"Fargo" is a movie that plays better the second time around. The first time watching it, one might find the film's sheer novelty too much to process. A Nineties indie product to its core, "Fargo" mixes noir with comedy, placing atrocious violence in a comforting Midwest setting. None of the characters are beautiful, few are relatable, and even fewer are likable. This originality, however, stays in our minds, pleading for a rewatch. Then, in the subsequent viewings, "Fargo" becomes deeply, almost inexplicably endearing.

Despite its title, the movie only takes place in Fargo, North Dakota for a single scene. It is the first scene in the film, when down-on-his luck car salesman Jerry Lundegaard (William H. Macy) meets Carl Showalter (Steve Buscemi) and Gaear Grimsrud (Peter Stormare) in a bar. Desperate for money, Lundergaard solicits these two men to kidnap his wife (Kristin Rudrüd), hoping that his rich father-in-law (Harve Presnell) will pay the hefty ransom and the men will split it with him.

Once the plan is set into motion, though, things go awry. Collateral damage leaves innocent people dead in the small town of Brainerd, Minnesota, creating a trail of evidence towards Showalter, Grimsrud, and Lundergaard. Around the thirty-minute mark, our protagonist - and one of the only decent people in the film thus far - finally arrives. A pregnant cop, Brainerd Police Chief Marge Gunderson (Frances McDormand) helms the case, leading an investigation between her hometown and the Twin Cities to figure out what happened.

The film is impossible to place into a single genre. The bloodshed is like something out of a Tarantino picture, the police-story is a modern take on the detective drama, and yet, laugh-out-loud comedy persists in almost every scene.

Nearly everything in "Fargo" is subversive. It's about unsexy people enduring an unsexy situation. I won't give away the ending, but the violence only piles higher and higher as the film carries on, and many of our characters slip farther and farther from redemption.

As disturbing as that is, it is also hysterical in a (perhaps morbid) way. "Fargo" achieves much of its humor through its unique setting. The upper Midwest is considered a peaceful place, and "Fargo" does not hide that reputation. A polite culture (and copious Minnesota accents) persists throughout the movie, even as the plot gets bloodier, making for something delightfully uncanny. It is this defiant quirkiness that might be hard to digest at first, but distinguishes the film in the long run.

"Fargo" won two Oscars in 1997 - Frances McDormand won Best Actress and Ethan and Joel Coen won Best Original Screenplay. Both of these accolades were well deserved, but people overlook the movie's cinematography and music. Director of Photography Roger Deakins captures Minnesota's snowy landscapes in a way that is both beautiful and haunting. This is evident in his wide shots of the Great Planes, but it also holds true in his quieter takes of Minneapolis parking lots or icy freeways.

Meanwhile, Carl Burwell's score keenly reflects "Fargo's" tone. The main theme is tragic, mysterious, slightly dark, but also uplifting, infusing the film with a very fitting, triumphant energy.

That triumph comes from the fact that, despite all of "Fargo's" violence and zaniness, it does not leave the audience cold. The movie doesn't end with a nihilistic shrug or punch line. A simple message emerges in the final scenes, sending viewers off with unexpected hope.

Today, moviegoers more-or-less know what to expect out of a Coen brothers film. The siblings have established a brand for themselves in genre-bending cinema. Before "Fargo," though, the brothers were not household names. While "The Big Lebowski" and "No Country For Old Men" might rival it for the duo's magnum opus, "Fargo" remains the project that put Joel and Ethan on the map, and it remains some of their strongest work.