Iceland review - 2019, Side 71

your brain can backfire on words. ‘Which word am I
using, this one or that one?’ While in English, it will
stick better once you’ve learned it, almost like song
lyrics. As soon as you’ve nailed the accent, acting
in another language is like singing a song.” The
accents, however, can prove challenging, some-
thing Ingvar found out when he reprised his role in
Vesturport’s Metamorphosis when it was staged
in Norway. He had formerly played the role in both
Icelandic and English. “The biggest challenge, lan-
guage-wise, was in Norway. Even though Norwegian
is close to Icelandic, that was incredibly difficult.
The pronunciation is so hard, especially since I had
to sound convincingly Norwegian, nowhere in the
play did anyone mention I was from somwhere else.
Luckily, Norway has plenty of small towns and val-
leys with different dialects. People could just think I
was from somewhere up north.”
It’s who you know
Ingvar has done extensive film work in Iceland, but
he has also dipped his toe into the murky waters of
Hollywood. Again, he notes that his work is essen-
tially the same, even if the environment he’s working
in is different. “The language of films is basically the
same, no matter where you are. If you’ve been acting
in a low-budget movie in the Icelandic countryside
versus a huge Hollywood machine, the only dif-
ference is that it’s a much bigger factory. They’re
building the same thing.” Iceland’s film industry has
taken huge leaps since Ingvar was doing his first
films, but it still faces financial constraints. “There
are so many ideas and so many people who want to
do so much. Even though things are a little bit better
than they used to be, people are still competing
for the same funds in order to make their project
happen.”
When choosing his projects, Ingvar doesn’t focus
so much on the script or the budget, rather the peo-
ple he’ll be working with. In Icelandic films, he sees
a lot of potential. “Hlynur [director of White, White
Day], Ása Helga Hjörleifsdóttir, Ísold Uggadóttir,
and Ugla Hauksdóttir, the people that are entering
the business now, they all have their own distinctive
poetic attributes. They’re all unique.” Ingvar sees
the emergence of these new artists as an import-
ant step in building the industry. “Just like with all
pioneers, the people who came before me in acting
and film making, you don’t spring fully formed out
of nothing with a whole bunch of talent. I wouldn’t
be where I am today if it weren’t for the people who
came before me. If we keep creating movies and keep
building on our history, we’ll be in better and better
shape.” No matter the project he chooses, things
always feel fresh and exciting for Ingvar and he
approaches each venture on its own terms. “You’re
always telling a new story with new people.”
Macho men
Speaking of stories, the cliché goes that Nordic peo-
ple and the stories they tell tend to exhibit emotional
restraint. Yet A White, White Day is deeply saturated
with emotions, though they may be slightly under
the surface. “We’re always dealing with the same
subjects. How we deal with life, how we deal with the
people we live with, in our communities or our fam-
ilies. It can be dramatic or funny: this film is both.
There are parts where you sense, rather than see,
that the character is about to explode with emotion.”
Many of Ingvar’s most-loved characters through
the years have been characterised by emotional
restraint and lack of sentimentality, although by
no means a lack of emotions. “Maybe it’s a part
of yourself and all the men and people you know
from Iceland. You don’t stray far from your home,
whether you’re playing Erlendur in Jar City, Ásgeir
in Trapped or Ingimundur in A White, White Day.
They’re different men and come from different back-
grounds, but there’s a kinship there. Maybe it’s just
the fact that they’re all Icelandic. Nordic.”
These days, the times are a-changing and these
men’s cold façade and iron grip on their emotions
might be interpreted as stifling. “People have always
had all sorts of complicated emotions. I don’t know
what it was like when my grandparents were living,
but I do feel that in my generation and the one
before mine, men have become much more free. For
instance, seeking help if you need it is nothing to be
shy about, or at least it shouldn’t be.” Ingvar guesses
that many Icelanders have to fight their instinct to
refuse help and try to go it alone. “I feel it myself,
the instinct is to white-knuckle it, say ‘no, I can do it
myself, I don’t need any help.’”
He even mentions an example from one of his