Fargo Review
by Shane R. Burridge (S687070 AT iplabs DOT ins DOT gu DOT edu DOT au)July 23rd, 1996
FARGO
A film review by Shane R. Burridge
Copyright 1996 Shane R. Burridge
(1996) 98 min.
I was getting worried about the Coen brothers. I'd foregone their last film, THE HUDSUCKER PROXY, after sensing they were settling themselves into a period-movie rut. FARGO, set in 1987, isn't exactly contemporary but does place the Coens back on track with a winner (Director Joel took the prize at Cannes). Their latest effort revisits the smalltown-murder-gone-wrong of their debut BLOOD SIMPLE, but less self-consciously. Frances McDormand (Joel's real-life partner) is a North Dakota cop investigating a triple shooting along an isolated, snowbound highway. Piecing together clues and statements she gradually unearths what we, the audience, have known all along: that the mayhem - and there is more to come - is all part of a kidnapping stunt gone horribly awry.
Given that North Dakota is the birthplace of Paul Bunyan, latecomers who miss the based-on-true-story disclaimer at the film's start may be forgiven for thinking that the Coens have used their setting to spin a tall tale of their own. The landscape they film is as stark and featureless as if it were made of White-Out. The spectre of Bunyan presides over all in the form of a spookily lit totemic idol. And yes, to perpetuate the metaphor, an axe is swung by one of the villians - and if this suggests a violent side to FARGO then you can take it as having been warned in advance. The violence isn't of the punky Rodriguez-Tarantino vogue, but is nevertheless painful to watch because it is true and most of its victims are bystanders.
It is to the Coens credit that they pull off a difficult task with agility and style; presenting a factual story as if it were a black comedy without dishonoring those involved. Their light steps from darkness into light may be the cinematic balancing act of the year. Most of this is due to McDormand, who provides the film with a soul that we can now see conspicuously absent from other Coen films. Her chipper equanimity persuades us that maybe she is the only ray of sunshine able to penetrate the dark, cold world around her. Her performance, along with W H Macy, as an increasingly anxious car salesman, and Steve Buscemi as, well, Steve Buscemi, make this the Coen's best-acted film to date. What's interesting is that the storyline is so steeped with their usual trademarks that it makes one wonder how long the Coens had looked for a true story before they found one that was a suitable reflection of their own fictions.
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