One of the reasons why Fargo is a good film (as opposed to bad) is the loneliness all the characters portray with the exception of Francis Macdonald’s character. What offsets her potential loneliness is the baby she carries in her womb. This loneliness drives each character to a point of desperation where William H. Macy is willing to have her wife kidnapped so he can share the ransom with Steve Buscemi and his partner Peter Stormare. Even Steve Park is desperately lonely as he explains to Frances MacDonald that that his wife died of a disease I can’t remember at the moment. There’s this delicately awkward moment when he moves from his seat opposite of Frances MacDonald to sit on her side of the restaurant booth. Steve wants his hole of loneliness to be filled with Frances’ love, but Frances becomes offset by Steve’s approach and asks him to sit on the other side. Thinking about it, Steve is so lonely that he would not know how Frances’ love could fill his void even if Frances responded to Steve. What does Steve want more: love or Frances MacDonald? Perhaps I need to watch this scene again. Anyways, we later find out through another source that Steve Park’s character has been lonely all his life, which makes the previous scene in the restaurant more poignant. Good job, Coen brothers.

I thought Rochester was a lonely tundra and it literally was for many a semester, but man, for me to live in the world of Fargo is to admit there is no God and will eventually be tortured by my own loneliness for the remaining worthless days of my life. Thank God there is a God or else I would have been bleeding somewhere with a concussion after failed attempts to destroy myself.

The Coen Brother’s latest, The Man Who Wasn’t There, is also about a lonely man – Billy Bob Thornton’s Ed Crane. He searches for something to fill his void such as investing in a new technology called dry cleaning and providing piano lessons for Scarlett Johansson’s character, Birdy. Like Steve Park, Billy Bob Thornton tries to fill his void, but remains lonely. Like with my depression, Billy Bob Thornton has given up and has accepted his loneliness (whereas I accept my depression), and is able to objectively recall the events in a film noir style leading to his execution. I am able to objectively explain to other depressed people that I know what it means to be depressed, but unfortunately, I can give them no easy solution.

Roger Deakins’ cinematography in The Man Who Wasn’t There is so beautifully forced and stylized, it dangerously dominates the entire film. The shots become an element separate to the action and the actors and in the process, I’m wishing for even longer shots of the black and white world Deakins’ has created. Black and white photography removes extraneously confusing color, leaving a purified textured image of the subject in its surroundings.