Three Billboards Vs Fargo – Iambic Pentameter On Black Comedy

(Coenesque Vs Coen)

Two words: Frances McDormand

Oh, you betcha, both movies are awesome indeed, but just imagine their basic point dodging with no Mrs. Frances, who happens to be the best character actress out in the land of pred… out in Hollywood;

What we’re trying to say is, when it comes to casting in these two, just pick one of the following tenacious trios:

a) Frances McDormand, Sam Rockwell, and Woody Harrelson;

b) Frances McDormand, Steve Buscemi, and William H. Macy;

And you shall acquire the knowledge of the why.

1. “Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri“: A Cute Storytelling Trope –

The story being: A mother demanding belated justice.

A still frame from the film “Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri” by Martin McDonagh

In Search of a John Wayne reference? (pun intended)

Aren’t you in luck, there happens to be one in “Léon: The Professional”.

But when it comes to the movie you’ve clicked to read about, Frances McDormand drew the inspiration for her character from none other than John Wayne himself, and that goes for his posture as much as does for his famous hips-don’t-lie sorta walk.

We might even push our luck some further and try to sound deep and well-read by calling this role of hers a “contemporary Hamlet”, one who dares to provoke town authorities by making a (billboard) scene (much like Prince Hamlet who, at one point, asks a group of actors to “make a scene” and thus provoke the King’s reaction).

Which brings us to point two: her bitterness hand-in-hand with her cynicism; her impulsivity on top of her depression; her bluntness door-to-door with her rebellion – are all genuine traits of every director’s literary man crush, Prince Hamlet.

And point three: Martin McDonagh, a.k.a., he who wrote and directed this movie, started out as a playwright.

Alas, is anything rotten in the state of Missouri, or is it all just mere fate?

Let us know in the comments below.

2. “Fargo”: A Cute Storytelling Trope –

The story being: Quirkier-than-life police investigation.

A still frame from the film “Fargo” by the Coen brothers

When it comes to its strong lead, the layered, well-developed, and multi-dimensional – the one and unstoppable His Dudeness

Wait, what the… Turn off that mic, for God’s… Where’s that script?!



Ok, here we go from the start – three, two –

So, this one is where all they do is eat, talk about eating, and reply back with:
“yah”, “you betcha”, and “aw, geez”.

But, strangely enough, there is a story to it.

Here’s what’s interesting – there’s something called the “Minnesota Nice” – a phenomenon bearing found in locals.
It appears to be manifested in language by the use of a funny tune and agreeable nodding.

Ultimately, true Minnesota spirit is all about agreeableness, well-being, and harmonious living alongside fella humans.

This frame of mind has been in “Fargo” exaggerated for effect, placing“Minnesota Nice”  right next door to living hell of crime and bloodshed. And, frankly enough, what “Fargo” proudly shares with “The Chronicles of Narnia” is its dead-reliable factuality of events taking place. It even says so in the opening credits.

3. But, where do “Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri” and “Fargo” actually meet?

No, it’s not the funny dialect of small-town America.

It’s not even the risk-taking and strange formula of indie cinema.

Nor is it that both movies could just as well and for the sake of it be animated.

There’s no escaping the fact that each set of directors takes a different train of thoughts:

The Coen brothers are the little weirdos in the corner of the magical fairytale Hollywood land playground, and Martin McDonagh is theater’s “enfant terrible.”

You think that train eventually arrives at a one-station universe?

It seems to us that who is crucial here is Frances McDormand alone, given she so obviously plays her same old one character both times, to only be facing your polar everyday contexts.
In the first she hates police, in the second she is police; in the first, her life is falling apart, in the second it is blooming; in the first, she has lost a child, and in the second she is about to give birth to one, and so on and so forth.

Having that in mind and not giving up on our intention to exploit Shakespeare in order to come out as we have a point, we have come to the conclusion that the “Three Billboards” and “Fargo” movies represent your household black-comedy equivalent to Shakesperian tragedy and comedy, respectively. If you ask us, that is. Shakespearian tragedy because of her flaw that leads to her downfall, foul revenge, and issues of (mis)fortune. Shakespearian comedy as a profound drama full of irony and whimsical wordplay.

