Editor’s Note: A version of this story first appeared in The Good, the Bad, and the Elegy, a newsletter from the Daily Yonder focused on the best, and worst, in rural media, entertainment, and culture. Every other Thursday, it features reviews, retrospectives, recommendations, and more. You can join the mailing list at the bottom of this article to receive future editions in your inbox.
“This is a true story.”
Those five words are the common thread that has connected five seasons of the television series “Fargo.”
That setup, borrowed from the movie that inspired it, has seen each season explore different themes, introduce us to a unique cast of characters, and take us to different eras and places each time around.
To be fair, there are numerous other common threads that knit these stories together.
Well-meaning police officers, criminals deft and dim-witted, small-town rhythms and routines, occasional supernatural phenomena, and, of course, a rotating cast of world-class actors from around the globe all taking their best swing at a cartoonishly over-the-top “Minnesota accent” (to varied results).
As a grade-schooler in northern Minnesota, I can remember some of the reactions to the original 1996 film. The adults in my orbit were at best dismissive of it — and its portrayal of those accents — even as it racked up accolades and went on to win Academy Awards for best screenplay and best lead actress.
Considering the film was age inappropriate for my 8-year-old self, it would be some time before I could draw my own conclusions about whether my northern Minnesota kin and I were the butt of the joke or in on it.
All these years later, making my way through five seasons in the “Fargo” universe has enriched my understanding and my appreciation for what these stories represent.
You Betcha
From my perch, it’s not too complicated. The function of the Minnesota accent in Fargo is to accentuate the unexpected. And it’s a vital ingredient in the franchise’s precisely measured “dark comedy” recipe, designed to balance the grim, the absurd, and the utterly quotidian.
You don’t expect to see a small-town insurance man, car salesman, or butcher’s wife get whisked into a criminal conspiracy. You may or may not expect a petite young woman named Marge or Gloria to be the toughest, hardest-driving member of the local police force. You wouldn’t expect Dairy Queen to come up in a hostage situation. And you’d certainly be caught off guard by someone trying to cover up a murder using a woodchipper.
Put it all together, and sometimes you can’t help but laugh, even in the face of some terrible things.
The accents, paired with the farcical “true story” intro, serve to exaggerate and sharpen the proceedings. Each time I see the intro text in a Fargo story, I imagine I’m hearing a tale told second or third hand by an extended relative or family friend at a holiday gathering or chance encounter at the grocery store.
In that context, it’s no wonder that the characters might sound a little silly. It’s not unlike how we put on different voices to differentiate the characters in a story we’re telling — going deep and authoritative for a father or authority figure, or meek and measured for a child or elder — interpreting how our voices sound in each other’s heads.
“Oh fer serious. Yer kiddin’?!” “Oh yah, you wouldn’t believe it.” “Geeze.”
There’s ample evidence that the creators of Fargo feel the same way. Sequences in the show have featured narration taken from in-universe news articles and books, recounting the sordid events the series is showing us. And head writer Noah Hawley was quoted in a recent article talking about how the decision to place the most recent season in 2019 was informed by a desire to deliver a contemporary story but one “long enough in the past that the first book could have been written about the true crime.”
As a story travels from person to person and takes on different forms, certain details are sure to get lost, changed, misconstrued, or blown out of proportion in each subsequent telling.
With this framing device as its foundation, the television adaptation of “Fargo” has interrogated the deeper meaning in the words “true story.” While the Coen Brothers have offered many different answers on the true life inspirations behind the movie’s story (was it inspired by a St. Paul man who put a hit on his wife, or a flight attendant in Connecticut who put his through a wood chipper?), the last word was thus: “As we like to say, the only thing true about it is that it’s a story.”
The television adaptation took that interplay and ran with it, examining how stories and truth take root across time and distance. This could be seen most prominently in the third season’s “cliffhanger” finale and in a season four sequence involving a half-finished billboard about “the future,” but also more subtly throughout the series.
However fictionalized these stories may be, there’s still plenty of truth to be found in them.
True Crime
In a world now inundated by the sub-genre that is “small-town true crime” — evidenced by countless popular podcasts, their on-screen adaptations, and beyond — “Fargo’s” version of “true” crime feels more essential than ever.
Beyond the way it toys with our expectations to darkly comedic effect, “Fargo’s” greatness lies in the expansive ambition it brings to its small-town backdrop.
It sees the value in small town cultures and ways of living and uses that as a catalyst to dig into big ideas and universal themes. It’s not content to stop at the simple observation, “Can you believe this unbelievable thing happened here, of all places? What a concept!”
Hawley looked at a chunk of “middle America” and saw a spacious storytelling canvas. What started as a familiar blueprint descended from simple “cops and robbers” stories and the timeless “cat and mouse” chase, has expanded outward in scope and depth.
In our current moment, one could try to flatten or dismiss “Fargo.” To say it once again misrepresents or makes fun of rural Midwesterners. To call it “copaganda,” or to look at the current season and say it trades in opposite tropes: rural America as home to nothing more than religious zealots and anti-government militias, right alongside a surplus of old-fashioned folksiness (you betcha).
In the hands of less capable storytellers that could easily prove true, but fortunately it’s not here; “Fargo” sees plenty of room for all kinds of stories. Good cops, bad cops, good thieves, bad thieves. Stupidity and malice, nobility and selflessness. Across the board — good, bad, or in between — these figures are richly characterized, in their personal journeys and through their relationships.
“Fargo” sees the big world outside our window and brings together concepts that show how deeply intertwined rural and urban places can be. The pursuits of greed, the ravages of debt and personal vendetta, the reach of corruption, power, and authority, they all easily cross geographic lines. The way a large cast of seemingly unrelated characters — from Fargo, North Dakota to Luverne, Minnesota, or St. Paul to Scandia and St. Cloud — eventually become tangled in a web of shared destiny is one of the show’s neatest and most satisfying storytelling tricks.
Another of those tricks is the show’s commitment to introducing unexplained phenomena, whether it’s UFOs over a prairie town, ghosts haunting a family funeral home, emissaries of the afterlife in a bowling alley, or a seemingly immortal Welsh hitman named Ole. These bold swings might pull some viewers out of the story or leave them scratching their heads. But the way they are deployed here, animating central themes, enriching characters’ struggles, and teasing out deeper meaning, you can’t help but affirm them with belief — to accede to the deeper forces that underly our existence and often manifest in our open spaces.
All of these elements — thematic depth, rich characterization, and the “Minnesota nice” of it all — come together so beautifully in season five’s final moments. The reunion of Dorothy and Ole in her kitchen nimbly juggles moments of dread, tenderness, profundity, and true hilarity — capable of moving someone to both tears and laughter simultaneously. It’s the perfect denouement — capturing the season’s explorations of trauma, debt, forgiveness, and what we owe to one another — while also being perfectly unexpected.
“Fargo” doesn’t get everything right when it comes to how we talk and live in Minnesota, but there’s no denying: Noah Hawley and team looked to the small towns of the upper Midwest and saw the makings of one of the best shows on television.
That’s a true story worth passing on.
Fargo airs on the cable network FX and all five seasons are streaming on Hulu.
This article first appeared in The Good, the Bad, and the Elegy, an email newsletter from the Daily Yonder focused on the best, and worst, in rural media, entertainment, and culture. Every other Thursday, it features reviews, recommendations, retrospectives, and more. Join the mailing list today to have future editions delivered straight to your inbox.
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