‘Innri Hringur’
What Fire Saga taught me about the visitor experience
Husavik, Iceland (Image: Rachel Mackay)
This month, I travelled to Iceland to meet some people I’ve been remotely working with since March 2021. A small team in Húsavík, right at the very north of the country, have been putting together an exhibition about something that many people know is dear to me: the Eurovision Song Contest.
I expected to spend the week lending my help and ideas to a small but passion-fuelled project, but I also came away with something great: a whole new outlook on the visitor experience.
Iceland and Eurovision
There are many things that make Icelanders great, but my favourite one is this: Icelanders are amongst the most enthusiastic Eurovision supporters. The annual show regularly nets a viewership of up to 99% of the nation, and is without a doubt the most popular programme on TV. They’ve been entrants since 1986, and 2020 looked set to deliver their first win with the hugely popular Dađi & Gagnamagiđ.
Dađi & Gagnamagiđ jumper and instrument, Húsavík Eurovision Song Contest Exhibition (Image: Rachel Mackay)
For obvious reasons, that 2020 win never happened. Instead, into the dreary wasteland of lockdown, Netflix released Eurovision Song Contest: The Story of Fire Saga, and the joy-filled epic of the hapless Húsavík-based Eurovision hopefuls (Will Ferrell and Rachel McAdams) forever linked Eurovision to Iceland for a whole new audience.
Iceland already has more museums per capita than anywhere in the world, so it was inevitable that someone would grasp the bull by the horns and make a Eurovision Exhibition. That someone was Orly Orlyson, owner of the Cape Hotel, Húsavík, who began to create a new exhibition dedicated to the Eurovision movie, to Iceland in the Song Contest, and to the history of the Eurovision Song Contest itself.
The Cape Hotel, Húsavík (Image: Rachel Mackay)
The Eurovision Song Contest Exhibition, Húsavík
I got involved in the Exhibition when, during a period of furlough, I messaged Orly on Instagram and offered myself up for the project. It was inconceivable to me that if my twin passions of museums and Eurovision were uniting, I wouldn’t be part of it. So, since then, I’ve been assisting with research, content development, object acquisition and, of course, live-tweeting the Contest! Every moment has been ridiculously joyful.
Finally travelling out to get my hands on the exhibition was amazing. The week before I arrived, the team had received a crate from Netflix featuring many of the props and costumes from the film. When I arrived, they were lying in the semi-building site of the exhibition space. During the week, I helped out with costume mounting, layout design and text writing. I even spent part of my time constructing a winged helmet out of cardboard to accompany the ‘Volcano Man’ suit of armour (Will Ferrell has apparently kept the original, and why not?).
My work on the project will continue; the first two rooms I was working on are almost ready to be opened, and the aim is to open the final room focussing on the Contest next May for the 2022 season. I hope I’ve contributed to the project and helped this small, passionate team on their journey, but the experience was by no means a one-way street. I got so much from being involved on site, including being introduced to a whole new way of valuing the visitor experience.
Some of the Iceland Eurovision collection (Image: Rachel Mackay)
Innre Hringur
During my stay, the town welcomed lots of tourists who had been drawn to Húsavík because of its portrayal in Fire Saga. In the film, the small fishing town is depicted as a charming, slightly eccentric place, full of kind-hearted, jumper wearing townsfolk and whales who routinely perform synchronised frolics in the harbour. The reality is… actually, not too far from that, so when tourists arrive in Húsavík looking for the Fire Saga experience; they get it. It doesn’t hurt that the biggest fans of the film are the locals themselves, so the passion is real.
Many of these tourists ended up at the hotel bar, which is also the entrance to the exhibition. Orly has brilliantly named the bar ‘Ja Ja Ding Dong’ after one of the most popular songs in the film and themed the bar around the movie and the Contest itself. When tourists arrive and see that a.) there is an exhibition, but that b.) it isn’t open yet, they are understandably disappointed; they might not plan to be in Húsavík again, after all. So, the team have started inviting visitors into the unfinished exhibition space to have a sneak peek.
Initially, I thought this was a special treat for the most enthusiastic fans; those who showed up wearing ‘Húsavík My Hometown’ t-shirts and asking for Ja Ja Ding Dong to be played on a loop. However, it soon became clear that Icelandic hospitality was democratic and far-reaching, and it felt like every five minutes we were downing tools to welcome some new enthusiasts.
