The main point I took from last night’s figure skating (aside from that my shriveled husk of a body will wither from the vine momentarily, thanks to running commentary about elderly Carolina Kostner, 31) was that whispered Beyoncé infuses any and every movement with aching beauty. Wonderwall can turn a spectacle of superhuman physical achievement to TRASH. And Despacito–pasito a pasito, suave suavecito nos vamos pegando poquito a poqui–ahh, every time, it just does that.
It’s the first year the Olympics has allowed lyrical music, apparently in an attempt to make feats of human excellence hip and relatable to home viewers. Here’s how that went:
Carolina Kostner performed to Celine Dion, Ne me quitte pas:
Two ice dance teams danced to Despacito (more on NBC):
Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir, whose pelvic face lift rocked a nation (but sadly not the world), performed to a Rolling Stones, Eagles, and Santana mash-up.
Alexey Bychenko to Hava Nagila:
Fucking Wonderwall, Paul Fentz:
Fucking Game of Thrones, Paul Fentz: