Several days ago UCL’s Department of Scandinavian Studies was contacted by a journalist from the Danish newspaper Politiken who was writing an article about a possible fascination with Nordic culture amongst a sector of the British population. As Dr Clare Thomson’s blog post demonstrates the journalistic discourse was predicated upon the notion that we as consumers may be unwitting cultural dupes responding to a top down Zeitgeist imposed upon us by media organizations and corporate interests. As I posted on the site, any attempt to classify our consumption in relation to the Zeitgeist is deeply problematic due to it presupposing that a singular mode of pleasure when what may be the case is that a variety of audiences may be consuming these texts for differing reasons. In trying to ascertain why sectors of the English speaking audience have become receptive to Nordic literary, televisual and filmic texts within a historically specific context Dr Thomson’s blog entry highlights a very important point which warrants future research using a variety of Cultural Studies methodological approaches. Modes of appreciation and activity concerning Nordic Noir texts is a relatively under explored field and the agenda and research methods applied within an academic context differ significantly to those utilised by the popular press. Referring to the research methods employed in journalistic practice enables me to make a rather clumsy segue to a discussion of the Icelandic televisual text Pressa.
In comparison with the UK, Iceland was relatively late in embarking upon a national televisual service. 1966 marked the year that the country gained its first dedicated state owned broadcaster and in 1986 the a privately owned competitor Stöð 2 began broadcasting to the nation. A cursory glance at the schedules for Stöð 2 reveal a mixture of imported English language programming alongside domestically produced content. The ratio of domestic sourced content in relation to imported texts is not something I have been able to identify and an analysis over a sustained period of time would be preferable to ascertain the extent to which a drama series such as Pressa is representative of the Stöð 2’s commitment to drama.
Premièring on 30 December 2007, Pressa is a series produced by Sagafilm which is set in the newsdesk of national tabloid. To date three seasons have been produced with the last airing in 2011. The primary story arc of each season focuses on journalistic research and reporting of a specific incident of criminal activity. Additionally several sub plots run through each season, some of which are self contained whilst others ultimately feed into the resolution of the primary arc. For this blog entry I shall only refer to the first season but will discuss the other two at a future date.
The series is directed by Óskar Jónasson who may be better known to readers for the 2008 filmic text Reykjavík-Rotterdam. Interestingly, the series employs the show runner system of script development and in addition to his role as director Jonnasson serves as co-lead writer alongside Sigurjon Kjartansson.
The Leveson Inquiry has brought journalistic ethics into mainstream social discourse and consequently I was intrigued at the possibility of viewing a televisual text which debated within a dramatic framework the validity and viability of press activity at personal and governmental levels. Although Pressa is an ensemble series the majority of the narrative action concerns that of newly appointed journalist Lara (played by SaraDogg Asgerisdottir) who gains employment with the paper on the basis of a recommendation from a friend and is armed with a spec story which leads to a cabinet minister’s resignation. During her initial interview the paper’s editor spells out the professional code of conduct and the series’ modus operandi: “To become a terrific journalist on The Post you have to become awful in everything else. We aren’t here to make friends.”
Familial relations have been a generic trope in the Nodic Noir texts I have previously encountered. The emotional sacrifices made by the protagonist as a consequence of professional decisions has been a sub-plot in Forbrydelsen and season two of Borgen. In Pressa the protagonist is a single mother who is endeavouring to forge a new career whilst raising a daughter with minimal assistance from her former partner who is a university lecturer that seems to prioritize attending faculty functions and seducing students over that of his child’s welfare.
The primary narrative strand concerns a possible murder and subsequent concealment of the body. The series’ opening sequence invites the viewer to conclude that a homicide has taken place. After some brief time-lapsed shots of Iceland’s windswept volcanic landscape we see a car parked on a deserted road. After cutting to a shot of the windscreen we hear the sound of gunshot and see a splashes of blood coat the glass.
The exposition laden opening instalment is the weakest of the six and it requires the viewer to suspend her/his disbelief on several occasions to the point of shattering any semblance of credulity. In the interests of fairness I will add that the series improves greatly as it progresses and whilst I found much to enjoy it took me two attempts to overcome initial displeasure with the opening episode to continue viewing the series. Subsequent instalments are better structured in terms of dramatic pacing, emotional involvement with the characters and are richer with regards analysing the extent to which the press may be justified in pursuing a story.
I was initial perplexed and frankly infuriated that the text’s authors expected the viewer to accept that a thirty-something without a degree, no journalistic training or relevant career experience would be able to be employed in a front line position by Iceland’s top selling red top newspaper. Having previously worked for a regional newspaper I managed a wry smile upon noticing the incredibly small amount of staff employed by this paper. One episode has a sub-plot of the journalistic staff having to take photographs due to the paper’s sole photographer being unable to work that day.
The paper does not seem to engage in any form of fact checking. Once the identity of the deceased is revealed to the media it is Lara who identifies him from an article she had previously read in a lifestyle magazine. The murder victim is a mechanic named Mani who just happens to be married to Iceland’s most popular television presenter and prominent local politician, Esther.
Another example of clunky storytelling all too evident in the pilot episode is a sequence in which the grieving widow willingly poses for a series of photographs which would be better placed being published in an issue of Heat or OK Magazine than the lead story of a newspaper seeking to bring a killer to justice.
The remainder of the series is tonally very different. Many of the faults which spoiled my viewing pleasure of the pilot are either eradicated or marginalized to the point where they no longer matter. Particularly interesting is a sub-plot which debates the extent to which the media may be justified (or not) in the identifying of paedophiles living in the community.
Although I may have been pretty damning about the series’ opener I was gripped by the subsequent five episodes and am looking forward to viewing the other two seasons.
A DVD with English subtitles is available to buy from http://shopicelandic.com/index.php?option=com_virtuemart&category_id=48&flypage=flypage.tpl&lang=en&manufacturer_id=47&page=shop.product_details&product_id=1501&Itemid=104&vmcchk=1&Itemid=104
Dr Clare Thomson’s blog post concerning Nordic Noir and the Zeitgeist can be read at: