Eurovision Song Contest: The Story of Fire Saga

In an era where every major comedy feels like it was focus-grouped into a bland, digestible paste, there is something wonderfully deranged about the existence of Lars Erickssong. When this movie dropped on Netflix in the middle of the 2020 lockdown, the world was in a collective state of "what now?" and Will Ferrell (the man behind Step Brothers and Anchorman) decided the answer was a neon-soaked, strangely sincere tribute to the world’s most glitter-dusted singing competition. It was the perfect storm of "Who asked for this?" and "Thank God it exists."

I watched this for the first time while my neighbor was power-washing their driveway for three hours straight, and the rhythmic shhhhhhh sound weirdly synced up with the techno-beat of the opening track, "Volcano Man." It was a transcendent, if slightly damp, experience.

A Lockdown Life-Raft with Glitter

The film follows two Icelandic best friends, Lars (Will Ferrell) and Sigrit (Rachel McAdams), who perform as Fire Saga. They dream of winning the Eurovision Song Contest, a goal Lars has nursed since seeing ABBA perform on TV in 1974 while his stern, "extremely handsome" father (Pierce Brosnan) looked on in shame. Through a series of increasingly improbable events—including a boat explosion that I’m still not convinced wasn't a hallucination—they find themselves representing Iceland on the global stage.

What makes this work isn't the mockery of Eurovision, but the realization that Ferrell is playing a man who is legally too old to be this stupid, and it works. If this were just a mean-spirited parody, it would have been forgotten by the following Tuesday. Instead, director David Dobkin (who previously worked with Ferrell on Wedding Crashers) treats the actual contest with a level of reverence that feels genuinely sweet. The production design is massive; the stage sets look like they cost more than some small countries’ GDPs, and the "Songalong" sequence—featuring a dizzying array of actual Eurovision winners like Conchita Wurst and Netta—is a legitimate marvel of musical staging.

The Dan Stevens Supremacy

While Will Ferrell provides the engine of the movie, Rachel McAdams is its soul. She brings a level of grounded, wide-eyed sincerity to Sigrit that she previously mastered in Game Night. She’s not "playing" funny; she’s playing a woman who genuinely believes the elves will help her find her lost keys or write a hit song. Her performance is the anchor that prevents the movie from drifting away into total absurdity.

However, we need to talk about Dan Stevens. As the Russian favorite Alexander Lemtov, Stevens delivers what might be the most charismatic comedic performance of the last decade. He is a leonine, chest-hair-flaunting opera-pop star who lives in a house full of Greek statues of himself. Every line he speaks is a gift. Whether he’s explaining that "there are no gay people in Russia" with a wink or singing the aggressively catchy "Lion of Love," Stevens steals the movie, hides it in his silk robe, and refuses to give it back. He manages to play a "rival" who isn't actually a villain, which is a refreshing pivot for a genre that usually relies on tired tropes.

Sincerity in the Age of Irony

In the context of contemporary cinema, Fire Saga is a bit of an outlier. We are currently living through a period of "franchise fatigue" and "ironic detachment," where movies are often afraid to be about something as simple as a song. This film, despite its jokes about giant hamster wheels and murderous elves, is unironically about the importance of home. The climax doesn't hinge on a fart joke or a cynical twist; it hinges on a soaring ballad called "Husavik" that is so legitimately good it actually snagged an Oscar nomination for Best Original Song.

The film did run into some of that "streaming era" criticism—at 123 minutes, it’s arguably a bit long for a comedy—but I found the length allowed the weirdness to marinate. It felt less like a disposable piece of content and more like a fully realized world. Because it bypassed theaters during the pandemic, it missed out on that "summer blockbuster" cultural footprint, but it has slowly built a cult following among people who realized that Fire Saga is basically a feature-length hug for anyone who feels like a local disappointment.

The humor is a mix of slapstick and deadpan Icelandic observations, often courtesy of Ólafur Darri Ólafsson as the weary head of the Icelandic national committee. The chemistry between the cast is infectious; you can tell they were having the time of their lives in London and Iceland, and that joy translates through the screen. Even Jamie Demetriou (the chaotic genius from Fleabag and Stath Lets Flats) pops up to provide some high-tier frantic energy.

Eurovision Song Contest: The Story of Fire Saga is a rare beast: a big-budget comedy with a massive heart that actually understands the subculture it’s riffing on. It’s colorful, it’s loud, and it features Pierce Brosnan being disappointed in his son, which is a cinematic trope I will never tire of. If you missed it during the blur of 2020, or if you’ve dismissed it as just another "Ferrell movie," go back and give it a spin. Just make sure you’re ready to have "Ja Ja Ding Dong" stuck in your head for the next three to five business years.