Of course it’s a movie that will be easy for critics and casual viewers alike to attack. Picking apart a cockamamie plotline and a comedy that takes a page from Judd Apatow in terms of length. Yet the latest from Will Ferrell and his Gary Sanchez Productions enterprise is not without its value. Particularly in getting across to lay people just how much Eurovision has meant to Europe over the sixty-four years since its inception (that’s right, the European Broadcasting Union has been holding the competition ever since 1956). The story begins in 1974–specifically April 6th, when ABBA performed their career-making song, “Waterloo”–in a small Icelandic town called Húsavík (yes, it’s a real place). A young and impressionable Lars Ericksson (Ferrell)–changed for stage name purposes to Erickssong–sees the glittering greatness of Swedish icons Agnetha Fältskog, Björn Ulvaeus, Benny Andersson and Anni-Frid Lyngstad, and decides he wants to be a part of that magic one day. The Eurovision magic.
Directed by David Dobkin, whose most major credit is Wedding Crashers, the sweeping epicness of the story does feel like a saga, with Lars’ lifelong dream at the center of it. But then, so is his band mate and best friend Sigrit’s (Rachel McAdams, co-starring her cheek mole that gives Robert DeNiro’s a run for its money) own dream: to be with Lars. The only reason they exist as the duo that is Fire Saga is because of Sigrit’s vocal talent (bolstered with the help of Molly “My Marianne” Sanden, a former Eurovision competitor who pulls a Cyrano de Bergerac for McAdams), and her love for Lars, whom she imagines will be more focused on the potential for their relationship after they win Eurovision. Both of their dreams feed off the other’s, even if Lars has no idea what’s going on because of his Eurovision single-mindedness. Of the sort that began that April night as he danced to ABBA, and Sigrit, who had never much spoken, let alone deigned to become so animated, got up from the table to join him as his father, Erick (Pierce Brosnan), mocked him with the same tittering condescension as the others, prompting Lars to turn around and scream, “Stop laughing at me! One day, I shall win the Eurovision Song Contest. And none of you will laugh at me then.”
It then flashes to a title card that reads: PRESENT DAY, which would, technically make Lars somewhere in his late thirties/early forties, while Sigrit is inexplicably much younger-looking than he is, but what does it matter once you start hearing them harmonizing on “Volcano Man”? As one of the original compositions from Lars, who does the songwriting while leaving the lead vocals to Sigrit, the two imagine themselves in a music video world of the performance before Erick interrupts them by going on a tirade about electricity conservation. They laugh after he leaves, having already decided “Double Trouble” will be their winning track. All the while, an emblematic ABBA poster looms over them, a good luck talisman for their practice space.
Even more guardian angel-like than ABBA are the magical elves (also known as huldufólk, or “hidden people,” and are a real thing in terms of being part of Icelandic folklore) Sigrit keeps asking help from in guiding them to the competition. Indeed, she believes they’re the only reason they were picked as one of the twelve acts to compete for the slot to be selected as Iceland’s representative in the contest. Randomly selected by the government as a means to fulfill the requirements, everyone is already certain Katiana (Demi Lovato) will win. Pop star-looking already, the Icelanders are convinced she’s their ticket to making a splash (a pun that will soon be made all too appropriate)–much to the dismay of Victor Karlosson (Mikael Persbrandt), the “Governor” of the Central Bank of Iceland, who doesn’t want to be held financially responsible for having to host the event the following year (per Eurovision contest rules) should Katiana actually win. When Anna (Alfrun Rose), a member of the council, suggests it could be held in Katiana’s native town of Keflavik, Victor balks, “Perhaps Keflavik, a town of 15,000 people, lacks the infrastructure to host forty-two countries and over half a million people. I’m afraid the cost of hosting will bankrupt the whole country.”
Of course, the others know that they must think of the “greater good” for Iceland, which, in every country’s mind, for some reason means impressing other countries, no matter the expense incurred to put on appearances. At the Iceland Song Contest, Katiana goes on before Fire Saga as Lars and Sigrit become increasingly nervous. There are a few presaging moments during this rough-hewn performance, including Sigrit ending up starting the show onstage alone before she rues to Lars, “I wish I could sing in Icelandic, I know it would calm me.” Alas, as every devout Eurovision follower knows already, the winning song must be sung in English, lest it be disqualified from the running.
Having made a fool of himself after a costume meets technical malfunction, a downtrodden Lars sits alone on a bench looking across the water at the boat where all the competitors were invited to an afterparty. Sigrit joins him, herself opting out of the festivities to give Lars a pep talk, reminding him that he always keeps going no matter what, and that is the quality she has most admired in him all these years. It is at this moment that the entire boat explodes, going up in flames as it sends body parts flying their way. Including Katiana’s hand. So it is that Fire Saga, because every other musical talent in Iceland is now dead, makes their way into the Eurovision competition in Edinburgh.
It is here that the sendup of the contest’s camp aesthetic reaches its apex, with “Russia” or Alexander Lemtov (Dan Stevens)–whom many believe is based on Sergey Lazarev–practicing “Lion of Love” before Fire Saga takes the stage after him for their own rehearsal. With the script co-written by Andrew Steele and Ferrell, the latter himself has been a longtime viewer of the event, which is apparent in the wealth of cameos from those who have appeared in the contest over the past decade, including the likes of Conchita Wurst, Salvador Sobral, John Lundvik and Bilal Hassani. All of them appear in the convenient “song-along” scene, in which an a capella opening to Cher’s “Believe” quickly transitions into an all-out musical extravaganza, melding hits ranging from Madonna’s “Ray of Light” (they had to give her a nod for the controversy she caused at Eurovision last year) to Celine Dion’s “Ne Partez Pas Sans Moi” for an effect that truly feels as though we’re witnessing the inside of a gay man’s head as he has a schizophrenic episode. And as Sigrit feels more at home (as in, “And I feel/Like I just got home”) thanks to the welcoming ways of Alexander, who seems to have many an ulterior motive, she separates from Lars, with Alexander deliberately sicking Greece’s seductive competitor, Mita (Melissanthi Mahut), on him. So it is that Sigrit parties with Alexander while Mita forces herself into Lars’ hotel room.
When Sigrit awakens the next morning in Alexander’s bed with her hair elegantly braided, she asks the obvious question of whether anything happened. He says no, that he’s a gentleman. Relieved that she hasn’t betrayed Lars, she returns to their room to find Mita in his bed, sending her huffily away and setting a new precedent for her dissatisfaction over the way things are taking shape with regard to how Lars is reworking their song and image with the help of consultants and a K-pop producer. Considering she’s sacrificed her entire life for him, she doesn’t want to sacrifice the integrity of the music they’ve worked on together as well.
While the rift between them starts to widen, stemming in part from their unacknowledged love for one another, we’re given the opportunity to see just how bombastic things can get at Eurovision. The most abusive critics of the movie, however, are likely to be Brits and Americans. The former (even if given a representative cameo by their beloved Graham Norton) for being called out on having no talent to offer as well as being generally hated by the rest of Europe and the latter for a running joke on Will Ferrell’s part that berates the same group of American tourists every time he sees them, at one point chastising, “Europe is not your party town, all right? You come over here and you shit on everything! Go home and build your wall–shit for brains Americans!” The tag of the movie plays this contempt up, fitting nicely in with the Eurocentricity of the entire movie.
And though the American-made nature of it (complete with bad European accents) might be scandalous to the die-hard Eurovision fan, there can be no denying that it works as the perfect middle-of-the-road parody for ingenues and obsessors alike. Plus, how else was the void going to be filled this year with Eurovision being cancelled for the first time in its history thanks to corona?
