REVIEW: Fargo

I like to call myself a fan of the Coen Brothers; in reality, I'm a bit of a poser, considering that, up until now, the only one of their films I'd seen was The Big Lebowski. A little shallow to declare myself a "fan" after watching just one film, perhaps, but then I really did just like it that much. Of course I knew I had to explore their other works, and what better place to continue my journey than with the film that really put Ethan and Joel Coen on the map. I am of course referring to their 1994 film, Fargo.

After getting himself in deep through embezzlement, car dealer Jerry Lundegaard (William H. Macy) concocts a scheme to stage a kidnapping. He hires two thugs by the name of Gaear and Carl (Peter Stormare and Steve Buscemi) to abduct his wife, Jean (Kristin Rudrüd), and contact him demanding ransom. Jerry will then extort the ransom money from his father-in-law, pocket half of it, and use the rest to pay off the kidnappers for their services. The plan goes sour, however, and several people are killed. As Jerry's scam spirals out of control, it is up to Police Chief Marge Gunderson (Frances McDormand) to get to the bottom of things and see those responsible put behind bars.

First and foremost, the film is gorgeously shot. Taking place in the American Midwest during the wintertime, snow is naturally everywhere. It's a very white film, literally; in any exterior scene, snow simply dominates the landscape. This leads to a gorgeous bit of visual contrast whenever a death occurs outside, the red blood clashing against the cold, clean white. It makes for a strong visual metaphor, of how something horrid and sinister can invade a landscape so pure and untouched. Really, that's what the entire film is about; perceptions contrasted against what lies within.

Anyone who's seen this movie knows about the accent; with the exception of Buscemi and Stormare, every cast member speaks in a thick Minnesotan tongue, tossing out "you betcha"s and "oh gosh"s with expert skill. It gives everything about the environment of the film a folksy, naive sort of tone; a perception that is shattered when we are shown who these characters truly are, deep inside. For example, take Macy's Jerry; he's a meek family man who is constantly emasculated by both his work and his father-in-law. He hardly swears and wants to cover up his wrongdoing seemingly for his family's sake. That said, he hopes to accomplish this by arranging his own wife to be kidnapped. He keeps all of that impotent rage bottled up inside him, and on the few occasions it escapes, this meager car salesmen turns into an enraged child, throwing brief-but-violent temper tantrums. He strikes you at first as too much of a wimp to hurt anyone, but it's only as the movie goes on that you really start to understand just how despicable and ruthless he is. He's an expert in denial, convinced he's doing what he's doing for the right reasons, even after things have clearly gone too far.

On the flip-side, we have Margie. Quiet, friendly, and seven months pregnant, you wouldn't immediately peg her as a "hero" in the usual sense. Everything about her seems so quaint, yet she's by far the strongest force for good in the entire film. She's no loose-cannon cop on the edge, just a small-town Police Chief trying to do her duty. You really get to know her as a person; in the same way that this humanization makes Jerry all the more deplorable, it makes Marge that much easier to root for. You get a sense of who these characters are as people, rather than as protagonists and antagonists, and that adds a tremendous amount to the weight of the plot. The film has a relatively relaxed pace, but the brief, surprising moments where the tension is ratcheted up become that much more effective thanks to this sense of contrast. If there's one thing this film truly understands, it is contrast, in every sense of the word.

As one would expect from such a cast, the performances here are all spectacular. Steve Buscemi is doing his usual skeezeball routine and it works as well as it always does. I love watching him fly into a rage; something about it is so genuine and real, which makes it that much more entertaining. Peter Stormare says very little but leaves a big impression, managing to convey a very threatening demeanor with little dialog and a lot of murder. Frances McDormand is a delight, coming off as one of my new favorite protagonists of all time. Margie is just so darn likable and easy to pull for, and this is entirely thanks to McDormand's performance. There's no weak link here, but for me the highlight of the cast was definitely William H. Macy. There's so much subtlety and nuance to the character of Jerry, from the way he talks, to the way he moves, to the way he has his brief, impotent fits of rage. His character simply wouldn't have worked, had Macy not understood everything that makes him tick. It's a wonderful thing, watching his scheme slowly deteriorate from just another day at the office to a total debacle that blows up in his face. Come for William H. Macy, but stay for Frances McDormand, that's my advice.

Fargo is, as is to be expected, a wonderful film. Brilliantly shot and wonderfully nuanced, it's just one of those movies that feels good to take in. It does a dozen things at once and succeeds at all of them, never once feeling trite or boring (despite the easygoing pace). The cast is excellent, the cinematography is gorgeous, and the general environment and atmosphere is very unique, especially given the type of movie this is. It's a plot that very easily could have been conveyed as an action-thriller, with pulsing bass and gravely-voiced antiheroes. Instead, the film goes for something a little more subtle and out-there than your usual murder plot fare. If you're looking for a true blue classic, look no further than Fargo. It doesn't disappoint.