Generally, I don’t like being interrupted when I’m knee deep in work, and I worried about the constant stop-starting causing delays. However, my initial grumpiness quickly wore off when I saw how excited these visitors were to be invited into a work in progress. Before long, rather than stepping back and waiting for them to finish so I could carry on with the work, I was enthusiastically grabbing keys and offering to show people round myself. I had realised that we weren’t in the process of building a visitor experience; we were already delivering one.
It wasn’t just that people were getting to see the costumes and props from the film they loved – although that was certainly part of the excitement! It was that they were being invited behind the scenes of a project they were passionate about, and with people who loved the film and Eurovision as much as they did. They felt like they were part of the story; the inner circle - or ‘innri hringur’ in Icelandic. I just knew that they’d be talking about the experience for years to come.
Now that I’m back in the UK, I’m keen to replicate that inner circle feeling in my own organisation. But first, I’m trying to figure out exactly what made that Icelandic visitor experience so special.
Here’s what I’ve come up with so far.
The Five Principles of Innri Hringur
1. It doesn’t have to be perfect
To most of us, the idea of allowing visitors into a building site would fill us with dread. In fact, visitors were not allowed into the main space at the Húsavík Exhibition, which actually is a literal building site. The spaces we were working in were structurally there, but just a bit unfinished – objects unmounted and text panels still missing, and a few licks of paint still needed. The actual risks were minimal and could be managed. Indeed, managing risks like this is something that many museums and heritage sites have already done well – look at the popularity of scaffold tours and conservation-in-action experiences. When it comes to exhibitions, we can often be slightly more precious – we don’t want visitors to see it until we have it exactly the way we want. But that’s exactly what the visitors to the Húsavík Exhibition loved – that they were getting to see a work in progress. I think most visitors understand that experiences don’t come fully formed or perfectly polished. Getting to see behind the curtain actually allows them to understand more about the work and effort that has gone into a project, and that means that they might appreciate it even more.
2. Invite, don’t allow
I’ve certainly made the mistake in the past of talking about “allowing access”, as if museum and heritage operators are the gatekeepers to the spaces that we work in. We might advertise private tours as exclusive or talk about how areas are not normally open to the public. But that wasn’t how the team at Húsavík were talking about it. Instead, the experiences would start organically in the bar or Hotel reception, with a conversation about the film, about the exhibition, and then, when they sensed there was a certain level of interest, they would invite you in. It felt like you were at a friend’s house and they had something interesting in a back room that they wanted to show you. It’s a subtle change, but the difference between inviting someone in and allowing them in means that visitors felt more welcome, and that the experience was more authentically friendly.
3. Hierarchy free
I think another element of this ‘invitational’ approach is that there was no dynamic within the group that some of us were gatekeepers and some of us were visitors. As people came in for a look around, we naturally fell into conversation about why I was there, and the middling role I occupied between worker and superfan. Lines were blurred. Even with the permanent staff, there was no sense of hierarchy between them and the tourists. It made me think about some tours I have experienced in the past where the guide is set up as an authority figure, someone who occupies a higher position than you, and is almost doing you a favour by showing you round. This wasn’t like that. Eurovision passion democratised us, and the feeling was that we were all as happy to be there as each other. It wasn’t an expert-led tour, it was a conversation amongst equals. I think for the superfan type of visitor, the difference in the interaction makes all the difference: we were all in the inner circle together.
4. Every experience is unique
As opposed to a manufactured behind-the-scenes type tour, every experience visitors had inside the exhibition literally was unique. They all arrived at different stages of production, some when we were mounting costumes, others when I was pinning up a Fire Saga flag or padding a mannequin to make it more Will Ferrell shaped. This allowed for different conversations and different squeals of excitement. It also meant that although we welcomed dozens of people into the exhibition during the week I was there, each one had a truly unique experience. We couldn’t allow the normal sort of memory-making you would get in an exhibition, such as selfies – Netflix had to approve the exhibition before any images were shared - but in a way that made each experience more transient and therefore more precious.
