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Please put your hands together for the incomparable Ari Eldjárn!
PARDON MY ICELANDIC
Thank you.
Thank you, everyone. Thanks for coming.
My name is Ari Eldjárn.
It means "Eagle Fire Iron."
It's an Icelandic name.
We all have names that mean something in this country.
My brother's name is Úlfur.
It means "Wolf."
My wife's name is Linda. It means "Internet."
We all have names that mean something in this country.
And for those of you who don't know much about Iceland,
I'll tell you a few facts.
There's 350,000 people who live in Iceland today.
That's it. That's the total population.
You know a country is small when you ask for the population,
and you get a number that includes tens of thousands.
Like, "Is it around 300,000?"
"No. 350,000. Don't forget those 50,000."
"That's one seventh of the population."
"Society would collapse without those 50,000 people."
But we've been a country for a long time, since the year 874.
And in all that time, we've managed to give birth
to 800,000 people.
Can you see how hopeless this is for us?
More than a thousand years since the Vikings,
and we still can't reach one million,
even though we include everyone who's dead.
But we don't have strength in numbers,
so we have it in statistics.
We say we're the best in the world…
per capita.
That is, considering how few we are,
we are the best per capita.
This is like an economist's term.
Children use it freely in Iceland.
"We have the most cars in the world per capita."
"How old are you?" "Three."
"That's not very old." "It is, per capita."
It never stops.
"We have the most Nobel Prize winners in the world…
per capita."
"One."
And just over a decade ago, we had the fourth largest bankruptcy in history.
Not per capita, actually.
That was pretty huge.
We got a lot of publicity from that.
All the world's media reported on Iceland being bankrupt,
but we don't care, 'cause we're such a small country
that we love any attention we get.
We're like, "We're on the map!"
Yeah. All the banks are bust.
"Who cares? We're in the news!"
We had a volcano that went off
and grounded all air traffic in Europe.
And for a week, everyone was like, "How do you pronounce that? Is it…
Eyjafjallajökull?"
And we could be like, "Let me tell you how to pronounce it."
"It is actually… Eyjafjallajökull"
"It's not that hard."
And we felt like we did that.
We were like, "Yeah, that's what we can do."
"We grounded those planes."
We didn't do anything. We didn't press a button.
And the thing was, we felt so powerful when that happened,
until we saw a news report from Scotland that scared us.
This news report came out,
like, "Many people trapped here today. Many flights canceled."
And this drunken Scottish person walks into frame and goes,
"I hate Iceland."
"I hate Iceland. You shite country."
"You ruined my trip. I hate Iceland."
Everyone else thought that was funny, but Iceland just went, "They hate us."
"The world has spoken."
"This man is clearly their ambassador."
Icelanders participate in the Eurovision Song Contest every year.
For most countries, participating in that contest it's a joke.
For us, it's our foreign policy, basically.
The moment when all the flags are shown in the beginning,
even the Icelandic commentator loses his mind, like,
"Yes, we see all the nationalities walking in, and the flags…"
"And then there is the Icelandic flag!"
"We exist!"
All the other Nordic countries have won Eurovision at some point, and we haven't.
So, every year, we go, "We're gonna win it this year."
"Yes, we're gonna win it. Yes, we will." And then we don't, and we switch to,
"Good. We didn't win."
"Can't afford it."
"Good we didn't win, yeah?"
We always get so angry at Eurovision because of the voting process.
When Eastern European countries vote,
we're like, "It's a mafia. They all vote for each other."
"They're neighboring friends. They're just voting."
"It should be called 'Yugovision.'"
"Yes, it's a mafia."
"Is it our turn? Yes."
"Here is the Icelandic vote."
"Eight points to Norway,
10 points to Sweden,
and 12 points to… Who'd have thought? Denmark."
"Thank you. That was the Icelandic vote."
So, basically, I think we could win Eurovision
if we would get more small countries to join
because they would vote out of solidarity.
We should get, like, the Vatican to join Eurovision.
Why don't they compete? They're the smallest country in Europe.
And they've got the biggest celebrity of them all, the Pope.
He could win Eurovision.
He wouldn't even need to change into a flamboyant costume.
He could just show up straight from work.
He could drive onto stage in his popemobile with the glass windows.
In Nomine Spiritus Anniversarus Eurovision
In Gloria
And if you don't give him 12 points,
he can banish your country to hell for eternity.
That's the power the Pope has.
He just says something in Latin, and we burn forever, like…
Icelandis Inferis
That didn't sound good.
Actually, people respect Latin way too much.
People think if you speak Latin, you must be really intelligent.
I never saw it that way.
I went to school, and I had to learn Spanish and French.
But before I could learn Spanish and French,
they were like, "First, you must learn Latin."
"It is a great foundation for Spanish and French."
"Why don't you just teach me Spanish and French?"
It's like saying to a driving instructor, "Can you teach me to drive?"
