47. An Open Letter to the Coen Brothers RE: Their Use of the “Minnesota” Accent in their Latest TV Series

Editor’s Note: When the production facilities of Duane’s pretty good Smokehouse Salsa are closed down during the early winter months, the owner preoccupies himself with two activities: He likes to work on a novel that is essentially his vehicle for trashing all things Canada (we still don’t understand his hostility toward the good folks to the north). And he likes to write to celebrities (probably thinking his notes will elevate him from anonymity to some sort of notoriety, attaching himself to their coattails—which has yet to happen and never will in our estimation). 

Below is his latest letter . . .

Dear Coen Brothers:

First a confession: I have always enjoyed the quirky characters and graphic violence of your movies and more recently your TV series. No Country for Old Men and Fargo are already considered classics in my book.

Now for the point of my letter: I scheduled my life around a singular goal of catching every episode of your most recent iteration of the Fargo series. I must say, it was quite good. Kirsten Dunst was fun (and for being a doofus, she was pretty good at cutting down homicidal sociopaths). For my money, the overall violence lived up to expectations. I especially enjoyed the scene in which a local low-life was buried alive by a dump truck load of lava-like asphalt.  Good stuff.

If I do have one small quibble, it concerns the Minnesota accent used by many of the characters—except for Ted Danson. Ted Danson always sounds like Ted Danson, even when he played an earlier cop in the movie The Onion Field, where he did not fare so well. (It was nice of you to let him survive the series, albeit with a knock to the head and a bullet to the gut.) But I digress.

My point is that not all Minnesotans have the kind of accent spoken on your series. Some do. I’ll grant you that. But here’s a little secret: Most Minnesotans sound a whole lot worse. So in the interest of moving beyond criticism toward constructive advice, here’s what I’d suggest: To be authentic, your characters could on occasion allow stomach eruptions to punctuate their exclamations; they could spit often from exuberance, grunt in disagreement, use double-negatives and plenty of other bad grammar; the older characters could inject routine malapropisms, and whip their John Deere caps into the mud, as if to say, this conversation is over you god-damned egg-headed little punk pea brain. (Note the mixed metaphors and lack of commas--classic Minnesotan.) You might also offer a few of the more rural characters opportunities to free their rabid German Shepherds on anyone who disagrees with their point of view. 

Finally, and this last point might earn me a few more enemies, but here goes: Allow your characters the freedom of stringing together obscenity/profanity/vulgarity-laced tirades. Remember that under their Minnesota Nice lies a cauldron of untapped resentments and frustrations. It’s true. (Just give them a twelve-pack of Coors or a fifth of Windsor Canadian, and five minutes later, you'll see what I mean. It isn't pretty. (It's no coincidence that a Canadian product can bring out the worst in Minnesotans.)) That Minnesotans can swear a blue streak is seldom reported in the local media, preserving their own reputations and the mythology of Minnesota Nice.

Now that I’ve gotten that bit of unpleasantness out of the way, may I also comment on the alien craft floating over the motel parking lot during a bullet-laced blood bath. What was up with that? All I could think of was that the writer had taken some sort of special medication before writing that scene, or that the space craft was supposed to be some sort of metaphor—a deus ex machina. I’m still confused. At any rate, I digress.

Looking forward to your next series,

Duane Hawkinson,
Owner of Duane’s pretty good Smokehouse Salsa

PS—This has nothing to do with your series, but I’d like to put it in the record: Minnesotans sound like Minnesotans no matter where they relocate and no matter how long they remain relocated. It’s just one of those things. In a way, it’s like an ant’s scent, a way to track fellow-Minnesotans down in foreign lands. I guess you could say that you can take Minnesotans out of Minnesota (please!), but you can’t take the Minnesota out of Minnesotans. It’s a little like toe fungus, I’m afraid.

Editor’s Follow-up: This letter in no way is an admission that Duane Hawkinson, owner of Duane’s pretty good Smokehouse Salsa, is a Minnesotan. This much can be admitted: He does tend to identify with oppressed groups, such as those Germanic/Scandinavian hybrids that are largely responsible for the Minnesota dialect/accent/idiosyncratic use of the English language. For his protection, no details may be disclosed concerning his whereabouts, except that his production facilities are located in a state adjacent to the Canadian border—probably somewhere between Washington and Maine. More cannot be said since Hawkinson has a tremendous facility for acquiring new enemies. (He’s just that sort of person. What a jerk.)