The French had Celine Dion, boats floating down the Seine and a heavy metal band with a beheaded Marie Antoinette. What would we have?
The year is 2028: Christopher Luxon is still our prime minister, Taylor Swift is still on the Eras Tour, and the Olympics’ host city, Los Angeles, has been forced to abandon the ceremony due to local water wars. Somehow, standing out from the big global superpowers, one plucky nation is chosen to rise to the test of hosting the world’s largest sporting event: Aotearoa New Zealand.
It’s a tough gig for such a small country, but if there’s one thing that stands out about New Zealanders, it’s their desire to one-up the French. In every other aspect, however, New Zealand is woefully unprepared for an event of Olympic levels, which is why we’ve never done it before – not even the winter one. But does it hurt to dream?
The build-up to the ceremony has been tense. New Zealand were able to secure the Olympics by offering up Auckland and Wellington as host cities, a promise of good Kiwi ingenuity and a tidy Kiwi mentality – it was the repeated quaintness of the word “Kiwi” which truly sold us on the international stage. Though many New Zealanders, and indeed, those around the world, asked, why? And how? Good questions solved by Luxon’s promise of a results-driven event within a workable budget (amount not disclosed), and not to worry because taxpayers will see the economic benefits of such a revered sporting event balance out all the last minute infrastructure spending anyway.
Again, the case is made for a new waterfront stadium to be built in Auckland, stat. Unfortunately, years prior, Auckland Council had chosen to revamp Eden Park instead by giving it 10,000 extra seats. If only the waterfront stadium dream actually got off the ground when it was first pitched 18 years ago.
Being the largest and only covered centre city stadium in New Zealand’s biggest city, Eden Park is chosen to host the opening ceremony. There’s no point in trying to emulate Paris’s outdoor spectacle, as half of Queen Street still resembles a derelict wasteland of empty retail space and the Waitematā Harbour is as polluted as ever, and still not quite as revered as the Seine. The industrial backdrop of Penrose would be a hard sell for the international athletes, so Go Media Stadium (formerly known as Mt Smart) is out of the question. Aucklanders worry the city’s lack of culture may be a thorn in the side of a memorable ceremony, so a pitch is made – and then rejected – to bring Wellington Airport’s giant statues of Gollum and Gandalf up for the occasion. A decision to lean heavily on fern imagery is chosen instead.
In the lead up to the big day, the Olympics rings are installed and hanging off the Sky Tower, Auckland mayor Oscar Kightley politely and repeatedly calls for improved behaviour from locals in the media, and Auckland City Council is staring down the barrel of millions of dollars in debt thanks to a much needed clean-up of the city to rid layers of gum and vomit and those pesky smells from the streets.
The 4,500 athletes competing in the games travel from the Olympic Village dotted across Auckland’s waterfront where, just a few blocks ahead, construction for the City Rail Link still hasn’t finished, and the city’s excessive collection of road cones has been dumped into the underground to avoid overwhelming tourists. The French are unimpressed by the lacking scenic route between the waterfront and Kingsland, but the US competitors find it cute. Meanwhile, Wellington City Council is hurriedly trying to block the last of the multiple leaks across the capital in the hopes that travellers won’t be put off making future trips to the windy city.
The delivery of the Olympic flame to Eden Park is a spectacle in itself: a cross-country relay takes place with the torch travelling from Northland to Stewart Island before arriving back in Auckland. It passes through the hands of Luxon in Wellington, Richie McCaw in Christchurch, and a stop-over in Hobbiton with Peter Jackson before arriving in Kightley’s hands in Auckland.
The floor of Eden Park is transformed to resemble a thick bush, because “nature” seemed like a safe bet to sell New Zealand on. The opening ceremony kicks off with 2,028 performers executing a specially-choreographed haka, and it’s this leaning into Māori culture which prevents the NZ Olympics from resembling a very watered down and much cheaper version of London 2012. Light projections across the grounds and dancers retell the Aotearoa’s creation story, the separation of Ranginui and Papatūānuku which formed light, before floating puppets of kiwi and tūī are carried across the stadium while Dames Kiri Te Kanawa and Hinewehi Mohi sing Pōkarekare Ana.
The parade section sees the New Zealand Symphony Orchestra perform the hits from the Lord of The Rings: The Fellowship of The Ring soundtrack as countries march out. When they’re done, “traditional New Zealand music” is played instead: Canada walk out to a recording of ‘How Bizarre’ loud enough to drown the boos, the Japanese are forced to listen to ‘Slice of Heaven’ and Belgium learn what a halfway house half way down Dominion Road is by way of Don McGlashan.
Out of a smoke screen, Lorde appears onstage to sing a rousing but stripped-back rendition of ‘Don’t Dream It’s Over’ with Paul Goldsmith on piano, in a dress imitating Bjork’s Athens moment lit with the projections of Aotearoa’s greatest sporting moments: Yvette Williams flying through the air, Peter Snell breaking through the finish line, and a simple logo that says “Up the Wahs”. A performance of ‘Poi E’ from Pātea Māori Club follows, before Rita Ora takes the stage, because a national export is essential in every ceremony and as the wife of Taika Waititi she was the easiest person to book. She sings a club-ready version of ‘Anchor Me’, which critics describe as almost as good as Chris Warren’s rendition on Shortland Street, but not quite.
The Olympics cauldron, shaped like a half-cut kiwi fruit with poking torches to resemble the seeds, sits in the middle of the stadium and is lit by New Zealand’s most successful medal holders: Lisa Carrington, now the soon-to-be mayor of Tauranga, and Ian Ferguson. Tongan athlete Pita Taufatofua, of oiled-body fame, returns to hand Carrington and Ferguson the torch. Both torch-bearers wear korowai and travel by a float-turned-waka to light the cauldron, leading to many fumbled pronunciations from overseas commentators.
The ceremony ends with flames burning the Auckland city skyline, and the Olympic rings shining through the night as they hang from the Sky Tower. On television, the spectacle is vivid and joyous, though viewers won’t have to know the truth of Auckland’s public transport system and the hours of stand-still traffic now caused by this ceremony. The entire globe is in disbelief: New Zealand actually pulled it off. In the distance, John Banks laughs from his Remuera mansion.