"Yes, I shall teach you how to drive, but first, the unicycle."
"It's a great foundation… for driving."
"Only when you have mastered the unicycle,
can you fully appreciate the four wheels of an automobile."
"Just teach me how to drive!"
People think you're clever if you study Latin.
You're not.
You're actually quite stupid. What are you doing with your life?
"I'm going to study Latin for ten years at university."
"Who are you going to talk to?" "Nobody."
They're all dead.
It's such an old language that they hadn't even invented proper numbers.
They use letters in formation.
Like, "One" was "I."
"Two" was "I, I."
"Three" was "I, I, I."
Can you imagine being an accountant with that system? "I, I, I…"
Or going to the gym?
"Let's have a good workout today."
"I…"
"I, I…"
"I, I, I…"
"I, V…"
"V…"
"V, I…"
"V, I, I…"
"V, I, I, I…"
Your poor trainer is exhausted.
Like, "Come on, man, give me I, I more."
"I, X…"
"X!"
"I am totally confused. How many did you do?"
"X!"
"All right! Give me V."
It would never work. It'd be way too complicated.
Actually, I studied some Spanish at school.
I wish I remembered more. It's a fantastic language.
But what I do remember is like an unstable beta version
of Google Translate.
I will have to first translate everything into my mind in English,
and then that gets Spanish-ified, sometimes with interesting results.
I play football once a month with, like, an Icelandic amateur team.
And we're terrible football players.
All out of shape, and all we do is go, "Hey, guys, let's go to…"
"No? Okay, defense, yeah. Defense…"
No goals are scored. Nothing is at stake,
but we made the mistake of inviting a friend of ours to join.
He was called Albert, and he's Spanish.
And we were like, "Do you play football?"
"Yes, of course, but I'm very bad."
"Good. We are really bad too."
He is from Barcelona.
Very bad in Barcelona is muy bueno in Reykjavik. I will tell you.
While we're doing this,
"Come on, guys, let's defend." He's doing street magic with the ball.
"You want the ball? Where'd it go?"
"It was here. Look, it's here."
"It's here. You want it?"
"It's on my bum. It's on my ankle."
At one point our goalkeeper got up and applauded one of his goals.
I wanted to congratulate him too, but I first had to think.
I thought, "Okay, I'm gonna say, 'Albert, that was friggin' terrific.'"
But out of me came, "Albert, frigorífico."
Which I knew was a word because I could visualize it,
but when I saw the look on his face, he was like…
"Gracias. Que?"
"Frigorífico?"
And I went like, "Jesus, did I call his mother a whore or something?"
I went home, and I Iooked it up.
"Frigorífico" is "refrigerator" in Spanish.
So he scored a goal, and I responded by saying,
"Yo, Albert! Refrigerator!"
"Refrigerate!"
But it's not all bad news when Iceland makes the world news.
My favorite moment of all was when the Icelandic football team
beat the English football team.
Now, thank--
Yes, let's applaud that. That's…
Such a classic football game too.
So many classic moments in that game.
I think my favorite moment was when we won.
I think that was my absolute favorite moment.
But also it was just personal 'cause I used to live in England
and for years, I would have to listen to these jokes like,
"Are you from Iceland, mate?"
"Are you from the country or the supermarket?"
'Cause there is a supermarket
in England called "Iceland" that sells shitty frozen foods.
And they actually sued the country of Iceland
for improper copyright use of their name.
You can't make this up.
We're the only country that has to deal with a lawsuit from a supermarket.
"This is our name."
"I'm pretty sure we had it before you guys had it."
This was like a complete shock when it happened.
The Icelanders never saw this coming, neither did the English.
English football hooligans were so confident before that game
that they went to the Iceland supermarket and got shopping bags,
and they wore them as shirts to the game,
and were basically like, "This is a fuckin' formality, mate."
"Yeah, we're gonna smash 'em, mate. 10-nil, mate."
"You're just a shit shop in London!"
Then they lost to a shit shop in London.
They did that to themselves.
But to be fair, they were pretty nice about it.
Before the game, they were singing…
You're shit and you're going home
Then they lost and switched it around.
We're shit and we're going home
It was actually…
It's so unbelievable that that happened because we don't have a lot going for us.
We have about a 100 professional players playing for Iceland.
That means that 10% of all of our players
are on the field, actually in the game.
And we don't even have, like, a national anthem that boosts morale
because that's what an anthem should do.
It's usually a military song like…
And we are the greatest country In the world
And we're going to murder you
Our national anthem is about a flower.
And it's not even a dangerous flower.
No, it's an eternal, small flower…
with a vibrating tear…
that worships its god…
and dies.
How is this supposed to scare Ronaldo for one second?
I have never heard a rapper use those metaphors, like…
"Yo, motherfucker, I'm a flower."
"Yeah."
"Going to cry till I motherfucking die."
