Reykjavík Grapevine - 10.10.2008, Blaðsíða 6

6 | REYKJAVÍK GRAPEVINE | ISSUE 16—2008
INTERvIEW BY SIguRðuR KJARTAn KRISTInSSon — pHoTo BY gAS
Tell me, how did you end up making movies?
It all started when I studied at the predecessor of
what’s nowadays called the Icelandic Academy
of the Arts, but at the time me and a couple of my
friends were in this band called Oxmó. Making mu-
sic wasn’t our only task though, we’d make gigantic
sculptures all over town and several other deeds
but at last we made a film called “Oxmóplánetan”,
a sort of a sci-fi flick, extremely raw and barbaric
but nevertheless very amusing. This turned out to
be such a blast that we decided to keep at it and so
when we finished shooting we decided to fabricate
a full-length film which bore the arousing name
“Suck me, Nína”. It told the story of a few hippies in
the year 1973, but we were, on the contrary, punk-
ers in the year 1983, so we basically made a movie
of what was in our opinion the tackiest thing imag-
inable. We managed to produce this film with great
aggressiveness and the result was surprisingly suc-
cessful. Soon after this adventure I decided to at-
tain some education in the field. So you could say
that me becoming a director was an aftermath of
“Suck me, Nína”
Did you move home as soon as you finished
your studies in England?
Yeah, I came home and made my final assignment,
a movie called “SSL 25” which deals with a pri-
vately operated task force. Subsequently, I started
making music videos for several artists, such as
the Sugarcubes, Bubbi etc. but alongside with that
work I was preparing a movie that had been for
some time on my mind: “Sódóma Reykjavík”. I was
extremely eager to start working on it, and the pre-
paring process was so successful that I could begin
shooting in relatively short time.
What made you so passionate about Sódóma
Reykjavík?
In my opinion all the movies that were made here
at the time were rather dull and I didn’t see any
need for such a vast selection of boring flicks, so
an amusing film was really called for at the time.
It was gratifying to go through all the professional
production process that surrounded the shooting
but at the end I realised that it hadn’t been funded
as properly as it should have and when I ended up
penniless I decided to emphasize more on televi-
sion for some time. Soon I was able to forge myself
into the TV business and later I directed series such
as “Fóstbræður” and “Svínasúpan”
Comedy has always surrounded your work
but your most recent pieces, i.e. Reykjavík-
Rotterdam and also “Svartir Englar” is dead
serious, what made you switch tracks?
I think it inevitably happens when you get older,
when you start taking things more seriously. But to
tell you the truth it was never a particular aim to
be a comedy director, it kind of just happened. Re-
cently I wanted to change course and start to take
on things that actually matter to people in real life,
things that are closer and more powerful. Comedy
tends to be a bit transient, all about the moment,
then it’s over. Somewhat like fast food.
To move over to your new piece “Reykjavík-Rot-
terdam”, could you tell me how it all began?
The process started about 7 years ago when I heard
an interview with an old sailor and a smuggler who
had for sure ‘been around’ over his years and it im-
mediately aroused my attention. I later called up
Arnaldur Indriðason, and after I had explained the
idea to him he grew fond of it as well. Subsequently
we sat down to write a story. The story was always
a subject to change but the journey between Reyk-
javík and Rotterdam was always its milestone. The
time it took to write was exhaustive but I don’t re-
gret a minute of it. It’s always easy to write about
the first two thirds of a screenplay but when you
have to finalise it, things tend to get complicated.
All in all, with intermissions, it took about five years
to write, which clearly gave us the time to make it
proper. We considered many times over the pro-
cess that the screenplay was decent enough to start
shooting it, but we could never make peace with
it being simply decent, we wanted it to be perfect.
To make that happen we had a lot of people read
it and comment on it and we also created a spe-
cial workshop down at the Icelandic Film Centre,
whose sole purpose was to make the script better. I
think the worst mistake of a filmmaker is to believe
his job is to make movies, but not to tell stories.
And if you want to tell a story you have to make it
credible. Nowadays people don’t give themselves
enough time, and just go out and shoot some half
finished pieces, and as soon as they begin shoot-
ing they realise that they’re in over their heads but
there’s nothing they can do at that point.
have you ever made that mistake?
Actually, I always feel I’m making that mistake.
I think, in my case at least, you always think af-
terwards that you should’ve given yourself more
time in the preparation process. Once you begin
rehearsing and shooting you see your script mis-
takes materialise before your eyes. Even sometimes
when you’re doing a scene you know already you’re
never going to use it, not in a million years, that’s
really an untenable feeling. It’s of course difficult
to write a good screenplay but it’s just as hard to
read it right, to understand what those replicas re-
ally stand for and how this will look on the screen.
