The Storyteller by Ásta Andrésdóttir Photo by Páll stefánsson A regular on prime time TV, a member of popular standup collective Mid-Ísland, a gifted screenwriter and an extraordinary mimic; meet Ari Eldjárn, leader of <strong>Iceland</strong>’s new generation of comedy. 48 atlantica
Interview a a ÁA: <strong>Iceland</strong> is facing a massive crisis, people are protesting in the streets and many are losing their homes. Is this really a good time to be making jokes? AE: Absolutely. In fact, I think we need comedy and written material more than ever. People appreciate a break from reality. When times are hard, people need to be entertained. ÁA: Early last year, you joked that <strong>Iceland</strong>’s only hope would be a volcanic eruption. Cue Eyjafjallajökull... AE: That was intense. I was pointing out how we always celebrate and exaggerate our coverage in the world press, when the truth is that we’re a mere footnote on the map. Basically, only Scandinavians know we exist, and everyone else has a vague idea about Björk, fish, our financial crisis and volcanoes. In the wake of the collapse, we feared that we would become outcasts and thought that an eruption would be our only ticket to making headlines. ÁA: You recently did stand-up at London’s Comedy Store. How were you received, given the Icesave dispute and all? AE: Very well; everyone loved laughing at <strong>Iceland</strong>’s bankruptcy. The Comedy Store is a lion’s den. For example, a heckler rudely demanded his money back. I ceremoniously handed him a thousand-króna bill and advised him to exchange it quickly, as it would soon be worthless. I began my act by explaining how before the economic crisis, people always said to me: So, you’re from <strong>Iceland</strong>... the country or the supermarket? And how I asked in return: How dare you associate my country with frozen assets? I then told the audience that since the economic crisis, my answer was that I came from the supermarket. It was a good icebreaker, no pun intended. ÁA: Define the <strong>Iceland</strong>ic sense of humor. AE: Ironic and understated; less is definitely more. ÁA: Have you always been the funniest guy in the room? AE: I wouldn’t know about that. But I’ve always been good at telling stories and mimicking. I worked as a flight attendant for a few years, which was a great experience, I suppose. I enjoy speaking foreign languages with different accents, and the atmosphere on board is lighthearted. Plus, I must have learned a lot about performing by demonstrating the safety instructions. ÁA: Your imitations of celebrities are hilarious, what’s the secret? AE: It’s not about getting the voices right, but what I have them say. The key is to make that ring true. I have great respect for the people I imitate and study them thoroughly. ÁA: Tell me about your increasingly popular comedy collective, Mid- Ísland. AE: In the spring of 2009, a few friends and I began doing stand-up. We were all experienced debaters but had never dreamed of crossing over to comedy. There was a strange feeling in the air; the Icesave debate was on hold and we just went for it. Mid-Ísland is a term for the <strong>Iceland</strong>ic highlands, that uncharted territory where anything goes. ÁA: Is everything fair game in comedy? AE: Yes. However, it depends on who does it, where, when, how and why. I’m a fairly good judge of what I can joke about where, but some people will always be offended, assuming that comedy has to be a unilateral attack on an issue, when it can actually be much more layered. Comedy is also a great platform for discussing difficult issues. My comedy album, Grín skrín, includes a stand up skit about leather-clad gay men. At first glance it might seem exploitative but in reality it is a celebration of <strong>Iceland</strong>’s progress in human rights. ÁA: What has been your most memorable performance? AE: Last Christmas, Mid-Ísland entertained at Litla-Hraun, <strong>Iceland</strong>’s main jail. I’m always a bit nervous before performing but never as much as when we were escorted into a gym hall, where 80 inmates were waiting for us. What if they didn’t like us? But then they laughed heartily at all our jokes, except maybe for the ones dealing solely with the economic crisis. I think the prison probably has an economy of its own, and it’s probably more stable than the one outside it. But they gave us a warm welcome and this visit was a beautiful experience. Stand-up is really my day job; writing material for television, theater and films is where my long-term ambitions lie. I studied screenwriting at the London Film School, which was a great experience. Since then, I have for example written for Áramótaskaupid [The National Broadcasting Service’s comedy show the entire nation watches on new-years’ eve] and for the ongoing comedy series Hlemmavídeó. ÁA: Is it really possible to make a living that way? AE: Of course. At my next reunion I’ll act condescending to my former classmates: So you became a lawyer? Good for you. I chose to play it safe and pursue writing. One has to pay the bills, you know... ÁA: Your father [Thórarinn Eldjárn] is one of <strong>Iceland</strong>’s most distinguished authors. What advice has he given you? AE: None, really. Just unconditional support. He has undoubtedly inspired me, but so have my brothers, who are very funny and active in both music and writing. ÁA: Your late grandfather, Kristján Eldjárn, was <strong>Iceland</strong>’s third president. Would you ever consider a career in politics? AE: No, not at all. Being head of state must be a very difficult job, by no means suitable for a fragile, creative person such as myself. ÁA: Comedy however seems to be a gateway to public office. Just look at Jón Gnarr, Reykjavík’s new mayor. AE: Jón Gnarr is one of my idols and I admire him even more for having had the guts to run for office. Politics involves backstabbing and calculated public relations—the dark side of creativity. Hopefully, when he leaves office, he will reveal what goes on behind those closed doors and change the face of <strong>Iceland</strong>ic politics permanently. a
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