"Got a vibrating tear, bitch."
There's nothing…
And we have to sing it ourselves.
We-- It's in three octaves, this song.
Freddie Mercury would not have touched this song with a stick.
You have to be able to go down and up repeatedly
like an opera singer, like…
It's…
It's a…
But it is actually amazing that we've done well at team sports
because what you need for team sports is to have a good sense of planning.
Now, this is a thing Icelanders do not have.
This is not a well-known fact, but we are the Italians of the north.
We procrastinate. We're the procrastination nation.
Our national motto is… "It'll be fine."
Which means, "It'll be fine."
And that's our attitude. "Shall we deal with this now?"
"No, let's wait until it's way too late, and then do it really poorly, fast."
"It'll be fine."
When I go to Denmark to meet my Danish friends,
my God, they are organized.
The average Dane is more organized than the Icelandic prime minister ever will be.
And if you call them on the day, as I do…
Like, "I'm in town. I'm in Copenhagen. Do you want to have a beer tonight?"
"Tonight? No, I can't tonight."
"I plan to stay at home tonight."
"You planned to stay at home?"
"I planned six weeks ago to stay at home tonight."
"What are you going to do?"
"Nothing, but I plan to do nothing. So, that's the plan."
"When can you do something?"
"Well, now is week 25. It's all planned."
"Maybe week 32 or week 41."
They have numbers for their weeks.
Icelanders don't even know what day it is today.
We call each other, "Hey man, wanna meet?" "Sure. When?"
"Half an hour." "Great."
Half an hour later both people on the phone, "I'm a little late."
"No, it's fine. I haven't left the house."
"Neither have I. Shall we…"
"Shall we postpone?"
"Yes, I don't even have clothes on. Let's postpone."
"It'll be fine. Yes."
This also really makes it unique
that we once managed to win a silver medal at the Olympics
in team handball,
a sport which, for most countries in the world, is fairly obscure.
It's a big deal in the Nordic countries: Germany, France, Iceland.
And we got a silver medal in a sport where you have to be organized,
and we had the least organized team of all.
You could so see it when the Icelandic team was doing
a timeout at the Olympics in handball.
Half of the minute that they got for the timeout
was spent on telling the players
that we were now doing a timeout, 'cause…
It was like herding cats.
The poor coach was like…
"Guys! No!"
"Guys, focus!"
"Fussi, put down that cigarette. Come here!"
"Okay, guys, we're gonna do this fast?"
"We have to go front and back, okay?"
"Front, then go up, flank here, and then just punish."
"Oh, my God! Time is over! Go, Iceland!"
And they were all like…
"It'll be fine." They had no idea.
No idea whatsoever.
When you saw the German team during the timeout,
it was like a bunch of engineers getting together to build a rocket.
Every second was utilized to its utmost efficient usage.
That's very good. We have one minute.
We have to think logically and stay mathematically strategic.
Understand? We have one ball and we have to play the game.
And one, two, three, four, five...
Hans, Christian, Klaus, Jens, Joachim.
And they were all like… "Yes, one, two, three, four, five, six..."
"Rammstein."
They were like a bunch of spreadsheets with legs.
It's amazing.
Queuing up, waiting in a line.
We don't know how to do it in this country. It's just every man for himself.
When I lived in England, everyone knew how to queue up.
"I'm here first." "Terribly sorry. Do go ahead."
"Yes, mind the gap." "Keep calm, carry on."
"Let's queue up." "Social contract."
Like…
Implementing system changes like the PIN code thing
for debit and credit cards…
I lived in England when they did it there. No problem.
It took three years to do it in Iceland
because the average Icelander was like, "I have to learn four numbers by heart?
That is way too complicated.
We'd need at least seven years to learn that.
So they introduced the deadline,
"Remember, in November, you have to know your PIN code."
He showed up at the shop in November. "Do I have to know my PIN code?"
"No, nobody knows it. It's a complete failure."
"So, you didn't change the system?"
"Yes, we changed the system, but nobody knows the code, so it doesn't work."
"So, what do I do?"
"You press the green button twice, and then it overrides, it's a…"
"It doesn't matter. Write your name. Press the green button twice…"
It took one day in England, like one advert.
"Remember, February 14th, chip and PIN. Hip-hip, pip-pip, chip-chip."
And they all went, "Yep-yep, just join the line."
"Keep calm, carry on."
That's why they're so good at it. They keep calm and carry on.
That's what they learn as kids.
If you watch a murder mystery in England, there is no emotion.
"I'm terribly sorry. You might want to sit down for this."
"Your husband was murdered today."
"Oh, dear."
"I'll put the kettle on."
"Yes, put the kettle on. Nothing happened."
That's their grieving process.
"No emotions for me. I'll just boil the bad emotions."
Interestingly enough, there is a big fascination in England and the UK
with Nordic crime shows.
If they're Danish or Swedish, they're hugely popular.
