Celine Dion & the Power of Spectacle

Some of us struggle with events like the Paris Olympics for a very worrisome reason.

Celine Dion performs on the balcony of the Eiffel Tower in the Opening Ceremonies of the 2024 Olympic Games. (Source: 2024 IOC)

I’m writing this just as the Opening Ceremonies of Paris 2024 have ended.

I was a puddle of tears. Damn it, Celine.

The Olympics have their share of controversies. We live in cynical times, and global institutions are under scrutiny like never before. Scrutiny is healthy, especially this year with so many countries holding presidential elections. It’s easy to be wary of anything that tugs at your heartstrings. What’re they trying to sell you? What’re they trying to distract you from?

But no one was distracted from Celine Dion’s first performance in years. We’ve been awaiting her return since 2022, when she was diagnosed with a one-in-a-million autoimmune disease known as stiff-person syndrome.

➡️ Watch Celine Dion’s performance here. ⬅️

I’ve always been a sucker for spectacle. Blame it on growing up in Florida, visiting Disney World almost yearly. Theme parks felt like alternate dimensions, existing purely for hospitality, joy and wonder. I’ve tried to carry those values forward in my work. When you’re a journalist, they’re rarely encouraged and easily abandoned.

Few things enthralled me like the parks’ nighttime light shows and fireworks. I recently watched a video of the new nighttime show at Universal Studios Florida. “CineSational” is heavy on modern elements like screens of water, choreographed drones and videos projected onto building facades (known as “projection mapping”). The last time I went to the park in 2018, the previous nighttime show moved the kid in me to tears.

Apparently even the video is enough to get me weepy.

I don’t think it’s the show itself that gives me the feels. More likely, it reminds me of who I was when shows like this first gave me feels. I was a kid bursting with dreams and ideas, surrounded by people who encouraged me to pursue them, and no emotional filter protecting my heart from the harsh realities to come. I flung myself into the unknown, trusting that my wings would open before I hit bottom… indeed, trusting that I even had wings at all.

Things like this have happened to me a number of times at critical moments in my life: moments when I needed to remember who I am. Cirque du Soleil gave me a similar jolt when I saw them on tour for the first time in December 2013. Amaluna was different from most Cirque shows at the time, both for its rock-and-roll soundtrack and because nearly all the cast were women.

Me before entering Cirque du Soleil’s Grand Chapiteau (Big Top) to see “Amaluna” in San Francisco, 22 December, 2013.

When I left this mesmerizing show I remember feeling buoyant and giddy. The next day I felt like I was made of lead. I wasn’t sad; I was empty. There were no emotions, good or bad. How did I crash so hard?

Simple. On Sunday, I was at Cirque. On Monday, I was at work.

It wasn’t that my job as KQED’s Morning Newscaster was a bad job. It’s a great gig, and my colleagues were lovely. Still, I was in a rut. Some managers seem to love ruts: their employees look squared away, even if they feel trapped. Amaluna broke my heart because I wasn’t creating or sharing anything with the world that lifted others like Cirque lifted me. The pain of that pushed me to change. Somewhere there had to be a place where I could really be myself and do my best work. If that crushing crucible hadn’t happened, I might never have made it onto NPR or into NBC. I might have settled for less.

Settling is tempting, isn’t it? Less worry, less risk, more comfort and stability. It’s homeostasis as a lifestyle. Ease and comfort look enticing with this big election on the way and the world feeling volatile. Frankly, we’ve been subjected to nonstop crises for years now, so it might be healthy for things to feel a bit boring for a while.

Source: 2024 IOC

And then, she got me. I should’ve known.

The Opening Ceremonies were ambitious, stylish and masterful. The NBC broadcast might’ve been perfect except for the unnecessary commentary of Kelly Clarkson and Peyton Manning. They sounded like the uncultured American tourists Parisians despise, blurting out everything they’re thinking. Mike Tirico was far more informed but also too talkative. Broadcasting 101: “Let the pictures tell the story.” Silence shows you’re mature enough to know when you add nothing to a moment. Jabbering on dilutes it, weakening the effect. It’s about commentary, not narration.

But nothing could dilute Celine Dion’s rendition of Edith Piaf’s “Hymne à l'amour”. The Olympic cauldron had just been lit. It’s shaped like a hot air balloon over the Jardin des Tuileries, the same spot as the first hydrogen-powered balloon flight in 1783. It was too much for me to withstand: the majesty of the scene, the joy of seeing Dion perform again, the precious rarity of seeing athletes from contentious nations coming together in a regularly scheduled act of peace and humanity…

And now, I just feel grateful. I’m grateful that all those artists came together to provide something the world needs: wonder. Spectacle. Immersion. We need to get swept up and carried away in transcendent moments. We need to see big things done by great people.

Life has us so defensive and cagey, and culture has us so obsessed with being cool and trendy, that vulnerability seems like an unreasonable risk. But if we remain defensive and cool, we cannot try new things, because we’d be too afraid to fail. We cannot stand out, because we’d be too afraid of criticism. We cannot find community, for fear of rejection. Nor, indeed, can we truly love.

That little boy with boundless optimism is long gone. He grew up, got kicked around, lost his job and doesn’t really know where he’s going. I can honor him by embracing the emotions that propelled his life forward. I need that propulsion like never before. It’s a big challenge: not armoring up so much that we feel nothing, but not letting our hearts break every time they’re touched.

My soft, bruised, overheated, untamable heart has brought me to some wonderful places in my life. I hope to see and feel many more… maybe even one to compare with that spectacle along the Seine, on a rainy Paris night.

The 2024 Olympic cauldron rises above the Jardin des Tuileries, in tribute to the world’s first hydrogen-powered hot air balloon flight from that spot in 1783. (Source: 2024 IOC)