Fargo

The sorities paradox – otherwise known as “the paradox of the heap” – asks us to consider a heap of sand, consisting of grains that are individually removed. Once a single grain remains, the paradox asks a simple question: Is it still a heap? Of course, if 1,000 grains of sand make a heap, than a single grain would – and by the same token, no grains would. In short, removing pieces from a puzzle doesn’t revoke its status as a puzzle: just as removing Lester’s brother from the picture doesn’t do anything to change the conspiracy board Molly’s gathered over the past few weeks (plus one year, by the end of the episode) about Malvo, Lester, and their connection. No matter how many people die, how much time passes, or how many good things happen in her life, Molly is still stuck on the death of her boss, a grain of sand that can never be re-inserted into the “bloody sand” (to borrow the title of Lester’s drink, though snow may be a more accurate term) of Fargo and its neighboring cities.

After the End Times events of “Buridan’s Ass”, Fargo predictably spends most of this week’s episode gathering its breath before it heads into the final stretch of its first (only?) season. It does so by subtly pushing its attention away from the events both unfolded and unfolding in Bemidji (and elsewhere), and back onto the Fantastic Four of its main cast: Lester, Molly, Gus, and Malvo.

To understand how Fargo is interpreting its titular philosophic quandary, there’s no farther one needs to look than the opening two scenes. In the episode’s open, we watch a fish get chosen, gutted, fried, and served to the assumed head of the crime syndicate who previously employed Sam Hess. He then tells his associates that he wants whoever killed Hess to be “dead” (not apprehended; that’s just not good enough here), because, well, “kill or be killed.” And as he chows down on the fish’s head, we suddenly cut to Don, trapped in his pantry waiting for Malvo to return – like the other fish in the tank at the episode’s open, Don is lying static in the water, just waiting for a predator to come by and pick him off if he doesn’t act in some fashion.

Like many of the episodes preceding it, “The Six Ungraspables” is titled after a Buddhist koan, this one written by the great Zen master Yunmen Wenyan. At their heart, koans are a series of questions that test a Buddhist’s students progress, philosophic puzzles that allow us to work towards the ultimate goals of Buddhism: enlightenment and nirvana. In this week’s episode of Fargo, those tests are placed right in front of Molly and Gus: and in two important moments for the show, represent to us just why these two people are the ‘heroes’ of this particular world.

Following the trend of reimagining classic films into television series, Fargo has been nothing but a pleasant surprise. Although it samples none of the original plot from the 1996 Coen Brothers film, there is a similar air to the cold, quirky and dark television drama set in Minnesota. The series stars Martin Freeman as Lester …

As Lester’s infection grows deeper and a large storm heads straight towards Bemidji, “Eating the Blame” thoroughly conveys a world slowly descending into Biblical chaos, all orchestrated by one Lorne Malvo, the man with intricate plans and riddles to spare. And there’s no image more fitting than when director Randall Einhorn’s camera fixates on a dirty pile of snow, slowly rising to meet Gus as he enters his car: the only hope to fight the gathering momentum of evil is with an equal force of good, the “real po-lice” of snowy Minnesota.

What happens when you ignore a problem? It festers; like the shotgun pellet wound in Lester’s hand, it begins to slowly infect everything around it – and the more you try to ignore it, the faster it happens. Eventually, it ends up like that unfortunate spider bite Molly’s high school friend mentioned: that infection spills out, crawling and invading every little crevice and dark corner of your life. Like the Buddhist parable the episode is titled after, “A Muddy Road” focuses on two characters avoiding the biggest mistakes of their adult lives – and how two different perspectives on dealing with them reveals their true nature.

Underneath the murder non-mystery, the Biblical parallels, and the small-town atmosphere of Fargo is a study of human behavior. Specifically, an examination of the paradox of “good and evil”, exploring the inherent absurdities of this concept – and more importantly, how we identify ourselves with one side or the other – in the most innocent of civilization’s constructions: Anytown, USA. It’s all in the episode titles; like “The Crocodile’s Dilemma”, “The Rooster Prince” is a symbolic of some philosophic idea – in this case, a Jewish story about a prince who went insane, thinking he was a rooster.

Our introduction to Fargo, Noah Hawley’s Coen Brothers-produced adaptation of their 1996 cinematic classic, begins with a very goofy looking Billy Bob Thornton, driving down a long, desolate Minnesotan road (sound familiar?) with someone in the trunk. Bathed in the red of his brake lights, our first look at Lorne Malvo (small spoiler here since we don’t learn his name in the pilot; you’ll survive) is littered with homages to its source material and symbolism, drawing ties to the original (a briefcase! snowy roads! People running through snow!) and silently introducing Lorne as the Devil incarnate – not only is he surrounded by the color red in the opening sequence, he also hits and kills a deer, a beacon of innocence and purity that Malvo eventually stuffs in the trunk of his broken down car.

If cinema has anything to say about it, the modern American dream is best typified by a grandiose level of entitlement in those who covet it most of all. Just a month ago, we saw Spring Breakers, a nightmarish, neon piece of grotesquerie, compelling experimental art about nubile young women trying to attain their hedonistic Western utopia by stealing from and killing people who dared get in their way, consequences be damned.

Fargo Directed by Joel Coen Written by Joel and Ethan Coen 1996, USA The Coen brothers are a breed of their own, seamlessly melding quiet, unrelenting humor with often brutal violence. Their films present wild irony, eccentricity, and post-modern takes on classic genre films. I have always been a huge fan, from Raising Arizona to …

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