Czech one, Czech two: Iceland's one (and only) Netflix comedian is fired up for Prague

Iceland’s first Netflix comedy star, Ari Eldjárn (of Pardon My Icelandic fame), will debut his latest show, From Iceland With Love, in Prague on May 7. Known for his razor-sharp impressions and deadpan takes on Nordic oddities, Ari has built a loyal fanbase far beyond Reykjavík—thanks to his uncanny ability to decode cultural quirks and turn them into comedy gold. 

From British small talk to Scandinavian stoicism, he finds the funny in what sets us apart and what brings us together. But how will that all land with a Czech crowd?

Ahead of his Prague performance, we caught up with Ari to talk American sketch comedy, Iceland’s love affair with Czech animation, the glorious weirdness of dubbing—and how speaking multiple languages gives you a free pass to drop the occasional f-bomb.

This interview was edited for clarity and length.

Once, about eight years ago. It’s so beautiful. Reykjavík has almost no old buildings left. We basically demolished everything ourselves after World War II. The oldest house where I live is from 1790. Yeah, in Prague, the pizzeria I went to was from 1490. It wasn’t even listed as a historical landmark.

As a kid, Eddie Murphy was the biggest comic in the Nordic countries. His specials Delirious and Raw were huge here. They were the first stand-up specials most people saw. Later, I discovered Eddie Izzard; now, my manager is Eddie’s tour manager. It’s been awesome learning from him.

They dubbed one episode for fun, and I actually voiced Cletus in Icelandic. The translations were hilarious, too—my brother even tracked down the floppy disks from the original translator. It’s some hardcore nerd stuff.

People always complain, “You can’t joke about this anymore.” But it’s always been that way. Back in the ’90s, you couldn’t make fun of certain things, like the Pope. Remember when Sinéad O’Connor tore up his photo? Her career basically ended. Today, no one would care. It’s just a sign of the times.

What’s considered funny shifts. In the past, making fun of obese people was fine. Now, thankfully, it’s not. And the people who complain the most are usually the ones who don’t want to change.

It depends on the context. Live shows are different from what’s recorded for mainstream audiences. I’m mostly a “clean” comedian, though I’ll drop the occasional F-bomb—mainly because in Iceland, the F-word is just another expression, like “whatever.” Our curses are mostly about the devil—“By the devil!”—no “motherf***er” here.

By far, I have heard the biggest reactions from the Nordic countries, especially Denmark and Finland. It also really works in Australia—Australians really get it. The U.S.? Not so much, though. I haven’t performed there much, but I think American audiences are harder to crack. Most of the Americans who make it to my shows here are already very Eurocentric. They’re often the type who say, “Yeah, we’re from the States. We’re sorry, we’re sorry.” 

Sometimes I see my esteemed colleagues—the male podcaster versions of a comedian—and I hear them say things like, “We’re modern-day philosophers,” or “We’re speaking truth to power.” And I’m just like, what are you talking about? I want people to like me. I want to make people laugh. That’s my trip.

I’m more into impressions, honestly. I love comedians who are really good at doing impressions, especially if they incorporate them into solid stand-up material. An impression doesn’t have to be perfect. If the observation or the bit is good, that’s all that matters—it works together.

John Lennon! It’s all over the place—nasal, up and down. It’s much easier than George Harrison’s voice, which is lazy, and Ringo’s always made you think he was a bit dumber than he really was. There’s a great impression that Dana Carvey did of him, talking to the ghost of John Lennon and explaining iPhones to him.

Definitely, a comedian needs to engage with the audience, and I love local references. Iceland had an interesting connection to Eastern Europe during the Cold War. We traded with both the Soviets and the U.S. People in Prague were drinking Coca-Cola and driving Škodas. Also, Icelandic state TV showed a lot of cartoons from Eastern Europe, including Czech ones. Pat & Mat became a huge cultural reference in Iceland.

It’s exciting when you realize that a joke, which you thought was completely local, can be made international. It’s a fun challenge because most of my material is so intertwined with Icelandic phrasing. When I speak English, I tend to be less precise—more of an impression of an English speaker, which can lead to strange errors. Sometimes you don’t even notice them, but doing it on the fly is a mind-bending challenge. It’s almost like being an AI translator.

I’m fluent in English and semi-fluent in Danish. I can also understand and make myself understood in French, German, and Spanish. I think that’s five languages.

Yeah, most children’s shows are dubbed, but for the most part, we use subtitles. I have a bit about the German dubbing system, actually. In Germany, you can become the voice of a Hollywood actor for life. I have a bit about Clint Eastwood’s voice dying in 1990, which is funny because Eastwood is still alive.

We’ve had similar experiences. My daughter and her friends love the film Sing, and there’s a group of gorillas who are a gang. We always watch it in Icelandic because we know the guy who voices the gorillas. We watched it in English once and realized, “Oh, they’re Cockney!” That’s completely lost in the Icelandic version.

The show I’m doing in Prague will be a strange mix of material from the past five years and a ton of new stuff created just for Prague. I'm genuinely excited about it, but honestly, I couldn’t tell you exactly what it’s going to be yet. There are just so many ideas bubbling up. This interview is actually getting me really pumped to go.