There was an Icelandic crime show that got popular in England.
I didn't know about it being so popular.
I knew it from around here, and people started saying, "You're from Iceland?"
"I was just watching Trapped. It's amazing, that Trapped."
"It's brilliant. I'm binge-watching it on BBC4."
I'm like, "Trapped? What is Trapped?"
I had to look it up. Like… "Ófærð".
"Yeah. I know that show."
"Ófærð". It's not called "Trapped." It's called…
Then I realized they were way more fascinated with it than I will ever be
'cause I'm from around here.
I know what the country looks like.
They were seeing it for the first time like with Game of Thrones,
which was filmed here. The foreigners go,
"Look, winter is coming!"
Icelanders are like, "No, winter never left."
"This is…"
"This is summer."
"This is actually filmed in July. It was…"
Basically, all the reviews were so different in Iceland and in England.
In England, they were raving,
"This cold, barren, mystical island in the North Atlantic
has produced one of the finest murder mysteries the BBC has seen all winter."
Five-star reviews.
Icelanders watched that show and went like…
"This makes absolutely no sense."
"He walks into a house in Siglufjörður. And then he leaves."
"He's in Seyðisfjörður. It's a completely different part of the country."
"This is not geographically accurate at all."
"Are we supposed to believe
that this person has teleported himself from the north coast to the east coast?"
"Boy, I hope somebody got fired for that. Is this…"
"No wonder the police can't find the murderer."
And it's worse with the actors.
We don't believe their characters for a second.
We know all of them.
That's not the police chief. That's my cousin.
No.
No, he's not going to solve anything. I can tell you that.
He needs to go to rehab. That's what he needs.
But Iceland, being, like, the small Nordic country…
We have 350,000 people.
And we have an inferiority complex towards Denmark,
which is another small country.
But in our mind, it is the Empire, because they used to rule Iceland.
Now, this has led to many things. One of them is,
I had to learn Danish before I learned English in school.
And the logic was,
"You have to learn one Nordic language so you can speak to all Nordic countries."
And they taught us Danish.
Danish is impossible to master because pronouncing it correctly,
you need to have surgery done on your throat.
You have to completely collapse your larynx area.
You need to talk like you're being punched in the stomach.
Just vomit your words.
That's a word in Danish, by the way.
It means "Hello." And…
If you don't pronounce it perfectly, they won't understand a word.
And if you do one syllable wrong, they just go…
Which means like, "What?"
And also, "Why did you do that?"
And every year I do my best to go to Copenhagen.
And I do my best, like… "Excuse me?"
Can you tell me where the town hall square is?
And the Danes are like,
"It's okay. Just speak to me in English, please. I…"
"I can't understand a word you said."
"You're just violating my language at this point. So, this…"
"Let's not play this game."
"It's easier if everyone speaks English."
They're always keen to speak English because they're quite proud of it.
Now, when I go to Copenhagen,
I just pretend to be English, and they treat you differently.
I am not joking.
You don't even need to be posh English.
It's like, "Mate, do you know the way to a street called Surgate, all right?"
"It's like a street called Surgate."
"It's got a bar called Sham's Bar. It's got football, karaoke."
"Know what I mean?"
And the Danes say, "Yes, of course, Mr. Englishman."
"Pay attention to my good English vocabulary."
"You take a left turn to the King's plaza."
"Enjoy your stay in wonderful Copenhagen."
The Danes are great people, and they speak great English grammatically.
How it sounds, however, they are not always aware.
I have a Danish friend,
and he met me originally in London.
Years later, he would remember this quite differently from me like,
"You remember that first time we met at that pub in London?"
"We spoke English the whole evening."
"You see, I never told you I was Danish, so…"
"You thought I was English, but I…
"but I'm not. I'm Danish."
"It's just…"
"You just can't tell 'cause I don't have an accent."
"It's perfect English. You can't tell."
"Yeah, sure, Jasper. I just can't tell."
But still, there's this inferiority complex.
When I'm in Denmark, I meet my Danish friends.
They're telling me jokes about Iceland, usually very strange jokes.
Like, "You wanna hear a joke about Iceland?"
"No." "Okay, here it is, anyway."
"What is important to do if you are in Iceland?"
"I don't know."
"Always keep both feet inside the island at all times."
"Explain this, please."
"It's so small you could fall off into the ocean if you…"
It's twice the size of Denmark!
And they don't believe it. They say, "No. It's really small."
"Nobody lives there. There's just your family and a rock."
The reason for this is that they're overly confident
Iceland is smaller than it is because I told them something confusing.
I was going to impress them.
Like most Icelanders, we feel like we're unpaid ambassadors to Denmark,
promoting the Icelandic cause.
"Yes, it's going great in Iceland now."
"In fact, in ten years, we might build our first ever train."
This is true.
In ten years,
we might build a train to go from the airport to the city.