REVIEW: The Big Lebowski

The Big Lebowski is one of my favorite films of all time. I could watch it a million times over and discover something new with each viewing. It combines elements of comedies, mysteries, westerns, and film noir, while at the same time taking inspiration from the works of authors such as Raymond Chandler and Mark Twain. While it was hardly a runaway hit when it opened in March of 1998, the film has gone on to become a cult classic, the namesake for two different breeds of African spider, and the basis of an entire religion. Suffice to say, it's a masterpiece. Sit on back, crack open a good sarsaparilla, and allow me to explain why.

The movie begins in 1991 Los Angeles with a case of mistaken identity; after being accosted by two thugs, Jeffery "The Dude" Lebowski (Jeff Bridges, in the role he was born to play) seeks compensation from the other Jeffery Lebowski (the late David Huddelston), a crippled billionaire. It seems this Lebowski's young trophy wife, Bunny (Tara Reid), had accumulated a sizable debt with a porn producer/loan shark by the name of Jackie Treehorn (Ben Gazzara), and his goons attempted to collect from The Dude by mistake. Everything seems cut-and-dry until Lebowski contacts The Dude, informing him that Bunny has been kidnapped. The Big Lebowski enlists the help of The Dude (who in turn enlists the help of Walter and Donnie, his bowling teammates played by John Goodman and Steve Buscemi) to drop off the ransom; the plan goes swimmingly until Walter suggests they keep the money for themselves and give the kidnappers a decoy. What follows is a complex mystery filled with twists, turns, and revelations, all in the name of avenging a rug that really tied the room together.

This movie is a film analyst's dream. Every last detail, from the dialog to the sound effects to the music is handled with the utmost care. Notice how a ringing phone always heralds an important change. Or how the condition of The Dude's apartment and car gradually deteriorate as the film progresses and the situation becomes more convoluted and dire. Or even how the vast majority of the film's iconic conversations at the bowling alley are conveyed via long, uncut takes. The Dude is a simple guy with a simple quest, but this is a film with enough depth to warrant hours upon hours of dissection and discussion. It's a perfect choice to introduce someone to the concept of studying a film's aesthetic; a kind of artistic gateway drug. Once they start to recognize how much of an impact these subtle-yet-intentional touches can make on a film, they'll never look at the medium in quite the same way again.

On paper, it's merely the story of a fella who wants to get his rug back, but in truth, it's about much more. The film is a clear commentary on the societal differences between the upper class and the so-called lower class. As Sam Elliot informs us in the beginning, The Dude is unapologetically lazy; he's not currently employed and spends most of his time smoking weed and going bowling. However, despite his layabout lifestyle, The Dude is very much a positive figure. He's found a way to live his life in which he is both comfortable and in a position to harm no one. His is a mellow existence, going with the flow and bringing little aside from good times and positivity into the lives of his fellow man. On the flip side, we have the other Jeffery Lebowski; fabulously wealthy, but altogether incompetent. He's a self-absorbed stuffed shirt who looks down on people like The Dude, referring to the poor or unemployed as "bums". He's seldom anything but an antagonistic force for the entirety of the movie, hammering in the film's overall theme that it's not what you have that matters, but what you choose to do with what you've got.

Aside from all of that, the film is flat-out hilarious. It manages to be one of my favorite "film" films and one of my favorite comedies all at once. Bridges, Goodman, and Buscemi have amazing chemistry together; it's nigh impossible to picture their dialog as having originated on a script, given how naturally their discourse flows right off the rails. Whenever John Goodman opens his mouth, you know something amazing is going to come out; he's the most quotable character in this supremely quotable movie. As I write this, I'm looking at the "Nobody F*cks with the Jesus!" poster I've got hung above my door. I love every aspect of this movie and I want nothing more than to submerge myself in it, to see it everywhere I go. Every performance is notable, from the main cast, to comparatively smaller roles like Jeffery Lebowski's yes-man, Brandt (Philip Seymour Hoffman) and Jesus Quintana (a pederast and bowler played by John Turturro); everyone manages to leave an impression, no matter how big or small their role is. It's a movie with no real lows or weak links, everything's remarkably consistent quality-wise despite how eccentric the plot is.

In all honesty, what else can I possibly say about The Big Lebowski? What possible justice could I do it? It's one of my favorite movies of all time and, in my humble opinion, one of the best movies of all time. Though the story progression may come off as dauntingly absurd to some, there's honestly something for everyone to appreciate. It's a film that can be enjoyed as much as the viewer is willing to explore it, and I find that that's something both rare and special. This is a movie you could easily write an entire academic paper on (I would know, seeing as how I've done just that); at the same time, you could definitely just pop it in after a long day and lose yourself in the iconic bits of roundabout dialog (as I did tonight). It's a tremendously versatile piece of film. If you haven't seen it before, obviously, I recommend it. Give it a watch, and remember to take it easy. The Dude abides.