And while Fargo has always zoomed in on individual morality in a specific American region, Season 4 pans out to take on the question of America itself.įargo’s increased ambitions are reflected in its lead actor. The fable-like cast of heroes and villains has given way to antiheroes cloaked in shades of gray. In a titanic shift, we’re now in the lower Midwest-Kansas City, a crime hub alluded to in Season 2 but never portrayed on-screen. (Once slated for an April premiere, production in Chicago stopped in March and wrapped up in September.) This Sunday, the show returned both altered and expanded. Instead, Fargo felt a little bit like Carrie Coon’s heroine: out of its time, unsure of its place.įor Season 4, Fargo wisely took a few years to regroup, a hiatus further extended by the coronavirus pandemic. By Season 3, however, that same setup had worn thin, yielding some noteworthy performances but lacking the delightful surprise of Hawley actually doing right by the Coens. Fargo’s initial crime yarns shared a virtuous cop, an everyday evildoer, a hint of the paranormal, a quirky charm, and a juxtaposition of epic forces like good and evil against the quaint banality of the snowbound Upper Midwest. That strange mix of caution and audacity paid off. Hawley’s extended tribute to the Coen brothers’ mid-’90s masterpiece stuck to a fairly rigid playbook through its first three iterations-understandably so, given the beloved source material it risked diluting. Noah Hawley, you might have guessed, would like to talk about America. “In America, respect is earned,” a third intones. “You know why America loves a crime story? Because America is a crime story!” another declares. “To be an American is to pretend,” one character later posits. “If America is a nation of immigrants,” asks the voice-over in the opening scene of the latest season of Fargo, “how does one become American?”
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