I thought this would impress them. It did not.
It mainly confused them. They were like,
"You don't have trains already?"
"What do you have?"
"Do you have any infrastructure whatsoever?"
"Have you ever seen a train?"
"Would you like to?"
"It's no problem."
"We'll take you to the train station. We'll be completely safe."
"Look, there's a train, there. Look."
"Look, another one."
"You should take a picture, and show the people back home in Iceland."
"They'll be so happy to see a train, finally."
And after this, the cliché was born.
"They probably don't have that in Iceland 'cause they don't have trains and stuff."
So they always ask, "You want to meet us tonight?"
"Just take a taxi to the town hall square"
"Sorry, do you know 'taxi'? Do you have that in Iceland?"
"Yes."
"You just call us on the mobile phone. You know 'mobile phone'?"
"You have that in Iceland?" "Yes."
And the only comeback I ever thought of was, once after a long, hard think,
the best I came up with was,
"So, the other day, I was walking up a mountain…"
"You have that in Denmark?"
"You know 'mountain'?"
Little insight, Denmark is a completely flat country,
but that turned out to be a flat insult as well.
Because who wants mountains, really?
What am I saying?
"Screw you, Denmark! You don't have any mountains!"
"You never have to drill a tunnel for 500 billion kroner
to meet ten people in a fishing village!"
"You can drive wherever you want, whenever you want
in your flat paradise of a country."
The Danes don't have a mountain, but they do have a great sense of humor.
They say they have a mountain. It's called Himmelbjerget.
It means "the heaven mountain."
It's 170 meters high.
It's a hill, basically.
You can park your car in neutral gear on top of that mountain.
It's not going anywhere.
I believe it's the only mountain in the world
that's actually below sea level.
That is how much of a mountain it is.
But what did they call this monstrosity of a mountain?
"The heaven mountain."
Nobody is gonna make a Hollywood movie about that mountain.
What would the trailer be like?
"Many have tried to climb it."
"All have succeeded."
"The end."
Nobody tells a story from that mountain.
"Don't talk to me about Himmelbjerget. My friend died falling down it."
"He rolled down really slowly for seven and a half hours."
"And then he died of alcohol poisoning. It was actually…"
"I have nightmares of him. At night, I see him in my sleep."
"He's rolling and screaming."
"'Help.'"
'"Help.'"
"I'm rolling!"
"I've stopped now."
"For fuck's sake... Help!"
I worked hard for that joke, there.
In a way, Icelanders are a bit like Finnish people,
except Finnish people take it way further.
They express emotions completely differently,
inasmuch as they don't.
I have a Finnish friend. He's a comedian.
He came to do a show with me two years ago.
His flight was delayed by six hours,
so he would now be landing the second our show was supposed to be starting.
I would have to do the first half, not knowing if he'd come to do the second.
So I was in a panic, calling him, and finally I got through.
"Hey, are you in the country?"
"Are you okay? Are you gonna make it?" He was like,
"Hey, I am in a taxi cab."
"I paid the driver 100 euro."
"And he is driving 190 kilometers speed."
"He has driven over three roundabouts
and almost hit two pedestrians,
and, I think, one sheep."
"And it is nerve-wracking."
"You're nervous?"
"Yes, can't you tell how agitated I am?"
"Could've sworn you were okay."
"No, this is me having a panic attack."
There was no difference in his voice.
I think they got this demeanor
maybe because they have a completely different language
from other Nordic countries.
Because all the other Nordic languages are originally the same language,
from Old Norse, the Viking language.
And Icelandic is actually the closest to the old Norse,
not because we maintained it so well.
No, we just didn't evolve as much…
for 600 years.
Meanwhile, basically, while we were, like, struggling,
Danes were building factories and having infrastructure.
We tried to not die.
"Hi, Iceland. How is it going?"
"We just opened a Carlsberg brewery. How you guys doing?"
"Volcano. Everyone is dead."
"Okay. Good luck with that."
See you in week 25.
"This is not going to happen now."
All the other Nordic countries have a similar way of saying stuff.
Like, "I love you" in Icelandic, it's…
"I love you."
In Danish…
"I love you."
In Swedish…
"I love you."
In Norwegian…
"I love you."
I don't know why they do that, by the way.
The Norwegians always jump an octave at the end of every sentence.
It's almost like they love ski jumping so much
that they're mentally ski jumping through the conversation like,
"This is a really good, fun crowd here tonight."
There's always a dismount at the end. You're like, "9.5."
You don't really need to listen to what a Norwegian says.
You just wait for them to go… And you know they've finished.
"Thank you."
But the Finnish they don't say… "I love you".
No, they say…
"I love you."
Which doesn't sound like "I love you" in any other country in the world.
I think for all other countries in the world, that sounds like,
"Pay the money by Wednesday…
or I will shoot your dog."
Shit, fuck, cunt.
