Danny Boyle’s 2012 London Olympics Opening Ceremony

ISSUE #282

I’ve been watching through the films of Danny Boyle. Some examples: Trainspotting, Sunshine, 28 Days Later, Slumdog Millionaire. From early on, Boyle was rightfully recognized for his edgy and sophisticated musical taste—the Trainspotting soundtrack alone, from Iggy’s “Lust for Life” through Underworld’s “Born Slippy (Nuxx)”, helped define the tastes of a whole generation. For a man who entered his 40s in the wake of that film’s success, his continued curiosity and taste throughout his life has been nothing short of aspirational to me.

I’m always fascinated by filmmakers with great music taste. Perhaps because there was such a dearth of them in the 2000s, or perhaps because the use of the most obvious needle drops in a period piece—think “Fortunate Son,” “Gimme Shelter”—is page-one material in the Lazy Director’s Handbook. Those who expand our sonic expectations—Boyle, Lynch, Sofia Coppola, Harmony Korine—at the very least leap from A-to-C when scoring their most dynamic sequences.

Which brings us to today’s topic: the 2012 London Olympics Opening Ceremony, which Danny Boyle directed and I watched out of homework. I never did see it when it aired (you have to catch those things on TV, after all), so this was all completely new to me. The only thing I’d heard was that James Bond parachutes into the stadium with the Queen (yes, this is true—but it’s more tongue-in-cheek than I thought it’d be). To the Olympics themselves, from their pillaging of host cities to their fascistic history, I have to say: fuck that and fuck you. At the same time, I cannot help but go haywire for pageantry—and boy, did Boyle’s opening ceremony set my heart on fire.

There were many aspects to Boyle’s elaborate set pieces—smokestacks rising from the earth, a celebration of British children’s literature, an ode to the NHS, Kenneth Branagh in a top hat—but the part that interests me today was an incredible dance sequence soundtracked the best of British music. Boyle and his collaborators—including Rick Smith of the band Underworld, the famed electronic music pioneers—mapped out the history of British pop over mass choreography and a microstory of love found in London’s underground.

The task of summing up this musical history is harder than it might seem—to curate a collection of this stature, you must balance the obvious classics with the tastier cuts. Omission of The Beatles would be egregious, but deploy them too soon and eyes will roll. To Boyle’s credit, he pulled it off; I was impressed and moved. For example, after the use of “My Generation” and “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction”—two cookie-cutter picks that serve to bury the Beatles reveal—he cuts it up with “My Boy Lollipop” by Millie Small, one of the isolated Black artists in the British charts at the time. It was a healthy nod that could easily have been overlooked. Then come the Kinks, then finally the Beatles. He touches on the necessities—”Starman” and “Bohemian Rhapsody”—but he follows them up with “Pretty Vacant,” the thinking-man’s Sex Pistols pick, a simple-but-effective step away from “God Save the Queen.” Then, here it comes: “Blue Monday.” “Back II Life” “Firestarter.” It’s all so thoughtful and sweet.

Boyle’s touch has always been his humanity and how it combines the visceral, like Vonnegut—it’s his incredibly humane and humorous depiction of heroin that allowed Trainspotting to become an enormous sensation. The 2012 opening ceremony was heart-on-its-sleeve emotion about a people’s history without feeling nationalistic—that’s the humanist’s touch. The ceremony showed a deft hand in playlist making that Earwyrms dreams to match on its best days. I wanted to take the time to feature his playlist—because the care was clear, and I know how that feels.

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