The genre of dark comedy is a fascinating subset of the standard comedy film, combining elements of drama and dark subject matter with comedic elements of the absurd and ironic to create unique works that poke fun not only at the foibles of mankind, but the inherent silliness of extremely serious things. Dark comedy can take many forms, and both American and English sensibilities in particular have their own attitudes and characteristics in their own examples.
Two of the most well-regarded dark comedy films of recent years are 1996’s Fargo (directed by the Brothers Coen) and 2008’s In Bruges (directed by Martin McDonagh), following the absurd foibles of amusingly flawed criminals and those who are affected by them in their lives. In examining the differing ways in which Fargo and In Bruges employ dark comedy in their narrative and style, it is easy to see the reasons why the genre has become a popular and critically-acclaimed fixture in the motion picture industry.
Fargo – Midwestern Crimes Performed with a Smile
1996’s Fargo, directed by Joel and Ethan Coen, revolves around a scheme concocted by meek car salesman Jerry Lundegaard (William H. Macy), who hires two unscrupulous criminals (Steve Buscemi and Peter Stormare) to kidnap his wife in order to extract needed money from his rich father-in-law (Harve Presnell). Investigating the trail of bodies the two hitmen leave in their wake is pregnant Minnesotan police officer Marge Gunderson (Frances McDormand), whose own detective work puts her on the trail of both the hitmen and Jerry himself. Set against the snowy backdrop of Brainerd, Minnesota, these various figures deal with their incredibly sordid circumstances in many a humorous way befitting the dark comedy genre.
Chief among the elements of Fargo central to its darkly comedic atmosphere is its North Midwestern setting – the town of Brainerd and its surrounding townships (including Fargo, North Dakota) are small, snowy landscapes full of desolate plains and isolated country roads, with an equally quaint small-town sensibility that clashes comedically with the horrible crimes being committed during the film. The film itself starts out with the false text assertion that:
“THIS IS A TRUE STORY.
The events depicted in this film
took place in Minnesota in 1987.
At the request of the survivors,
the names have been changed.
Out of respect for the dead,
the rest has been told exactly
as it occurred.”
Immediately, the film sets itself up as a winking parody of sorts for the true-crime docudramas that are par for the course in film, lending a darker undertone to the proceedings (while still demonstrating a comedic sense of hyperbole by insisting the ridiculous events to follow are really true). Most of the characters speak in the prototypical “Minnesota Nice” accent, and engage with everyone around them with that earnest, intense politeness Midwesterners are known for. This attitude is not typically seen in crimes this sordid, and so the continued gee-whiz politeness of characters like Jerry Lundegaard serve to outline the bitterness, jealousy and hypocrisy that is evident in such nakedly-“nice” behavior.
Jerry Lundegaard, in particular, is a fascinatingly tragic character, whose deep-seated anger and resentment is, like the cars he sells, coated with a TruCoat-like veneer that is expensive to maintain and would be much better if not applied. Jerry uses his Minnesota Nice to swindle people out of their money, as shown when he smoothly insists that his customers pay for the TruCoat veneer so he can get a higher commission. His customer, finally breaking the rules of politeness befitting this part of the country, begrudgingly calls him a “fucking liar,” the comedy coming from such nice people only being able to stammer out profanity when they have been egregiously defrauded. Jerry’s life, meanwhile, is full of tiny resentments and obfuscations hidden through niceties, such as his constant dodging of accountants asking after his fraud and his reception to his bosses’ undermining of his plan to restore his own finances. This culminates in creating a character that is at once infinitely relatable to the audience and also deeply despicable, allowing us to both relate to his plight and laugh at his well-deserved downfall.
Perhaps the sole exception to the damaged nature of the other characters is Marge, the lead detective on the case, who is about as well-adjusted as you could imagine for a film like this. Unlike the typical detective film protagonist, who is weeping over lost love and largely unfulfilled with their life, Marge has an unfailingly happy (albeit modest) life with her plain, unambitious husband Norm, with whom she seems incredibly content. Marge’s centeredness as a character makes her the perfect candidate to investigate such broken individuals - her persistent sunniness belies an immense cunning, as she quickly figures out Jerry’s plan and is able to subdue Gaear Grimsrud (Stormare) easily. Unlike the other characters, who risk their lives and their safety to seek misbegotten gains, Marge contents herself with normal, everyday life, as she reminds the arrested Gaear by the end: “There's more to life than a little money, you know. Don't you know that? And here ya are, and it's a beautiful day. Well, I just don't understand it.” Marge, unlike Jerry, has found a way to prosper in the economic dead-end of Northern America, while the audience gets to laugh at Jerry’s misfortune as he is dragged desperately out of a motel room shortly afterward.
