. For the Sochi Winter Olympics, the Russians gave us an icy but nevertheless impressive Soviet-style extravaganza replete with cosmonauts and a performance by the Ministry of Internal Affairs choir. London’s blowout ceremony included the Queen and James Bond actor, Daniel Craig, as well as a nod to National Health Care. One can only imagine what is in store in Rio with its sambas, sultry climes and Carnival culture. I had some gay Brazilian friends from Rio back in the day. They lived only for Carnival. They’re probably a legitimate measure of the enthusiasm with which the locals are planning Rio’s spectacle. Guided by Brazilian film director Fernando Meirelles and choreographer Deborah Colker among others, the ceremony may not be as dignified as Riefenstahl’s Olympia, but it will certainly be inspired. And, gymnastics start the next day.
