Season 4 of Fargo was undeniably a misstep from its predecessors. I enjoyed it more than most, but if you were to ask me to pick a least favorite season, I wouldn't hesitate to say 4. As an anthology, I obviously welcome this show to experiment with its tone and format, but it seems Season 4's only major goal other than some fairly basic commentary on racism in America was to develop the lore of the Fargo universe, which honestly, I don't think anyone cares about that heavily. On every other front, it was unrecognizable. Season 5 is quite the opposite. There are zero direct narrative ties to any prior season of Fargo, no past season's events referenced or foreshadowed. It's telling its own story, but you won't mistake it as anything other than a season of Fargo.

Fargo Season 5 follows Dorothy "Dot" Lyon, played by Juno Temple trying her absolute hardest to remind you that she's capable of better things than Ted Lasso, as a suburban mom hiding from her mysterious past by living an ordinary life in Minnesota with her car salesman husband. One day she is suddenly kidnapped, leading some of the people close to her to suspect that this "kidnapping" might have been a plot to extort money from her rich mother-in-law. Seem familiar? They've switched around some details and genders, but it's pretty clear they're trying to invoke similar circumstances to the Fargo movie as a starting point. But I think something's being said within that, especially in regard to the differences.

Dot is an enigma to the audience at first. This suspected kidnapping plot is something that only comes up after the fact, because we aren't told anything at first. Dot worries something bad is going to happen after a minor arrest puts her fingerprints in the police system, but otherwise, we're given no context for why she's being kidnapped. Or for the surprisingly capable skills she shows in fending off her attackers, as though she's had to defend herself countless times before. Here is a woman who's genuinely had something to fear. But when she escapes her attackers and comes home, pretending nothing's wrong, she's met with skepticism from her mother-in-law, that she staged the whole thing, rather than even considering the idea that she might be trying to avoid her own traumatic experience and needs help.

Because the actual answer to much of the early "mystery" surrounding Dot is practically staring you in the face. In fact, there's no proper reveal, at a certain point you're expected to already know. Early on, we're shown a bizarre scene cutting between her and Jon Hamm's character, Roy Tillman without much context. In Episode 2, he has one of the most on-the-nose introductions of all time. He starts out on a speech about how he's the sheriff, the one God chose to protect the "natural order" and by the time you finish rolling your eyes he'll have completely devolved into "And that's why it's okay to hit your wife BUT ONLY SOMETIMES and only if you feel really bad about it afterwards." 

Fargo tackling themes of domestic violence is certainly ambitious, and I'm far from the best person to make the judgment call on how well it handled these things, especially when scenes like this (and the "Toxic" needle drop later in the season) lean so heavily into Fargo's usual absurdity in ways you wouldn't get with the same kind of storyline in other shows. But my point in talking about this unsubtle introduction is that the show is hoping you just won't spend any more time guessing any deeper truth to Dot. Clearly, she escaped this man. She's a survivor.

So why, then, is there even any conflict? Why does it take 10 episodes to put this man away? Well, beyond the obvious reasons of how hard it is to hold any abuser accountable in our society, he's also the sheriff. In fact, Tillman is basically the MAGA ideal of a cop, using his power to protect his own conservative values, his version of America, and bullying everyone who doesn't fit that view. He's even using North Dakota tax dollars to fund what might as well be a Proud Boys militia. And in case it still wasn't obvious what type of guy he is, there's even a scene of him watching the news and calling Trump's impeachment a witch hunt.

And yet, we can't pretend he's some figure who emerged out of the ether. Not only because he has the support of a public that also shares these values, but also because law enforcement has historically never exactly been discouraged from this behavior. That's why it's so much of a struggle in this story for our few "good cops" (a concept I'm not here to defend as a real life phenomenon, but it is who we're dealing with in the fiction here) to convince their superiors and even the FBI that Tillman is even doing anything wrong. At least not anything they can hold him accountable for. He is the law working as intended, it's just that the law does not actually serve the people.