Those three swear words are the only Finnish I know, really.
Shit, fuck, cunt.
You can have an entire conversation if you know these three words.
Fuck, cunt, shit, ah cunt, shit, fuck, hey fuck!
I learned these words when I was driving as a passenger on a motorbike
through a forest in Lapland in Finland.
A friend was driving really fast through the forest,
and branches were hitting our helmets.
And he was almost letting go of the steering wheel
to swat these flies that were biting his neck.
And he was just like…
For half an hour. I was terrified,
until I finally asked him, "Why are you hitting the flies?"
"Are they mosquitoes?"
"No, it's not mosquito. It's much worse. It's a blackfly."
"It's called blackfly."
Through the helmet, I thought he said, "Macarena."
For half a day,
I was thinking, "That is very interesting."
"Maybe this is where Macarena came from, originally."
"Maybe some angry Finnish farmers were out in a field…"
Shit, fuck, cunt, macarena Shit, fuck, cunt, macarena
Fuck, macarena
"Macarena!"
"Maybe that's where that came from."
It's funny though when you have two different languages,
and you see words, and you think you know them,
but they actually mean something else.
Icelanders know this because not many people speak Icelandic.
It is hardly a world language.
But there is an even smaller place called the Faroe Islands,
which has 50,000 people that speak Faroese, which is kind of similar.
We can go there and speak Icelandic and kind of be understood,
which is really strange for us.
We're like, "This is what the English always feel."
Certain words mean different things, and do we learn the Faroese language here?
No.
We just find the words that are rude and Icelandic like…
"That actually means 'to have sex' in Icelandic."
"What's wrong with these people?"
I think part of the reason is we don't like being the small country
that's being made fun of for being small,
but when we find another country that has fewer people than we do…
my God, do we enjoy the moment.
We're not gracious about it at all. We're like…
"50,000 people…"
"That's not a lot of people."
"It must be lonely down there."
"You should come to Iceland. Come."
"Come to the continent of Iceland."
"Come to Reykjavic, the metropolis!"
"The city that never sleeps!"
"Except on weekdays."
"Come to Reykjavic,
with its hundred thousand people and hundred thousand dreams."
Before I became a comedian, I did many jobs.
I worked as a flight attendant for two summers for Icelandair.
And it's a fantastic job, and you have to do a lot of training.
But the only question you're asked is, "Are you a flight attendant? Why?"
I always answered, "I like to travel and meet new people."
And I always got, "Yeah, sure."
"Travel. Meet new people."
"What's your boyfriend's name, sir?"
Such a stereotype that all male flight attendants must be gay.
There was a hundred boys working for Icelandair,
and two were not gay,
so it's an absolute stereotype.
It was actually common to only have women flying the planes,
and only have men serving the food.
This is the 21st century, after all,
but a lot of the passengers were elderly men from the 20th century.
And it was so much fun to serve them drinks
because you got to see their reaction. They were like…
"Look, Gunnar, the captain himself is bringing coffee for us."
"Hang on, there is two of them. Who is flying the plane?"
Then a woman would do the announcement, politely, professionally.
"Ladies and gentlemen, my name is…"
"I'm your captain today. We're flying to London Heathrow in three hours…"
And these old men would be like, "It's a woman."
It was like a musical number.
"It's a woman…"
"It's a woman!"
"How could this happen?"
They'd ask, "Excuse me,
is it really a woman flying the plane?"
It annoyed me so much that I always said,
"Yes, and she's having her period."
"You have a problem with that, scared old man?"
In fact, I trust a woman way better to fly a plane than a man.
They seem to take it more seriously.
I can understand everything they say during the announcement.
I never understand the male pilots at Icelandair.
They all sound the same.
"…three and a half hours…"
"…a little time with the winglets…"
"Don't worry about a thing. I'm a man."
"Don't worry about anything. I have a penis."
One last thing, Icelanders really love it
when anything remotely Icelandic or Nordic is used in mainstream Hollywood movies.
We were so delighted when the Marvel films came out
'cause they selected Thor: The God of Thunder.
And we were like, "He's Nordic. This is one of ours."
But then it turned out they didn't do much research
into how to pronounce any of the names,
'cause Hollywood doesn't care how old the Nordic countries sound.
They just go like…
"We don't need to do research."
"We got the Muppets. They did the research."
Everything was wrong when they pronounced it.
Like "Asgard."
I would have liked it to be "Asgard." They went like, "Ass-guard."
"Come with us to Ass-guard."
"We're Ass-guardians."
I don't even want to read your job description, sir.
"Bifrost," the bridge that leads to another world…
"What is that, an umlaut? Let's…"
"'Bifrost.'"
"'Come with us to Bifrost.'"
Doesn't sound like a bridge. Sounds like a fridge.
Something you'd buy at Costco.
"Want a good refrigerator, son? You gotta get the Bifrost."
"It's got two types of frost."
