2020 was a horrible year in many regards. Too many to count if we're being honest. Still, I'd like to highlight that, as a Eurovision Song Contest fan, it was especially disheartening to see the show be canceled due to the COVID-19 crisis. It's obvious why it couldn't happen, but, if there ever was a year that needed the cheering effect of that joyful camp explosion, 2020 was that year. Thankfully, both for me and my Eurovision-loving family, Netflix had an Easter Egg-filled delight to assuage the pain…
Eurovision Song Contest: The Story of Fire Saga is far from a perfect movie. It's unbearably long, full of jokes that don't work, needless side-plots, and much more. Worse of all, Will Ferrell's comic persona is unfathomably wrong for the sort of earnestness the rest of the picture's exulting. That being said, I can't help but be charmed by the Netflix original. When hearing about the project, one expects a scornful upending of the kind of ridiculousness that has made Eurovision famous all over the world, a mocking jeer matched by some American befuddlement.
The final product isn't especially great, but it doesn't match that nightmarish expectation. Instead of laughing at Eurovision and all its absurd idiosyncrasies, the movie laughs along with the titular tradition. One feels the love its creators have for the Song Contest in every frame, in the dysfunctional structure that mimics the event's repetitive phases, in the goofy camerawork, outlandish theatrics, linguistic conundrums, internal politics. Furthermore, the cast is full of Eurovision stars making inane cameos that still warm the heart of a fan like me. It was especially nice to see Salvador Sobral, the artist who brought Portugal its only victory, singing his winning tune.
Speaking of my country's surprising success in 2017, I still remember that night vividly. There's a feeling in Portugal that we never win anything, that to be Portuguese is to be an underdog and it's better to settle in for a disappointment in every sort of international panorama. Rarely have we gotten to the final night of Eurovision and our insistence to sing in Portuguese instead of capitulating to English, like most other countries, only makes the odds feel more against us. And then we won.
Even as the night unfolded and many were predicting Portugal to do much better than we usually do, the final result was a suspenseful shock. We screamed in my home, we cried, we felt beside ourselves even while acknowledging the silliness of the whole thing. To hear Portuguese words being sung at the end of the night felt like an impossibility suddenly becoming real, an absurd little miracle. Many people dislike the victory and question the underdog narrative I've just presented but, on that night, those were the (irrational?) thoughts going through my head.
I was not expecting to experience some of those crazy emotions again in 2020, not with Eurovision canceled. However, this movie made it happen. In some ways, it's an absurd miracle as well, a piece of musical wizardry courtesy of Savan Kotecha, Rickard Göransson, and Fat Max Gsus. Their original songs capture the bizarre kitsch that is the essence of Eurovision while never succumbing to merciless parody. The soundtrack has a collection of killer bops, from the surprisingly catchy "Ja Ja Ding Dong" to the Russian gay fantasia that is "Lion for Love". The best of all, however, has to be the climactic song, "Húsavík".
Like all the best movie songs, the number functions both as a musical delight and as a storytelling device. The protagonists, Ferrell's Lars and Rachel McAdams' Sigrit, have defined their lives around the dream of winning Eurovision. For him, it's a Quixotic mission, a purpose that's perhaps closer to an obsession. For her, it's more of an excuse to be around Lars, her best friend since childhood and her life-long crush. At the moment this song is performed, they've managed to get to the Eurovision finale through a series of unlikely events, but their union has suffered. Because of it, Sigrit is preparing to sing their submitted song, the glitzy but impersonal "Double Trouble", alone.
However, right as the music swells, Lars appears, ready to redeem himself after much selfishness and heartless disrespect. Instead of singing the selected song, he encourages Sigrit to perform the number she wrote for him, a heartfelt song that expresses the woman's love for her hometown, Húsavík. While Lars has always resented his place in the world, she has embraced it. By performing together, he learns to follow her example. It's also a personal abnegation, Lars sacrificing potential victory for something more important.
And so, he lets Sigrid shine, becoming more of a background musician, a satellite stepping away from the star he had been eclipsing. McAdams may not be singing but she lip-syncs the hell out of the song, painting a patina of goofy elation over Molly Sandén's gorgeous vocals. When she belts out her homage to Húsávik, the lyrics keep changing between English and Icelandic which brings their neighbors and family, watching from home, to rapturous euphoria. For an instant, all snark dissipates and a wave of earnest jubilation crashes over the characters, the movie, and its audience.
Yes, it's cheesy, it's ludicrous, silly too and not particularly sophisticated. But so is Eurovision as a whole. The unity, the national pride holding hands with international affection, the camp appreciation, and the shamelessness of the whole endeavor are a distillation of what makes the Song Contest such an important touchstone to so many. "Húsavík" is Eurovision synthesized in one song. I adore it with whole my heart and am thankful for all the joy it brought me in one of the darkest years I've ever lived through.
While an Oscar nomination is likely and the song was shortlisted, it's still uncertain, and a win feels far-fetched. Because of that, I'm leaving this appeal to any awards voter and cinephile out there: Give "Húsavík" a chance.