It’s really hard to tell.
And how do you like the final result of Reyk-
javík-Rotterdam? Are you at peace with it?
I am, really. But you don’t stop meditating your
work even though you’ve already premiered and
I’m always spotting a few new things that could’ve
worked out better. When I watch old pieces I’ve
made I honestly squirm around, there are so many
scenes that could’ve been better. I try hard to avoid
seeing my old works, it’s intolerable.
Getting More Serious
Director Óskar Jónasson talks about the flaky storytelling business
and his latest offspring, Reykjavík-Rotterdam
“I THInK THe woRST MISTAKe of A
fILMMAKeR IS To BeLIeve HIS JoB IS
To MAKe MovIeS, BuT noT To TeLL
SToRIeS.”, “I TRY HARD To AvoID See-
Ing MY oLD woRKS, IT’S InToLeR-
ABLe.”
Rumours had been going around
that the roughest Icelandic flick
to date was being screened in
cinemas near you, so Grapevine
caught up with the man who cre-
ated all the fuss, Óskar Jónasson,
who happily invited us into his
safe haven.
oPINIoN BY AInA fuLLeR
Before arriving here, my strongest impressions of
Iceland came from news panoramas about this geo-
thermal-powered, arctic paradise. This is a country
that brings the environmentally laced version of the
word "green" to a whole new, inspirational level. Yet,
upon actually stepping foot into an otherwise lovely
Nordic society, I encountered this glaring paradox: a
"green" country whose small roads are crowded with
almost as many cars as there are Icelandic people
(most of them being gas-guzzling SUV's), and whose
worldly duty to separate the trash into recyclables
seems sparse, at best. I mean, really, I've never seen
so many Styrofoam cups used, without remorse, to
simply feed a country's caffeine addiction.
As a New Yorker, my ability to judge too quickly
is simultaneously an instinct, a talent, and an Achil-
les heel that I've attempted to shed upon relocation.
So, in spite of these offenses, I retract said judgments.
I rationalise by highlighting Iceland's knack for car-
bon neutralizing, (planting enough trees for every
person in multitude). And okay, perhaps the rocky
landscape and unpredictable weather necessitate
the use of such monster cars.
There remains one paradox, however, that I
simply cannot overlook because it strikes, what I
consider, the most prized parts and processes of my
body: my stomach, my taste buds, and my ability to
enjoy food to an almost criminal level. I'm not talking
about traditional Icelandic cuisine, which I've come
to embrace with my daily helpings of Skyr and Hard-
fisk. I'm talking about food waste.
I can only assume that with slogans like
"Choose Icelandic," the people couldn't be prouder
of their ability to grow food in this difficult, temperate
climate. Why, then, oh fabulous land that I now call
home, do I encounter so much food waste here?
In a food waste survey of approximately 500
families, conducted by Sorpa, 70% of Icelandic house-
holds admit to regularly throwing away some portion
of their food. Compound this for every household in
Iceland, and suddenly that seemingly little bit of trash
accounts for a landfill full of unnecessary waste, and
a hole in your bank account that could have been
otherwise spent on your Saturday night beers.
Of course, there's the added implication that
all this wasted food came in some form of plastic,
glass, or paper packaging that most likely didn't get
recycled, and only exacerbates the problem. This is a
violation that renders the environmental movement
in Iceland a shade no richer than "diet green."
And, how did the food buying culture of mod-
ern day Iceland come so far from its roots of maximiz-
ing the utility of food? It's fun for tourists and natives
alike to delve into the wonders of slatur and revel
in the adventuresome eating of ram testicles and
sheep's head, but the obvious must be pointed out:
this is a tradition founded upon the very principal of
preventing food waste. Should we not re-embrace
some of these rituals simply for their practical value?
Come now, everyone! Follow up that juicy lamb steak
tonight with the sheep's eyes and you not only have
a soothing palate cleanser, you've prevented a bit
of waste and stretched your kronur that little bit fur-
ther.
Okay, preaching over and scathing New York
attitude put away, I promise. I guess the only thing
I can do is to put my own words into practice and
try to see the silver lining here. Maybe this economic
crisis, the ever-escalating price of food, and my per-
sonal effort to prevent food waste can finally help me
fit into those skinny jeans everyone seems to be so
fond of.
Culture of Waste