The darkness of the film’s comedy is punctuated by the true gruesomeness of some of its images – the stark-white snow outside of Brainerd offers a blank canvas upon which the Coen’s can film alienated-yet-terrifying scenes of horrifying murders on the part of Gaear Grimsrud and Carl Showalter. Staging of scenes can provide comedic content to even the harshest of plot events; many of Jean’s escape attempts, in which a squealing and blindfolded prisoner hits her head while running, offer substantial physical comedy through the inflicting of pain. Even the infamous wood chipper scene, in which Carl’s sad little leg peeks out of the top of the chipper, offers a curious and hilarious visual image. The Coens are masters of dark comedic visuals, as these small little nods (some of them literal, like with Marge’s tipping of her cap to Gaear) help to flesh out the characters in clearly delineated ways. Wade’s death, in which his fatal gunshot wound is proceeded by a resigned “Oh, jeez,” is an extra bit of humor to be found in Fargo’s treatment of death, murder and crime.
Fargo, in exploring this uniquely American setting, provides dark humor through the conflict between Americans’ outward niceness and the darkness that lies underneath. Jerry Lundegaard feels like a symptom of a very specific type of American who believes in the American Dream, but does not have the skills or the largesse to back it up – in tracking his development in a comedic way, the Coens permit their audience to laugh at him while also pitying him for his mistaken ambition and the way events turned out for him. Many characters wrestle with their own broken dreams and lost chances, but in that uniquely Coenesque way that still elicits laughter. Marge’s semi-date with old flame Mike Yanagita is both entertainingly silly and painfully awkward, as Mike’s over-the-top reaction is leavened by his own admission of his lies about his relationship status and his desperate plea for Marge to take him back. That example and others are universal, existential concerns that are nonetheless presented in a very Amercan form of dark comedy.
In Bruges – Introspective Magical Realism Mixed With Violence
2008’s In Bruges, directed by acclaimed playwright Martin McDonagh, follows the travails of hitmen Ray (Colin Farrell) and the more seasoned Ken (Brendan Gleeson), who are told to go on holiday by their boss Harry (Ralph Fiennes) after a botched job to Bruges, where they are meant to wait until they are told what to do next. While biding their time, Ray navigates the town and gets to know its people, while also contending with the discovery that Harry actually wants him killed – by Ken. The film fully embraces its British pedigree, with tough ‘hard’ mobsters swaggering their way through scenes, spouting tough-guy dialogue interspersed with very human, vulnerable moments. This has the effect of lending the movie’s dark, thriller-like plot with a great deal of humor, as Ray faces death with a wry joke always on his lips.
Unlike Fargo, which dealt in the juxtaposition of humorously tragic situations and the sweetly polite society of Northern Middle America, In Bruges revels in the profanity-laced bon mots of its hitmen protagonists. Ray, Ken and Harry all carry themselves with the slick, no-nonsense toughness of your average British gangster, their offensive and vulgar rants becoming a constant source of humor. When Ken calls Ray “about the worst tourist in the whole world,” Ray’s snappy comeback is, “Ken, I grew up in Dublin. I love Dublin. If I grew up on a farm, and was retarded, Bruges might impress me but I didn't, so it doesn't.” This kind of quick-paced snappy repartee is part and parcel of In Bruges’ primary source of humor – Ray’s complete lack of desire to fit into a location that he does not want to be in.