4. After having completed your Saturday cinema treat, decide if you can who you’d rather identify as:

a) the cinephile who goes on to rent three billboards that spell out:

“Watching While Artistic” “And Still No Nudity?” “How Come, Chief Goode Cinema? ”

Yet another still frame from the film “Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri” by Martin McDonagh

b) the cinephile who packs their bags the minute they hear of a certain spatula hunt – and don’t go all what spatula on us, yah, you’ll know what spatula when you see the movie;

FYI – these movies really inspired people doing this stuff.

5. But what if you only get to pick one of these two?

Fargo. Pick “Fargo”.

Johnny Boogieman

About Johnny Boogieman (né Johnathan Boogiemanovich Goode) is an American comedy reviewer and a self-proclaimed cinema connoisseur, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. … Johnny grew up on a farm in Louisiana, as the only child of a Louisiana-based field worker, dressmaker, dog hairstylist, dog collar jewelry designer, dog walker for the elderly (dogs and owners), disabled and elderly dog walking aids creator-in-attempt, and homemaker, Dutch single mother. As large a clientele as dogs were for the barely-gasping-for-air family business, they were the proud owners of a single tabby cat alone, a streetwise and self-dependent hunter known by either of the street names Stringer Bell and El Capo (sometimes referred to as El Cato). … Having been amazed by the crazy wild early readings of Jules Verne, Johnny’s school days were spent dreaming he’d someday make for a good storyteller. Hence, as early as fourth grade, eager to prove himself to the world, he went for it and constructed a well-balanced heartbeat-skipping thrilling essay, pointing out to some well-reasoned critique of society and solid character arcs, committing to his talents to the fullest and diving right into that pool of majestic phrasing and complexity of thought, confident he’d soon get bejeweled with a spotless A and a pretty clap by the teacher, with gradually having the whole class join in looking up to him as he emerges from his seat to receive his essay evaluation. When results day came, though, little Johnny not only got a D, but he was mocked by the teacher and class for the gullible overexposure of his fragile overambitious mutating childish writing skills of questionable taste and poor poor quality. It was the “you’re tearing me apart, Lisa” equivalent of a child’s essay. He was rather massacred. He never got that brave ever again. … Anyway, Johnny mainly spent his summers field-working on a sunflower field with his uncle Berry under the widespread wings of the storks and the chesty white doves and clever black crows who all flew right under the neighbor’s umbrella caps patio ceiling installation thingy as soon as the first raindrop was godshed over the one-eyed monsters battalion that the sunflower sea was to Johnny. It drove the unwilling bird host nuts, and he’d storm right out yelling and cursing at the birds, “we’re going, we’re going” they went, and flew a semi-circle over the umbrella caps as to fool him and came right back the other way around pretending to be some fresh arrivals of clueless law-abiding American birds not yet acquainted with the police system of the patio. The guy wouldn’t take it out as it took ages to plant and he and his wife thought it made them look like fancy DIY people who had some ideas worthy of admiration. Oh, the bird manure, though, oh the bird manure. “Work your time, boy” – staring Johnny’s uncle frowned, his eye twinkled. … Cinema was to Johnny what he made plans for, what he made time for, what he looked up to all his life, and as he became a young adult, what he fancied himself to have a special talent to understand. It was the sort of a sixth sense, an intuition, a gut sense. He was the squad movie buff and a film whisperer. “No”, it whispered, “Fight Club ain’t no bueno. Mark my words and don’t ask why ‘cos you ain’t schooled enough to know why, boy.” He tried, though, he debated and disputed over a glass of scotch-on-the-rocks and under the jibe of a saxophone jazz, but it was as fruitless and dull as the poetry he wrote - unclean, uneven, and too abstract - as if he hadn’t found a voice to speak in yet. He did his part for years to come, reading as all writers ought to, writing and not publishing until he found out what he had to say with the peculiar piece of work. As for cinema, it happened one evening as he discussed legs-up-a-recliner their plans for the future with his lover-cum-best friend in their rented one-bedroom living space in New Jersey, that his lover casually contributed: “And then I thought we could start a film blog and you could do the content writing” – words that sunflower field Johnny with his gangster cat and his dewy eyes staring at the rainy-day con birds thought he’d never hear.

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