An hilarious all-around grafitti-style outbreak of humo[u]r on British Olympic Art Sensibilities. Or not. Anyway, it inspires me to regale you with my global festival memories.
I missed Expo 67 in my old hometown area ofMontreal, of no importance of all to anyone except for fact that it was a global event that was to exhibit architectural and artistic pieces of note and other than a zippy trip up and down the Space Needle in Seattle, my sole experience with these epic facilities.
So I was visiting my home town in 1968 right after high school and foisted off on relatives for a tour de Quebec, sort of. With Pierre, my co-worker at the Club Dorion, a private country club where I toiled (and polished off my share of Labatt’s Blue over that blurry summer) I headed over to the island site for thrills on a roller coaster thingie, checking out les femmes, finding some cold Blue.
All I can say is that Montreal has reportedly paid off the debt for Expo 67. The Habitat apartments are still going strong if a bit leaky. I vaguely remember the enthusiastic vision embodied in all the stylistic leaps in architecture and structure. Not much more.
I hope London’s squiggly tower and the Coke pavilion cohere in vision and not rust into shabby monuments to bureaucracy and too much brew.
Russ Imrie August 2012