"Defrost, regular frost."
"Combine the two to get Bifrost."
"Buy Bifrost."
I was really worried when I heard Thor wouldn't be played by a Nordic person.
He would be played by an Australian,
'cause you couldn't go further away to find someone to play it.
I was worried he would be an Aussie Thor.
"Good day to you, mate. My name's Thor."
"I'm the God of Thunder from down under. You all right, mate? Yeah."
"That's right. It's exciting."
"I'm built like a brick shithouse, I am."
"What's that, mate? Yeah?"
"You call that a hammer?"
"That's not a hammer, mate. This is a hammer."
And then he just had an American accent. Wasn't scary.
I think Thor should always have a Norwegian accent.
Historically more accurate, and also way more scary
'cause you don't expect it when you see a big, blond, muscular god
with long hair and a hammer, and he goes,
"Yes, my name is Thor, and I'm the God of Thunder."
"I have a hammer."
"I bought it at the bauhaus."
This is one of the most pleasant rooms I've performed this show in.
I have sometimes had to perform under very strange circumstances.
Once I came to do a gig at a bar.
And it turned out they did not have a stage,
but they did have a men's room.
So, I performed in front of the men's room.
It was difficult because people were only thinking about the men's room.
"That's a nice joke. Who's going to the men's room?"
"Aynar is going to the men's room again."
"What is he doing in the men's room?"
There was a hand dryer in the men's room that kept cutting off all my jokes.
It was one of those old-fashioned hand dryers
with the motion sensor that doesn't acknowledge that you exist.
And then decides you've left way before you have left.
You're left waving it, like, "Hello?"
"I exist!"
"Or do I? Do I exist?"
"Hello?"
And finally, it goes…
I hate that tone.
It sounds like it's got better stuff to do.
It sounds like a teenager doing a summer job.
"Excuse me, can you serve us? We've been waiting for 15 minutes."
I usually just leave with wet hands.
And this you should never do it in Iceland 'cause it's a small country.
I eventually bump into someone I know, and I forget I have wet hands.
And I go like, "Hey, man."
"Better explain this."
"This is just water."
That is not a very good first impression, is it?
"This is just water."
As opposed to what?
What am I saying? I am basically saying,
"I did not urinate on my hands on purpose
before I shook yours."
"Aren't I good?"
Nobody thinks you did that. Nobody thinks you went like…
"It is on!"
I know that guy. "Hey, man."
"No. Shake my…"
"No, I insist. No, it's just water."
Like that's…
Icelanders are so proud of their companies.
We always put our name on anything from Iceland.
Like Icelandair, Bank of Iceland, until it went bankrupt.
Then we were like, "It's technically an international bank
that operated under international laws."
But not all countries do this.
Denmark is business savvy.
They don't always say a company's Danish
because they know that English leads you to a bigger market.
There's a company now called "Joe & The Juice."
It's the most American sounding thing in the world.
Joe & The Juice.
Cup of Joe…
The average Joe…
It's Danish.
Why would the Danes hide the fact that this is a Danish company?
Because the Danes are great businessmen.
They know that a Danish juice bar just isn't going to sell as well.
Nobody is gonna go to a place called Yenshin's Juice Huse.
It's never gonna happen, man.
Everything is supposed to be sexy at that place.
There's a drink there that's called "Pick me up."
I don't think I'd drink it if it was called…
"Do you want to have sex with me?"
I don't think it has the same international appeal.
That place is really difficult to go to though
because it's got these young guys who serve you,
and they got these deep v-necks and always say, "What's up, old man?"
"I was doing fine until you called me an old man. Thank you."
And the music is so loud.
You go there on a Monday to get a coffee to wake up.
It's like just going into a rave.
You open the door, and it's a bass wave that hits you in the face.
There's nobody in there.
Just one hyperactive guy making juice and coffee.
"What's up, old man?"
And they can't hear a damn thing because the music is so loud.
"Can I get an Americano?"
"Avocado? No problem! We'll make an avocado for you."
"No!"
"Can you turn down the music?"
"Put some tuna mayo on it? No problem. We'll make that for you."
"No!"
They keep adding to the order, and the music goes up.
That's the one moment you can correct an order.
If the song has a bass drop like…
you have one second to go like…
I'll just buy it.
But it works.
It works because it's in English.
And I think a lot of brands wouldn't have lasted if they weren't English,
like James Bond.
Still, to this day, doing really well,
and I think it's because he speaks with an English accent.
To the point that nobody ever doubts anything he says.
When he wants his drink, vodka martini, how does he want it? He wants it…
Shaken, not stirred.
It's amazing. Everybody knows it. Nobody doubts it.
It's like a little religion that you've created.
Like, "Shaken and not stirred."
But I've never heard anyone say, "Does that matter, really, Mr. Bond?"
'Cause I've tried vodka martini. It's disgusting.
