Jerry Lundegaard (William H. Macy) hatches an ill-conceived plan to have his wife kidnapped, and use ransom money shelled out by his wealthy father-in-law to finance his solo business venture. Human stupidity ensures that every single element of the plan fails catastrophically.

Fargo marks the Coens' acceptance by the mainstream. The award nominations showered upon it and its widespread critical acclaim may have set high expectations from viewers, whom, upon inspection shrug in disappointment, failing to find either the verbal gold of Big Lebowski and Miller's Crossing, or the visual wizardry of O Brother Where Art Thou and The Man Who Wasn't There. Of all their films, Fargo might be the most palatable to mainstream sensibilities, but that does not diminish its qualities as a film.

In technical terms, this marks their first collaboration with cinematographer Roger Deakins after regular DP Sonnenfeld left to pursue a directing career, and it is quite a leap from the stylish tones of Miller's Crossing to the controlled, washed out landscapes of Fargo. Just as impressive, but more understated, the sign of artists fully coming into their own and confident in the key ingredients of their product. The screenplay is a work of art, the verbal sparring and control of language beyond peer, and like the world's greatest orchestra, the cast perform this symphony to perfection.

Macy is hopelessly fascinating as the least capable man in human history, and Stormare and Buscemi team up as the weirdest kidnappers ever to grace the screen. People cannot seem to lavish enough praise on Frances McDormand, and it is true that she allows a beautiful character to blossom beyond expectations. The Coens' one concession to mainstream audiences - a likable, grounded protagonist - is one of the most original main characters in cinema.

Like all their films, it adds up to so much more than you might think upon first viewing, and serves as an ideal starting point to explore their work. A classic!