5. Creating ambassadors
One of the best things about this approach was that I knew the visitors who came into the exhibition would be talking about their experience for years to come. That wasn’t just because of the objects and costumes they got to see. In fact, I think the most important element was the social interaction. Visitor satisfaction partly comes from gaining reassurance that you have made the right choice. Meeting a team of people who were as excited as they were about Eurovision reinforced their choice to come to Iceland, as did meeting the Húsavík people, who turned out to be just as friendly and welcoming as they are portrayed in the film. Having had those hopes met, visitors were delighted that they had made the right choice with their travel and leisure time – especially at the moment when every overseas trip is something of a gamble. Many of them said they would return next year when the Exhibition is fully open, and hopefully they will go on to be great advocates of and ambassadors for the project.
Lessons Learned
This experience at Húsavík may have been accidental, but the team were very aware of its power. When I chatted to them about it, they were keen not to lose the benefits of it once the Exhibition is fully open. So, we talked about some ways they could keep the ‘innri hringur’ vibe going.
For example, we were struggling to find a home for some of the props Netflix had sent in the exhibition, as well as some of the less recognisable costume (for example, a pair of leggings Will Ferrell wore under his ‘Volcano Man’ costume to keep warm). So, why not keep them separate, to pull out and show people who might express an interest in specific aspects of the film? We also thought it might be a good idea to have some printed materials superfans could browse in the bar – like a scene-by-scene explanation of all the historic Eurovision references in Fire Saga (Yes, this is my job to write, and I can’t wait).
Or how about asking visitors to submit photos of their own Eurovision memories so they can actually be part of the future Exhibition in a very real way?
These ideas would all provide a little bit more access for those who want it, and most importantly, having those little behind-the-scenes props and info would be great for keeping conversations going and encouraging those democratic exchanges of fandom.
It’s also made me think about how I can bring ‘innri hringur’ to my own attraction.
The Kew Palace Host team (Image: Rachel Mackay)
Firstly, I want to think about the difference between allowing and inviting. Royal Palaces can feel, by their very nature, very hierarchical. Our front facing team at Kew Palace are called ‘Hosts’ rather than Guides and that’s already a step in the right direction, but I really want to increase the feeling of welcoming everyone in. We already do things like opening secret doors for visitors and allowing them to explore hidden corridors and cupboards – but there’s that word, again, see? Allow. I wondered how we could change that to an invitation, so when I was showing a friend round the Royal Kitchens last week, I invited him to open up the Great Kitchen door for himself. It’s a tricky door to open, but he can’t hurt it, and there’s a moment when you walk into that double height space that really takes your breath away. Inviting him to open that up for himself really enhanced the experience.
So, now I wonder what might change if we invite rather than allow visitors to look? If, instead of opening doors for them, we allow them to open them themselves?
I also wonder about having those extra bits of behind-the-scenes info available. We have lots of little bits of ‘stuff’ lying around the Palace that I’m sure many other museum and heritage sites do as well – samples of replica wallpaper, old costume, interpretation materials, plans and photographs. My idea now is to make more of those things available to the Host team, by putting them in cupboards and other hidden spaces throughout the building. That way, if they get chatting to a visitor with a particular interest, they can pull out a surprise and make them feel as if they have gone a little deeper into the Palace’s history.
Finally, I really want to democratise how we talk about ourselves and our work. Our Hosts are in costume, but they don’t act. It’s ok for us to make it clear that we’re not 18th century servants, but heritage professionals working to look after a building we really care about. I want the Hosts to feel confident to give people as much behind-the-scenes info as possible - without posing a security risk of course!
For example, when we take visitors into our Tudor undercroft, people find it interesting that the manor may once have belonged to Elizabeth I favourite, Sir Robert Dudley, but they might also find it interesting that before our new office was built, it was the staff room. They might be interested in how food was prepared for the King in our Royal Kitchens, but they might also like to know that we found a bath up a chimney when we restored them in 2012. I suppose purists might call it breaking the fourth wall; but the thing is, there is quite a lot of interesting stuff behind the fourth wall.
So, these are my initial ideas inspired by the Húsavík innri hringur, and I’m planning to spend the final month of our 2022 season working with the Host team to see how far we can go with it.
Let me know if you have any ideas!
