Film Review: Fargo (1996)
Film Noir Through an Upper-Midwestern Lens: What Fargo Means to Me
If one were so inclined, days could be spent reading about Fargo. It’s one of those movies – like Citizen Kane or Persona – that begs analysis. Sometimes I envy those who can simply watch and enjoy a film without driving themselves up the wall trying to “figure it all out.” Sometimes. Other times, as is the case with Fargo, I feel sorry for those who are missing out on the fun of analyzing the details, signs, and metaphors. Joel and Ethan Coen’s 1996 masterpiece is the crème de la crème of off-beat dark humor mixed with social critique and a heavy dose of symbols, but that type of analysis isn’t what I’m after with this piece (for that, I urge you to look at the multitude of material readily available on the internet and local libraries). Maybe I’m overstepping, but I feel I have a unique perspective on this film. You see, I was born and raised in Fargo, North Dakota. With this writing, I’d like to analyze me, and how Fargo has affected my perceptions of my upbringing and life. I’m not exactly sure where this is going to go, but let’s find out.
When I saw Fargo in 1996, I liked it, but I wouldn’t have called it my favorite Coen Brothers film (Barton Fink or Miller’s Crossing would hold that distinction for a time). Truth is, it kind of annoyed me. What got to me was the accents. “We don’t talk like that!” I’d say. And I wasn’t the only one. Everyone I grew up with agreed. Sure, we had some weird mannerisms and quirks, but it felt like the Coens were being mean to us. It seems strange now, but I didn’t know the Coens were Minnesotans (in case your geography is rusty, the city of Fargo borders Minnesota). Turns out, they were the best possible candidates to critique our upper-Midwestern lifestyle, I just didn’t know it at the time (pre-internet and all). They weren’t making fun of us. How could they? They’re one of us.
Here’s the other thing about the accents. Not long after the film’s release, I found myself traveling all over the country. I spent a lot of time on the road, in all sorts of crazy places in almost every state. When I got back home, I discovered something interesting. Guess what? We did talk like that. It took immersion in other accents to realize I had a pretty thick one of my own. It was an embarrassing realization – funny now, perhaps, but embarrassing at the time.
Something I’ve always noticed about Fargo is how brilliantly the Coens juxtapose stereotypical “Minnesota Nice” with cold-blooded murder. Minnesotans and North Dakotans are a weird bunch. The pigeonhole is that we’re all polite down-home folks who don’t have a bad thing to say about anyone. This assumption, however, is very far from the truth. While it may be accurate to say that an upper-Midwesterner may be reluctant to engage in direct confrontation, prejudices are not only common but deeply held. In Lutheran country, those who stick out are often the object of scorn and ridicule. Open hostility towards those who look or act differently is an accepted practice. “How dare they look different than the rest of us? Just who do they think they are?” Growing up a punk rocker wasn’t easy. It chills me to think about what those who weren’t white, or who were gay went through.
I was never afraid of a fight, which brings me to my point. Minnesota Nice is a load of bullshit. Upper-Midwest rednecks and jocks are as capable of extreme violence as anyone. That’s something that makes Fargo so interesting. To someone who’s never experienced a fight with a homophobic Midwesterner, the violence of Fargo may come across more extreme than it would have otherwise, due to the “nice” stereotype. For someone such as myself – who has firsthand knowledge of the ire and wrath of such judgmental violence – the capacity for such acts isn’t at all shocking. Instead of Minnesota Nice, we should be talking about “Lutheran Rage,” or some such thing. I often don’t trust politeness that comes with a Scandinavian accent. As a birth member of the group, I recognize the hostility and judgment that comes with each sentence. If I’m being honest, it’s creepy.
