A Nostalgic Ride Through 90s Reykjavík

Sódóma Reykjavík: A lost remote, teenage moonshine, iconic pop stars and a damn good soundtrack

When I first heard the premise of Óskar Jónasson’s debut feature Sódóma Reykjavík, I thought there simply must be more to the film than a guy spending the whole time looking for a remote control.

But no, not really.

Voted the best Icelandic film of all time in a 2010 poll by the now-defunct newspaper Fréttablaðið, the 1992 comedy Sódóma Reykjavík (released internationally as Remote Control) is, at its core, exactly what it claims to be.

The main character, a car mechanic Axel, played by Björn Jörundur Friðbjörnsson (best known as the singer of Nýdönsk), is thrown into action after his mom loses her temper over the missing remote and threatens to pull the plug on the bathtub where he’s keeping his goldfish.

Somehow, Axel ignores the iconic quote by his colleague, “Never do for others what you know they’d never do for you,” and does what he can — anything, really — to track the remote down. And no, the remote in question is not some mysterious device stolen by an underground crime ring. There are no drugs hidden inside. No secret formula on how to live forever. It’s literally just a regular TV remote.

“There’s kidnapping, more car chases than I’ve ever seen in an Icelandic movie and numerous near-death experiences that could only end well on a big screen.”

In the process, Axel ends up entangled with moonshine-brewing teenagers and a cast of small-time club gangsters. What starts as a simple mission turns into something stranger, wilder — and more iconic — than anyone expected. ​​Even the director, who not once admitted he was surprised the film got funded at all, given how much nonsense he packed into the script.

Big city energy

The film spirals from scene to scene — each more hilarious and unhinged than the last. There’s kidnapping, more car chases than I’ve ever seen in an Icelandic movie and numerous near-death experiences that could only end well on a big screen. The dialogue is often so dumb it barely makes sense in English. On the first watch, it gave me Shallow Grave, Trainspotting, The Big Lebowski vibes — mixing that do-first-think-later energy with 90s fashion. Then I realised: all of those came after Sódóma Reykjavík.

In the film, Reykjavík comes off as bigger, darker and more dangerous than it really is. There’s always something going on. And it feels like one wrong move and everything could fall apart — or explode.

Most of the film takes place at night, but as the sun rises, there’s a slow helicopter shot gliding over the barely-urbanised capital area. I have no idea how much that cost in the pre-drone era, but you can practically see the budget burning as the credits roll.

All roads lead to Dúfnahólar 10

Other than that final aerial shot, everything about Sódóma Reykjavík suggests it’s a low-budget movie. But looking at the cast now, it’s saturated with Icelandic household names from film and music, like Helga Braga and Helgi Björns. Its soundtrack is packed with legendary tracks like HAM’s “Partýbær” and Björk’s “Ó, borg mín borg.” HAM’s own Óttarr Proppé and Sigurjón Kjartansson even show up on screen. For someone who discovered HAM nearly 30 years later, it’s fascinating to get this kind of behind-the-scenes glimpse of the band in their early days.

One of the scenes in the film features a HAM concert at the infamous Sódóma Reykjavík nightclub — a place that never actually existed, but in the film appears to be somewhere near Hlemmur. Twenty years later, a real-life club named Sódóma briefly opened in the space where Gaukurinn is now, though it never reached the cult status of its cinematic namesake. At one point during the film, the music stops just when Axel yells, “Dúfnahólar 10!” — his address in the film, which sends a group of tipsy teenagers off to Breiðholt for an afterparty. Did they take a night bus? Maybe. People were already complaining about Strætó back then.

Fun fact: Dúfnahólar 10 doesn’t exist. The director made sure no real address would get mobbed after the movie was out. That didn’t stop a bar called Dúfnahólar 10, or D10, from popping up years later at Hafnarstræti 18, a location seemingly cursed by a string of short-lived bars.

The party, obviously, goes out of control — and Axel isn’t even there for it. He’s off walking into the sunrise with his telepathy-obsessed crush (a red flag from the start, let’s be honest), which leads to one of my favourite scenes in the whole film. A crowd breaks into Axel’s apartment at Dúfnahólar 10 and finds his mom asleep. The only reason she doesn’t wake up is because her hearing aid has been disconnected. In their drunken logic, the partygoers decide she needs peace and quiet, so they carry her mattress downstairs. And then somehow putting her on a boat floating down Elliðaá seems like the best possible idea.

Sódóma Reykjavík was one of the first Icelandic movies ever screened at Cannes, but most locals have probably seen it on an old VHS. Believe it or not, in the late nineties, you could buy it bundled with a two-pack of hot dogs at basically any supermarket. Nowadays, to watch it with English subtitles, you can rent a DVD from a public library. Or, as we just saw, it’s just sitting on YouTube. Of course, it’s up to you whether to watch it there, and the quality will probably be worse than the original, which isn’t great either, because well, it’s an old movie. But, to quote one YouTube commenter: “Fucking classic!”

Sódóma Reykjavík is screening (in Icelandic) at Bíó Paradís on Friday, July 4 at 21:00. Their party screenings often sell out, so be sure to get your ticket early.