Written and directed by Lee Isaac Chung
Starring: Steven Yeun, Han Yeri, Youn Yuh-Jung, Alan S. Kim, Noel Cho
Running time 1 hour 55 minutes
MPA rating: PG-13
In theaters and A24’s virtual screening room Feb. 12

by Jaime Davis, Staff Writer, The Fixer

I don’t believe there’s one right way to be American. There may be some folks out there who disagree with me, but I see America as a place where anyone can start over, try again, build something new, make a home. It’s where my Italian great-grandparents decided to raise their children and the country where my Polish relatives settled after converting away from Judaism as a result of growing anti-Semitism in Europe. And since there isn’t one way to be American, to me, it should be a safe place for becoming whoever it is you want to be.

It’s this sentiment that inspires Minari’s patriarch Jacob (Steven Yeun) as he moves his family from California to rural Arkansas in the early 1980’s in the hopes of starting fresh as a farmer, growing vegetables from his native Korea. The film opens on Jacob driving a moving truck to their new plot of land with his wife Monica (Han Yeri) following behind with their two children, their serious daughter Anne (Noel Cho) and precocious young son David (Alan S. Kim). Monica lacks her husband’s enthusiasm, and longs to live closer to civilization. With David’s concerning heart murmur, she worries they’re too far removed from a local hospital or Korean support system, and isn’t confident in Jacob’s ability to get a sustainable, profitable farm up and running.

Their new land comes complete with mobile home, a shock to Monica and a novelty for the kids, as they learn to live on wheels. As the family acclimates to the small community around them, David and Anne, who’ve spent all or most of their lives in the US, are able to navigate the move more easily than their parents, who still lack some of the language abilities their children possess. After a violent storm leaves the family shaken, Jacob and Monica agree to send for her mother back in Korea, and invite her to live with them. Once Soonja (Youn Yuh-Jung) arrives in Arkansas, much of the story’s momentum pulls forward.

Meeting his grandmother for the first time is an eye-opening experience for young David, who isn’t interested in her Korean ways that feel completely foreign to him. To David, this grandmother isn’t a “real” grandmother – she doesn’t bake cookies, she swears, she drinks a tea he doesn’t care for, and she grows an unknown plant, minari, in the forest behind their home. But for Monica, having her mother with her is extremely comforting – upon her arrival, Soonja gives Monica dried chili and sardines from home, prompting Monica to cry. Nothing can replace her home and the comforts it contains.

Have you ever felt so disconnected and far away from your home that you wanted to cry? I used to travel to China a few times a year for work, and even though these trips were relatively short (around two to three weeks per trip), I didn’t handle them very well. I was stared at, pointed at, sometimes approached curiously, mostly by young children. I embarrassingly fumbled with the language more times than I can count and felt out of place every second I was there. But luckily, I could get on a plane and go home. My experiences in China made me understand to an extremely small degree what immigrants might feel in their new countries–I can’t imagine going through it every day.

And yet, Jacob and his family endure so much of this on a daily basis–they’re singled out at their church and in their town, othered by “curious” white people who aren’t sure what to make of them at first. Throughout the film, it feels as if different characters represent some of the traditionally stereotyped American ideals–a bank manager issuing Jacob a loan signals rampant capitalism; the farm hand Jacob reluctantly hires, Paul (Will Patton), is extremely Christian, showcasing religious fanaticism. And while I’m painting the film as somewhat menacing or intense, it is at times, but the script is also amazingly touching, funny, beautiful, and sad. It is one of the most humanly human films I’ve seen in the past few years–it quite literally gives you all the feels.

Minari is an extremely personal movie for filmmaker Lee Isaac Chung, who moved to rural Arkansas from Colorado as a child in the 1980’s. The film mirrors his own family’s story on what it means to be American, to them. During a TIFF Q&A, Chung became emotional talking about his connection to the plot, describing how he believes he could have directed certain scenes differently or better if he wasn’t so attached to the story. I don’t know if I agree that he could make the film any stronger than it already is…like, really? Because to me, Minari is perfect.

I should mention, or should have mentioned earlier, that Minari was my favorite film last year, which explains why I haven’t really included any real critique in this here review. It’s lovingly shot by Lachlan Milne and edited with a pacing that is even and calm. There are some flat-out gorgeous moments in this that I don’t want to spoil by describing or giving away–the whole film really deserves to be experienced unexpectedly. And I absolutely love Emile Mosseri’s swelling, sweet score–this is some of the most beautiful composing since Mosseri’s other gorgeous work in The Last Black Man in San Francisco. Pay special attention to the final song playing over the end credits, sung by the film’s own Han Yeri.

Andddd that brings me to the acting–my absolute favorite part of the film. Everyone is amazing in this. Everyone! Steven Yeun and Youn Yuh-Jung are the pillars whose performances certainly stand out, but it’s the young Alan S. Kim who steals every scene, every moment he’s in. You will most likely fall in love with this kid, or at least be slightly charmed by him. Everyone involved in the film–the actors, Lee Isaac Chung, the crew, Mosseri–appear to have put their whole hearts into Minari’s creation, which is a true, classic example of A-game filmmaking.

I don’t believe there’s one right way to be American. Soonja’s way is to bring some of her home with her. She plants minari and slowly it grows, spreading across a creek bank like wildfire. This is the America I know and love. Where people from all over the world can come and grow and build something and watch their families thrive for decades to come.