Ray as the central character, in particular, offers dark comedy through his abrasively bleak view on life, which is expressed in such as a way as to make it comedic. Much of his worldview is depicted in voiceover, as he tells the audience, “A great day this has turned out to be. I'm suicidal, me mate tries to kill me, me gun gets nicked and we're still in fucking Bruges.” Ray’s placement in Bruges is the source of much of his discomfort, as he absolutely loathes it there and is constantly rubbed the wrong way by townspeople, other visitors, and even his friend Ken. His refusal to engage with the people and history of Bruges, while Ken enthusiastically engrosses himself in it, is the source of a great deal of dark comedy. At the same time, Ray is haunted by the accidental death of a young boy by his hand during their last job, which colors Ray’s perception and leads to his overall malaise that is the dramatic core of the film. By clashing Ray’s depression with his own snark, the result is uniquely, darkly comic:
“I know I didn't mean to but because of the choices I made, and the course that I put into action, that little boy isn't here anymore, and he'll never be here again I mean here in the world, not here in Belgium. Well, he'll never be here in Belgium either, will he? I mean, he might've wanted to come here when he got older. Don't know why. And that's all because of me.”
Of particular interest to the film’s source of comedy is Ray’s boss Harry, played with unusual pluck and youth by the sardonic Ralph Fiennes. Despite being the villain of the film (and wanting Ray dead), he is humorously fussy and short-tempered, particularly when his children are insulted by Ken: “Leave my kids fucking out of it! What have they done? You fucking retract that bit about my cunt fucking kids!” This volatility, combined with the hilarious combination of profane words makes the character of Harry such a magnificent bastard that his use of profanity and extreme violence swings back around from being terrifying to being menacing. When one of his secretaries assures him that a telephone he is bashing to let out his anger is an inanimate object, he sneeringly replies, “You’re an inanimate fucking object!” All of these actions and more allow Harry in particular to be such a specifically terrible person, while also being infinitely charismatic at the same time. By finding ways to root for and be entertained by these hitmen imposing their will on the small town of Bruges, much of the film’s darkly comedic elements can be found.
Just as Fargo has a uniquely American sensibility in its contrast between the terror of crime and violence and the outward niceties of small town people, In Bruges explores this disconnect through a slicker, more Guy Ritchie-esque feel, and the decision to make the fish-out-of-water gangsters explicitly the old uncool ones. The town of Bruges is much more modern and focused on tight-knit community than the white bleakness of Brainerd, which is simply in the middle of all of these other Minnesota towns. The old church bell, the cobblestone walkways and the brick walls of Bruges indicate an old-world British sensibility that visually clashes with the steely-faced coolness that their modern, Guy Ritchie-esque suits, slick handguns and intense action-film energy provide, particularly at the climax.
Their coarser language and boorish behavior take the locals aback, as the citizens of Brudge are unprepared for the exact kind of ridiculous gangster movie confrontation Harry and Ray are to have (Marie: “Why don’t you two just put your guns down and go home?” Harry: “Don’t be stupid, this is the shootout!”). In this way, the conflict in both films is between true characters and their setting; between Bruges and Brainerd, the characters of their films find themselves somewhat incompatible with the places in which they are surrounded. Gaear and Carl, just like Ray and Ken, are far too abrasive for communities that will welcome him with open arms, if not necessarily their own wallet. Jerry’s hypocritical façade of Midwestern Nice clashes with his rampant fraud and compulsive lying, and the idyllic small town of Bruges offers little to the brash, impatient Colin Farrell. Ray and Harry, meanwhile, are uniquely ill-equipped to survive in Bruges, both in terms of firepower and personality.
Conclusion
Fargo and In Bruges, in depicting the mundane and silly in the world of organized crime and murder in small towns, provide perfect formulas for the film genre of dark comedy. Fargo’s mixture of Midwestern sweetness with devastating horror and abject violence helps to create a juxtaposition between good and evil that makes these hapless criminals’ mistakes all the more entertaining. Meanwhile, the tough, aggressive British sensibility of In Bruges reveals the surprisingly soft side to what are typically coded as tough modern hitmen in the Guy Ritchie mold, with Ray’s character becoming an existential mouthpiece for a criminal with a crisis of faith. Both of these films dabble in the absurd and the unlikely, relying on incredible coincidence and, seemingly, the intervention of fate, to highlight the craziness of what is really happening in real life.
Works Cited
Coen, Joel (dir.). Fargo. Perf. Frances McDormand, William H. Macy, Steve Buscemi. 1996.
McDonagh, Martin (dir.). In Bruges. Perf. Colin Farrell, Brendan Gleeson, Ralph Fiennes.
2008.
