Pleasing Everyone: The National New Year’s Lampoon Straddles Tradition And Novelty

Fun And Games

In late November, directors Allan Sigurðsson and Hannes Þór Arason are on the busy set of Áramótaskaupið. Filming in the offices of Ölgerðin brewery, the otherwise neat lobby is filled with film crew and apologetic passersby.

The scene being filmed takes place in an enclosed, claustrophobic room, where I spot actor Hannes Óli Ágústsson possibly reprising his recurrent role as Miðflokkur chair Sigmundur Davíð Gunnlaugsson.

With filming taking place just two months before its first (and last) screening, the two directors acknowledge the challenge of the task.

“We should finish shoots in early December, unless something remarkable happens in the meantime,” Hannes Þór says, who, alongside his colleague Allan Sigurðsson, was tasked with directing the 2025 iteration. “You don’t really want a scandal now,” he smiles.

Since 1966, Áramótaskaupið (The National New Year’s Eve Lampoon, Skaupið) has been a fixture on the TV screens of Icelandic households. Approximately an hour long, it ends just before the clock strikes midnight in the new year, when Icelanders go fully ballistic with their ICE-SAR-sponsored fireworks.

“[The pressure] increases with every passing day.”

It’s one of those few national unifying institutions left, where lower classes, higher classes, and warring factions of “pulsa” and “pylsa” pronouncers join together to laugh in the new year, satirising past news events and mocking public figures.

King Skaupið

For foreign watchers, the experience is unsurprisingly daunting, as the jokes will bear limited meaning to the uninitiated — especially since it wasn’t until 2018 when Skaupið was subtitled in English for the first time. Still, those who are up to speed with international pop culture might understand some of the references.

A few key moments from Skaupið’s rich history include the 2001 final song, where Örn Árnason playing then-prime minister Davíð Oddsson spoofs Diddy’s “Bad Boys For Life”, 2022’s scene featuring Saga Garðarsdóttir forgetting a tote bag at Bónus, or the backdrop to 2024’s finale referencing the iconic Squid Game waiting room.

Cultural accessibility aside, Skaupið is the king of Icelandic TV. In 2023, it broke RÚV’s viewership record with a vast majority — 81 percent — of Icelanders watching it.

IceGuysskaupið

For the creators attempting to tackle this cultural Leviathan, the enterprise bears enormous pressure.

“[The pressure] increases with every passing day. When the end of the year draws nearer, you start feeling it more,” Hannes explains.

Heading into the project having been responsible for unleashing the acclaimed IceGuys TV show unto schoolchildren and their despairing parents, the duo’s onboarding is likely to stir up favour among the general population.

“[Popularity] is difficult to gauge during the process,” Allan continues. “When you have a sketch on paper and you’re doing the read-through, one person might say it’s genius, and the other one says it’s not. It’s difficult to make everyone happy,” he emphasises. “We are of the opinion that we need to believe in our conviction, while trying to reach as many as we can.”

Skaupið for the TikTok generation 

With a backlog of almost 50 episodes through five decades, both Hannes and Allan try to navigate the need for tradition while adding their own, modern impression on it.

“You don’t really want a scandal now.”

“I think people nowadays have less patience for longer bits,” Allan shares. “With TikTok and everything. People have a shorter span of attention. We aim to work with that and keep a good tempo,” he says.

Luckily, no one has worked out the perfect formula to optimise Skaupið (yet) so as to game its likability. A successful Skaup, one that entertains, subverts, and relates to the mass of people hinges on various factors. And while directors dictate the outcome, the screenwriters supply the jokes.

“I think what’s different now compared to previous years is that we have people who haven’t written Skaupið before,” Allan explains, referring to comedian Björn Bragi and IceGuy premier Jón Jónsson who join Skaupið’s screenwriting veterans Anna Svava Knútsdóttir, Karen Björg Eyfjörð and Ólafur Ásgeirsson.

Unlike other Icelandic TV programmes or films, Skaupið’s ubiquity results in a flood of scrutiny, fuelling op-eds for weeks to come. For Allan and Hannes, this is a positive thing.

“That feeling sometimes pours over you — you realise everyone will be watching. But that’s fun, because you know you’ll get feedback,” Allan says. “We’ve done a lot of TV shows throughout our careers. Ten years ago you had people commenting on every single thing you put out. Nowadays, there’s just way more stuff available, I sometimes feel like you get less discussion,” he compares. “The good thing about [Skaupið] is that it spurs a conversation.”

“The good thing about [Skaupið] is that it spurs a conversation.”

Due to its transient nature, Allan compares directing Skaupið to putting on a play. “You’re seeing [in real time] whether you’ll strike a laugh or not. You actually get that during this programme as opposed to other shows. There’s so much feedback. And everyone has an opinion on it,” he concludes.

But will Allan and Hannes manage to please everyone? “People have warned us that not everyone will be happy,” Hannes admits. “We have to put ourselves into that mindset,” Allan concurs.

Count down the new year with Áramótaskaupið, screening on RÚV on New Year’s Eve.

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