So, both on a personal and societal level, Tillman has a free pass when it comes to violence. It's how he's gotten away with his abuse towards Dorothy and his other wives. He's difficult to challenge, both physically but also in terms of accountability. Not helped by the fact that our society isn't always willing to hear out the stories of these victims. Tillman having even the mildest amount of plausible deniability when it comes to his blatant abuse basically lets him get away with what he does scot-free. Which allows even someone like Lorraine, Dot's mother-in-law, who shares some of Tillman's more conservative values, to look at Dorothy with skepticism. One of the most satisfying scenes in the season is when one of our cop characters, Indira Olmstead, basically lays out that Dot's whole story has been staring Lorraine and everyone in the face all along, and that rather than doubting or undermining her, they need to help her. Especially when it actually seems to work.

So, in a way, that's what this season becomes. The small group of people who actually see Tillman for the monster he is banding together to find a way to expose him and take him down. Jon Hamm does everything in his power to make this character as detestable as possible, so even on that front, this basic story is satisfying. But on its own, it would be kind of empty. Not necessarily in a bad way, but killing or arresting him and then just having Dot go home to her family wouldn't really "say" much beyond the obvious of how awful Tillman is, a thing we are made well aware of from early on. Until they throw in one more interesting thing at the end.

This season opens with a definition of "Minnesota Nice", essentially describing it as an aggressive politeness and optimistic demeanor that is seemingly unbreakable. It is obviously saying this to describe Dot, who is almost unrealistically unfazed by any of the horrific circumstances she finds herself in during the first episode. But we know she wasn't always this way. In an early scene when Lorraine confronts Dot, doubting her story that her kidnapping was nothing more than a "bad day", Dot drops her Minnesota accent and her entire demeanor, even going as far as to threaten Lorraine just to protect the life she's built for herself. But does this scene reveal who Dot really is? Is Dot's "Minnesota nice" all just an act she puts on to hide her past? I don't think it's that simple.

This show has, for reasons I'm still not entirely clear on, flirted with the supernatural on more than one occasion. There's usually some way you can connect it to the wider themes of the season, but with Season 5's Ole Munch, I really struggled up until the very end. Ole Munch is an enigmatic mercenary who is, apparently, 500 years old. What were they trying to say? I couldn't puzzle it together until the end of the season, where after 1 year time jump from Tillman's arrest, Ole Munch arrives at Dot's home to confront her, and Dot instead invites him to help make dinner.

Munch, as he did many times earlier in the season, waffles on and on about the past, the pain and suffering he's endured, and his unfavorable view of the human condition. And yet here Dot is, seemingly understanding every word, and yet rather than really confronting what he said, basically just asks him to help her make biscuits. This isn't her ignoring him, though. She's communicating something, in her own way. Forgiveness. Dot was never this violent person, she never saw the world the way Munch did. She was forced into violence by circumstance, but this ordinary life she's built with her husband and her daughter is what she actually wants for herself. It's the thing that makes her, personally, happy.

Munch was forced into this life 500 years ago. A poor child cursed with immortality, departing for America, this seeming land of opportunity, only to find no opportunities for anything but violence. Because men like Tillman have always existed to some extent. Violence has always been a tool of the powerful. Munch became a willing arm of more powerful men. This jaded him, corrupted his view of the world, but it's the life he chose to live no matter how much he hated it. And here Dot is, after all this time, showing him that there is still kindness in the world. That better things are possible. Through the simple act of letting him eat a homemade biscuit. "Minnesota Nice" is who Dot really is, or at least who she wants to be.

Maybe it's just the fact that the the iconic main theme is used over this very ending, but I cannot help but be reminded of the Fargo movie's ending when I watch this. How it's not just some happy ending where all is well (although it is that) but that there's this genuine feeling that, despite all the horrific violence and cruelty we've witnessed, the world will not stay awful. That there is a possibility to heal. Marge Gunderson's child is still on the way. Munch has finally found purpose in life. It's as "Fargo" as you can get.

Favorite episode: Linda

Season 1