Prior to Fargo, the Coen brothers were essentially fringe filmmakers. They cranked out movies like Barton Fink and Miller's Crossing, which received oodles of kudos from critics but didn't fare quite as well among the movie-going public. But with Fargo, the brothers crossed over into the mainstream - and with good reason, too. It remains their very best film, crammed with memorable characters and quotable dialogue. As the movie opens, Jerry Lundegaard (William H. Macy) is meeting with two thugs to discuss the kidnapping of his wife. Carl (Steve Buscemi) and Gaear (Peter Stormare) wonder why Jerry would want to have his own wife snatched, and learn that Jerry's plan involves forcing his rich father-in-law to pay the ransom - which, of course, he'll keep. But what Jerry doesn't count on is the bumbling nature of the two crooks (not to mention Gaear's vicious streak), which brings a local police officer named Marge Gunderson (Frances McDormand) into the mix. First and foremost, the most endearing aspect of Fargo is the characters. From Macy's Jerry to bit players like Lou, Marge's dim-witted partner, the Coens have done a superb job of peppering the story with a plethora of interesting personalities. Most films are hard-pressed to feature central characters that are as compelling as Norm (John Carroll Lynch), Marge's lovably devoted husband. In fact, the relationship between Marge and Norm - though it receives minimal screen time - is intriguing enough to warrant a film revolving entirely around their marriage. It's that attention to even the most peripheral characters that makes Fargo such a special film; that sense that you could essentially take any one of these people and create a film in which they're the focus. Of course, the Coens marvelous script would mean nothing without a talented group of actors. Leading the charge is McDormand's Marge, for which she won the Oscar. Seven months pregnant and still on the job, Marge is as determined as she is unflappable; presented with a belligerent suspect, she'll just keep pouring on the politeness. Even more impressive is the realization that McDormand's not relying on the Minnesota accent to define the character, which sure must have been a temptation. Similarly, it would be easy to dismiss Macy's performance as simplistic due to the heavy accent, but there's certainly a lot more going on than just that. It's clear almost immediately that Jerry's not exactly a bright guy, and Macy's not afraid to play up that aspect of the character. It's because of Macy's performance that we actually feel sorry for the guy, even though he's orchestrated the kidnapping of his own wife. Among the supporting cast, there's not a weak link in the bunch. Buscemi, not surprisingly, steals all his scenes as the talkative and slimy Carl - but Stormare is just as good as Carl's savage associate. For any other movie, the eclectic ensemble would be enough to cement its status as memorable, but the Coens take it another step further and include a storyline that's genuinely compelling. Right from the get-go, Fargo reels us in with its tale of this desperate loser and the genial cop on his trail. The snowy American midwest almost becomes a character in itself, as the Coens (along with cinematographer Roger Deakins) present us with this vast, white landscape that's more ominous than anything else. The film's also been peppered with instances of unflinching violence, which is something that's becoming more and more rare these days. The Coens aren't afraid to show us the ugly side of this story, and the short bursts of brutality provide a nice counterbalance to the more comedic elements in the film. It's highly unlikely the Coens will ever top Fargo, a movie that's virtually perfect. There's probably something here to appeal to everyone, from the performances to the off-kilter storyline, making the film a true classic.