It is arguably the best, and certainly the most famous, of the films from Joel and Ethan Coen, two brothers who write, produce, and direct all their movies simultaneously. They often alternate who gets the credit. For example, Joel gets the directing credit for Fargo, even though they both had everything to do with all aspects of the production. With Fargo, they created a masterpiece that cannot be lumped in with any single genre. It is equal parts drama, comedy, and thriller, and is highly successful as all three. I usually remember the more dramatic things the most when recalling the film, and am usually surprised to rediscover how funny it is as well.
One of the Coens’ greatest ticks is repetition. When we are first introduced to the main characters, Marge and her husband Norm, it is early in the morning and he says she needs some breakfast.
“I’ll make you some eggs,” he says. She responds that he doesn’t have to because she has to run, but he argues that she needs her breakfast.
“I’ll make you some eggs,” he says again.
The things other people seem to most remember are the funny dialects of the Minnesota natives and the particularly gruesome demise that befalls a main character, though I wouldn’t dare spoil it here. What the film is primarily concerned with is the simple lives that are lived by an entire subculture of America: those wonderful people from up north.
At the beginning of the film, a text screen appears claiming that it was based on true events and that the names have been changed to protect the innocent and that the incidents that occurred remain intact. In contrast, at the end of the credits appears the disclaimer that nothing in the film is intentionally similar to any real-life people or places. So, in a way, the film is a hoax, and some could call it false advertising, but I don’t really see it that way. People often take historical liberties when creating a cinematic adaptation of actual events. Frankly, if Fargo had been based on a true story, the Coens’ attention to detail would far surpass that of their more historical peers.
Look at the scene in which the two featured criminals commit the bloody triple homicide that leads to the investigation at the front of the story. The manner of its telling is matter of fact and incredibly attentive to an exactness that could have easily been built off of truth. Consider also the scene towards the end of the film in which Steve Buscemi is firing a gun, and notice how many times it’s fired and why. It is as if there was a record of what must happen in this moment and that there is a true desire to portray it accurately. It is easy to imagine William H. Macy going to the prison holding the real Jerry Lundegaard, and studying him in order to copy his accent and mannerisms. But there is no Jerry Lundegaard. There is only William H. Macy.
I recall a story about a young lady from oversees (I forget which country) who took her life savings and came to America to find the million dollars shown buried in the movie. That is a true story and I can imagine how disappointed she must have been when her attention was finally brought to that credits disclaimer. That is proof that this film has real power on the uninitiated to convince them that it is truth. They probably swear up and down that what they’ve seen is real, and that is a testament to the perfectly rendered realism of the Coens’ films.
I have briefly seen clips of Frances McDormand in real life and they have solidified how great an actress she is. Concerning the creation of police officer Marge Gunderson, the Coens and McDormand did something really amazing. They went farther than just creating a character. Marge is a real person. Even though she doesn’t even have her first scene until a third of the way into the film, her presence is the most memorable asset it has. It is such an immersive and minimal performance that it is easy to miss the fact that she is acting.
Her life is documented so thoroughly, that we get the impression that she goes right on existing, even when she isn’t on screen. Her frustration at a drive-thru, her sickness from her pregnancy, and her awkward meeting with an old friend hold just as much interest as the more exciting portions of the film. This is because Marge is doing what we do every day and that makes us comfortable with her. She is only a heroine because her luck and spunk assist her in just the right times and get her to just the right place to do her job as best as possible. Still, she is also far more intelligent than most of the people surrounding her.
Take, for instance, the scene in which her partner informs her he has put the word out for a search for license plates beginning in DLR.
“I don’t think I agree 100% on your police work there, Lou,” she says, pointing out that they should probably be looking for dealer plates. She is too kind too allow the situation to become uncomfortable.
“Have you heard the one about the guy who couldn’t afford personalized plates ,so he went and changed his name to J3L2404?”
Another highlight is when she interviews two girls who met up with the criminals in question. They are very dumb, with one consistently insisting that the little guy was funny looking. Not in any particular way, just funny looking. It must take Marge a lot of effort to avoid sarcasm most days.
Another great performance is given by William H. Macy as the guy who sparks action without having very much to do with it. He sends a couple of nasty guys to kidnap his wife so that they can all share in the ransom money from her wealthy father. It is amusing and depressing watching his befuddlement as things go more and more downhill. Blood is shed, he winds up in prison, and he never even gets to see the money. It is like Marge says in the wonderful moment while she is driving the surviving crook away from the scene of the crime, “There’s more to life than a little money, you know. Don’tcha know that? And here you are, and it’s a beautiful day. I just don’t understand it.”
The movie could have easily ended here and still would have been great. But the last scene is actually quite simply Marge and Norm sitting on their bed, talking about postage stamps. Fargo cares so much about the little things like two people just happy and content to be near each other that this becomes the most important moment in the film, even overshadowing all the more traditionally intriguing murder and corruption. This is what makes the movie so terrific. You betcha.
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