Eurovision Song Contest: The Story of Fire Saga Won’t Save You, But It May Help a Little?
Signature buffoonery, camp and comedic chops combine to create an uneven respite during otherwise stressful times.

Eurovision Song Contest: The Story of Fire Saga is—let’s be honest here—a bit on the thin side, and a little confusing. It’s got just enough sincerity to undermine its own satirical impulses and just enough pandering snark to undermine its own sincerity. It runs long, and it leans on a trope, Ferrell’s master trope and the common denominator in most of his best performances—the lovable but fundamentally clueless and self-absorbed man-baby who can’t get out of his own way. It’s a trope that, thanks to Ferrell himself, we have mined pretty thoroughly in comedy over the last few decades. And yet, even as Eurovision Song Contest makes a number of perplexing moves in its two-hour-plus runtime, you kind of can’t help rooting for it, and for its principal characters, because its refusal to be cynical operates as a vital, oxygenating escape hatch right now.
Lars Erickssong (Ferrell) is an Icelandic man-baby who has grown up in a small fishing town dreaming of winning the Eurovision Song Contest. His talented partner, Sigrit Eriksdottir (Rachel McAdams), who might or might not be his half sister (it’s a really small town), just wants to be with Lars. The two of them are goofy, clueless and unfortunately accident-prone. The village laughs at Lars and wonders what Sigrit sees in him. (The villagers share this with the audience.) They find themselves unexpectedly selected to represent Iceland in the competition. The hijinks? They ensue. Predictably—seriously, this film’s beats are firmly in the set-your-watch-by-it range—Lars’ father (Pierce Brosnan) is a taciturn family-pride grumpus who is a precise, direct analogue for Jon Voight’s character in Zoolander. There’s an entirely predictable rhythm to the character arcs and the story points. (In several places I anticipated the dialogue with 100% accuracy.) The film isn’t sure whether it loves its protagonists or hates them; it can’t seem to fully commit to whether Fire Saga is a cringeworthy or talented duo. The hedging about whether we are laughing at these characters or with them is only increased by Ferrell being … Ferrell. He’s doing it with aplomb, to be sure, but it sets us up for confusion. The film seems unable to decide whether these people are a disaster, or lovable underdogs.
And yet.