Fargo Season 2 and the American Dream
Fargo season 2 concludes, the American Dream goes the way of Old Yeller and it’s a thing of beauty. Here we have IBM and the Selectric typewriter. Living myths and the Collective unconscious. Post-Vietnam fragmented psyches. Mr. Bliss. Hunter S. Thompson’s 1957 response to being told to read The Fountainhead:
“Although I don’t feel that it’s at all necessary to tell you how I feel about the principle of individuality, I know that I’m going to have to spend the rest of my life expressing it one way or another, and I think that I’ll accomplish more by expressing it on the keys of a typewriter than by letting it express itself in sudden outbursts of frustrated violence. . . .”
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day, oh Fargo? That night I had a dream. It began with War Pigs to bring us the solemn denouncement of our runaway narrative. The literal fragmentation of our cinematic frame. This whole dream, was it wishful thinking? Was I just fleeing reality like I know I’m liable to do? Watch now, this out-of-control chemical reaction that is the aftermath of the 1970s. It will be violent. It will be absurd. But most of all, it will be operatic. This is a true story.
Hanzee couldn’t get in to the American dream, Peggy couldn’t get out. Milligan got what he wanted, not what he wanted (a black cowboy has to change his spots). Lou understands his place. Hank has broken through identity (in an ego shift after his wife died) and is trying to construct an archetypal language, after he’s seen too many incarnations and versions of misunderstanding and violence. This all started to War Pigs by Black Sabbath. It’s a clear condemnation of American society (the mob is corporate America), but of the systems in place of our own understanding (ego), and the projections and expectations we all think we think. Our brainwashed minds are poisoned.
It’s a story about place. I think it’s a story about enlightenment. Until you realize it’s all the same shuffling paradigm (archetypal), you will finish where you begin, the start is the end and the end is the start, as in a palindrome.
Been into Jung lately.
“Not apprehend, dead. Don’t care heavily-guarded. Don’t care into the sea. Kill and be killed. Head in a bag,” Hanzee pronounces, before switching from English to his native tongue to add, “There’s the message.”
But I will concede distaste for one thing, to those wanting less open homage to the Coen Brothers? Go soak your head.