One of the strangest things I’ve ever seen was on Oscar night, 1997. Fargo was up for several Academy Awards, so the historic Fargo Theater was hosting a screening of the event. A group of friends and I happened to walk by the theater and saw something that I’ll never forget. In the parking lot was a wood-chipper, and next to it was a pile of wooden human figures. They were being fed into the device with glee. Here was a group of upscale, Minnesota Nice, Oscar attendees cheering the dismemberment of corpses via a large, gasoline-powered landscaping machine. Polite my ass. This was bloodlust.
Joel and Ethan Coen are masters of Film Noir. They are hands down, the best practitioners of the form since its original run in the 40s and 50s. Fargo is not only their Coup de grace, but a primer on how to tackle the genre in the modern era. Traditionally, Noir stories are reserved for the “big city,” places where crime and vice are rampant. Minnesota and North Dakota might not exactly fit that motif, but it certainly fits the larger Noir themes of disillusionment and fatalism.
Where I come from, bland is the norm. Food is not spicy, art and culture are relegated to figurines and paintings of wildlife, and quiet reserve preferred over “making a fuss.” But the interesting part, as with the accents, is that the blasé is hard to spot unless you’ve seen the options elsewhere. Once you’ve had that taste, a whole world opens. While I would never condone the actions of Jerry Lundegaard (William H. Macy), I can understand his need to escape the doldrums and mediocrity of the Midwest, and his willingness to do what it takes to do so. This is pure Noir. He’s a hell of a lot more bumbling than a Walter Neff or Hank Quinlan, but his sense of self, and more importantly, his disregard for others is the same. He’s searching for something, and the only way he can find it is through crime. I can’t think of anything more Noir than that.
This, of course, makes Marge Gunderson (Frances McDormand) Barton Keyes or Mike Vargas. This is apt, as she’s not even looking for Jerry – she’s after whoever committed the triple homicide on the side of the highway. Marge is the opposite of disillusioned. She’s grounded and centered, with a lot to live for. And that her life is based on the pursuit of what’s good and just (while occupying the same world as the “bad” characters) is the necessary Noir counter to Jerry’s discontent.
So, Jerry, a true Minnesotan if there ever was one, is a ball of pure, white-hot disillusionment, but is he fatalistic? Probably not when it comes to his crimes, but all upper-Midwesterner live with a certain degree of fatalism. The weather alone necessitates it. It’s going to do what it’s going to do, regardless of what you, I, or anybody else does about it. It’s going to snow this winter in Fargo, and probably a lot. This is a foregone conclusion, and we are resigned to it. Our lives up north – activities planned, trips taken, etc. – are dependent on the weather, thus, our lives dictated by it. Jerry may not be Sam Spade when it comes to his fatalism, and he may try to run and weasel his way out of his fate, but it’s coming, just like winter.
There’s a scene late in the film where two men are talking about a “funny looking guy” who was bragging about a murder he committed. As the recount comes to an end, both men look up into the air and remark about how it’s going to snow the next day. Not only is this characterization spot on, but it’s also a prime example of the fatalism all us northerners live with. There’s no complaining, fear, or trouble about it – it just is, and no one can do a damn thing about it. Why get worked up about fate?
It took me a while to fully appreciate Fargo, which seems ridiculous in retrospect. I’m told there’s plenty of folks from my hometown that still hold a grudge, and likely always will. It’s their loss. Fargo isn’t just a great film about a crime gone bad, it’s an observation of a people, and when you get down to it, how those people are just like any other people. The capacity for evil exists in all of us, but so does a longing for justice (at least it damn well should). Don’t make the mistake that Joel and Ethan Coen are making fun of Midwesterners, because they’re not. What they’ve done is subvert stereotypes to point out human failings across the board – and done so with a great amount of care and attention to detail. The characterizations of their chosen setting are true to their real-life counterparts, and that’s a fact. Disavowing a piece of art because you don’t like what it says about you doesn’t make that art any less important or significant. And make no mistake, Fargo is a work of art – and a damned fine one. Anything capable of eliciting self-analyzation of oneself or one’s culture is a worthwhile and necessary piece of culture. Oh, you betcha.
