Reykjavík Grapevine - des. 2020, Blaðsíða 22

Iceland On The
World’s Bi!!est
Comedy Sta!e
Pardon our editor-in-chief’s take on Ari Eldjárn’s
first Netflix stand-up special
Words: Valur Grettisson Photo: Hör!ur Sveinsson
I’m just going to say it and I know
that this might result in the stand-
up community in Iceland (and
maybe one eccentric historian)
disowning me—and maybe I de-
serve that—but here goes: Icelan-
dic stand-up has been a goddamn
tragedy throughout the years. But
don’t despair, there is one man
working hard to get us on the
world map. This is, of course, Ari
Eldjárn, who just premiered his
first Netflix special, ‘Pardon My
Icelandic.’
Iceland comedy history
in 30 seconds
Stand-up comedy in Iceland has
more or less been an odd slap-
stick situation throughout the
years from Ómar Ragnarsson,
who just danced while reciting
rhymes like he was strung out on
amphetamines, to Spaugstofan,
who made tacky political jokes
that were more like a series of dad
jokes than commentary, to the
boozy Radíus bræ!ur, who gave us
intellectual humour under heavy
influence from Monty Python and
booze, to finally Fóstbræ!ur, the
surreal comedy group lead by our
former mayor, Jón Gnarr, that was
also under the heavy influence of
Monty Python.
Imperialists… am I
right?
But Ari Eldjárn is different. His
comedy—rather than going for
niche Icelandic political jabs or
Monty Python-inspired rabble—is
more about Scandinavian stereo-
types in general. He made head-
lines as the first Icelandic comedi-
an to get his own Netflix stand-up
special, and while cynical read-
ers might say everyone and their
grandmothers get Netflix stand-
up specials nowadays, we want
to state that Iceland does have a
population
of 360,000
people, so
one of them
g e t t i n g a
specia l i s
l i k e 4 0 0
N e t f l i x -
specials per
capita com-
pared to the
U.K. Now it
seems pret-
ty big right?
So let ’s
talk about
‘ P a r d o n
My Icelandic’. Ari’s warm and
friendly comedy translates pretty
well to the worldwide screen. His
humour, which in this special
revolves around Scandinavian
quirks, brilliantly nails Iceland’s
Scandi neighbours, like the robot-
ic emotionlessness of the Finns
and the unbearable tone shift at
the end of every sentence in Nor-
wegian.
Most importantly though, he
unveils what most of the world has
somehow missed, which is that
Danish people are an absolutely
insufferable bunch of pompous
softies that speak the most hid-
eous language in the world. But,
you know, imperialists, right?
With his observations, Ari un-
veils the characteristic funny-but-
extremely-petty national soul of
Icelanders, which is usually lost in
most of the cutesy international
media attention the country gets.
We could be
imperialists too
But to be critical, Ari’s stand-up is
not perfect. In the middle of the
one-hour long special, he does
seem to lose track for a moment
though he does later regain his
vigour. The part about how Dan-
ish people make up strange jokes
about Iceland is perhaps too niche
for an international crowd. And
nobody in Iceland cares about
Himmelbjerget anymore. That
mountain is more of a tragedy
than a joke.
B u t o v e r a l l ,
Ari’s show reminds
us that he is truly
the comedy k ing
of Iceland and he
sails his first spe-
cial pretty safely to
harbour. A little too
safely, actually, and
that could be a criti-
cism in itself, but
who can blame him
for playing it safe on
the biggest stage in
the world?
He does give
one hope that comedy in Iceland
does not only have a bright future,
but that it could actually conquer
the world! Which is also a weird
quirk in Icelanders; we are the
world’s smallest imperialist-wan-
nabes. You can run with that in
your next show, Ari.
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Film
Now that's what I call Blue Steel™
“Danish people are
an absolutely insuf-
ferable bunch of
pompous softies
who speak the most
hideous language in
the world.”
- Editor-in-Chief of
the RVK Grapevine
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