Take Fargo, remove its humor, warmth and charm, and you have this film: a bummer of a tale about despicable people who attempt a crime, fail miserably, and destroy themselves in the process. It has no discernible point, except that crime doesn't pay if you're stupid. The director tries to make the story watchable by scrambling its chronology, but this is merely a gimmick. His efforts to deepen the material by adding a father-son conflict are equally unavailing. Philip Seymour Hoffman, physically gross as ever, relies a bit too much upon chuckling bonhomie; Marisa Tomei plays his upper-middle-class wife like a gangster's moll; and Ethan Hawke's acting is as shallow as his character. No one is likable, and it's impossible to care about their self-immolation. A depressing movie about scumbags who get what they deserve and deserve what they get.
