Fargo

I just discovered I have somehow never reviewed this major favorite of mine. A modern redefinition of the film noir and crime dramas, and probably, with "Pulp Fiction", responsible for the modern "neo-noir" tag.

It's hard to do this movie justice in writing.

A desperate, craven, and openly dishonest car salesman hatches a bizarre plot to have his wife kidnapped by unscrupulous characters, so he can force his wealthy but cruel father-in-law to pay a million dollars ransom, goes horribly awry and more and more blood is spilled.

This movie is filled with memorable acting performances. Frances McDormand plays a star turn as the charmingly dowdy cop pursuing the case, William H. Macy brings his full talents to realizing a groveling car salesman who is equally pathetic and despicable, Steve Buscemi does his usual modern-day Peter Lorre bit, and Peter Stormare—who I've noticed has a talent for a wide range of memorable performances, cf. his insouciant, snickering Satan in "Constantine"—is truly frightening as a bleached-blond killer who is near-mute and maintains the same threateningly calm demeanor through acts of truly horrifying violence.

There is one scene that took me a long time to understand the reason for. Frances McDormand's character has an on-the-surface pointless scene in which she meets and old school acquaintance in a bar. After many years of thinking this scene should have been on the editing room floor, I read an explanation on the internet of how the scene's activity prompts her to think of taking a different look at the case she is persuing. It's not immediately obvious, and is an incredibly rare flub from the Coen Brothers, and once it was explained I'll accept it as the one necessary flaw in the grand persian rug design of this story.

Other than that one odd spot, this story ticks along like clockwork, one act of violence, arrogance, or desperation expanding upon another, while managing to include enough character development to make it far more than a genre exercise.

While it's not my personal favorite Coen Brothers film—that would be either the quieter and totally amibguous "A Serious Man", or my traditional favorite, the little-discussed "Barton Fink"—I think it could be argued that this is one of the best-made movies of all time. It's just about flawless, chock full of incredibly memorable images, plus takes full cinematographic advantage of the stark Minnesota winter landscape, and, I think, is considered by many to be a modern classic.