The Coen brothers ("Raising Arizona") have made a dark comedy about dopey people in Minnesota, presumably to parry any criticism that the filmmakers might be snobby effete wankers. This, to me, is like making a black comedy about Downs Syndrome and claiming that you are sympathetic to the plight of mongoloids because you too have chromosomes.
Joel and Ethan Coen have decidedly northeastern tastes, and whenever they're asked about the meaning of their movies they give evasive, artist-type answers. So it's no surprise that their movie "Fargo," about a kidnapping plan gone horribly awry, never enters North Dakota. Car salesman Jerry Lundegaard (William H. Macy) hatches a plot to kidnap his wife and collect ransom from her rich father, but once the kidnappers nab her, they barely make it out of Brainerd, Minn. (home of Paul Bunyan). Watching this movie is like being a four-year-old on a road trip and asking Mommy every five minutes, "When are we gonna get to Fargo so I can pee?" and Mommy saying, "In a minute." Well, two hours later there's no Fargo and you're all wet for thinking you were ever going to get there in the first place.
I knew a guy from Minnesota once. He would walk around in a t-shirt when it was ten degrees outside and I would ask him how he could stand it and he would say, "I'm from Minnesota." So you see, a movie about stupid Minnesotans is basically redundant.
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