It doesn't matter if you shake or stir
or put it in a cement mixer for a week,
it's still rubbish.
Everybody knows this.
Nobody questions it. Why?
Because of the accent, "Shaken, not stirred."
And people go…
"How do you do?"
This would never work if he was American. He'd be too nice.
"Excuse me, ma'am? Hi."
"Bond, James Bond. Table seven. Nice to meet you."
"Listen, I'd like a vodka martini."
"I was wondering, can I get that shaken and not stirred, please?"
"Can you do that for me, ma'am?"
"Thank you. Thank you so much."
"By the way, ma'am,
can you make sure that I do get that drink shaken and not stirred
'cause last week I was in here and asked for it shaken,
but the lady give it to me stirred anyway."
"And I was actually kind of offended because…
I'm allergic to stirred."
"I can't have anything stirred near me."
"I'm stirred-intolerant."
And I think that a Danish James Bond would just be game over from the get-go.
He wouldn't even drink vodka martini.
He would just go, "Hi, Carlsberg, please."
"No, don't shake it. Definitely don't shake it."
"Just give it to me in a bottle."
Nothing he'd say would make sense.
"License to kill," amazing in English.
In Danish, "Stop…"
"Stop. I am allowed to kill you."
Is that a threat or a greeting?
The number would be the worst because that's amazing in English,
"Double-O Seven"
"Double-O Seven." In Danish…
"Double-O Seven."
What?
-"What is your number, James?" -"Well, it is OO7."
It's never gonna be sexy. It sounds like a man with hay fever.
Achoo!
But it's so fun to perform these jokes in English
because they were written in Icelandic and then translated.
And to tell you the truth, not all my jokes work in Icelandic.
I feel vastly underappreciated.
For example, in my own home,
my five-year-old daughter, she barely thinks I'm funny.
After years of trying,
she's kind of getting used to the idea of me trying to be funny.
I remember the first year, she didn't laugh at all.
Her mother was always making her laugh.
I was like, "Come on, kid, I do this for a living, why not me?"
I remember the first time I made her laugh.
I've never worked so hard for any laughter in my life.
I did this for half a day, like…
"Hang in there, kids like repetition."
Finally, she gave me the first laugh, which was like this.
She patted me on the cheek,
like some crazy Game of Thrones king
going, like, "Well done, fool."
"I enjoyed that."
"You may live for another day. Dismissed."
"Dismissed."
I think, mentally, raising a small child that first year
is like being a king's servant.
When we sit at the dinner table, she's at the end of the table
in a higher chair than everybody else.
We're like, "What? What does she want? Is she content? What is she insinuating?"
And she beats the table and rules the kitchen
with crazy demands and mood swings.
"Where are you going, Father? To sleep?"
"Nobody's going to sleep in this house."
"No! We shall stay up all night and have fun."
"Sing for me, Father. Sing!"
"And mash my food and taste it to see if it's too hot for me."
"I am happy."
"I am so bored."
"Toys! Bring me toys, immediately!"
And you're like, "Toys… Do you want this toy?"
"No!"
"Yes, I do."
"Bend down and pick that up for me again."
"Yes, very good. You want this…"
"Oh dear. It fell."
"Bend down and pick it up again."
"Crawl for it!"
"Enough of this. I don't want toys. I want to go out among the people."
"Prepare my carriage."
"Yes, I want you to push me with your hands and feet
in an open-air carriage."
"I shall sleep the whole time while you do it."
"And don't stop pushing, or I will wake up!"
"And scream and embarrass you in front of strangers at cafes."
But I think it'll get better when she gets a bit older
because I remember when I was like eight or nine,
my father was the funniest person in the world.
So funny.
But then I became a teenager, and he did not update his jokes.
Because all of his jokes were about…
If I'd watch television with him,
I never could really relax watching a movie
because if somebody kissed in the movie, that was his cue.
He always went, like…
And they kissed, and he went like…
"Bingo!"
That was his joke.
"Bingo!"
For 30 years, every single time, "Bingo!"
It's in my subconscious now.
I sometimes think it when I'm kissing my wife.
It can really ruin a tender moment.
Relax and enjoy this moment with this beautiful woman,
and don't think about your father, and don't think, "Bingo!"
No!
It was worse if I had both my parents in the room
because that whole film, I'd be like,
"Please, no sex scene."
There was always a sex scene.
And it was long 'cause time just slowed down.
It was like Matrix time.
"No…"
"Embarrassing…"
"No, Mother, don't say anything. No!"
And my mother always had to say something "funny"
to "break the ice"
and lighten the mood.
Something like…
"They are really going for it, those two, aren't they?"
"Nobody lasts that long."
"Your father would've given up by now."
And all the time, my father would be screaming, "Bingo…"
Thank you so much for listening to me.
My name is Ari Eldjárn. It's been a pleasure.
Thank you so much for coming, and goodbye.
Subtitle translation by