“Minari” Honors the Quiet Beauty of Immigrant Resilience
Through grounded performances and careful construction, Lee Isaac Chung crafts a universally resonant tale of Asian American identity.
By Zoe Judilla
In Lee Isaac Chung’s “Minari,” The American Dream is fragmented into mundane vignettes: the pattering of children’s cowboy boots on grassy plains, farm vegetables carefully arranged in crates, shared prayers in tiny bedrooms. Rarely are tales so entrenched in Midwestern imagery occupied by nonwhite bodies.
But instead of glorifying the struggles of Asian immigrants existing in predominantly white spaces, Chung celebrates the complex humanity of it all — the beauty of rooting oneself in a new place and growing despite the sodden circumstances.
So goes the story of the Yis, a Korean American family who move to rural Arkansas in the ’80s, searching for a new life. After a decade spent working at a chicken hatchery in California, ambitious patriarch Jacob (Steven Yeun) is adamant about carry out his lifelong dream of starting his own farm, at the behest of his cautious wife Monica (Yeri Han).
With a dingy new home on wheels and the nearest hospital hours away, Monica has cause for concern — after all, their youngest son, precocious six-year-old David (newcomer Alan Kim), is inflicted with an unpredictable heart murmur. Nevertheless, Jacob puts all of his effort into his self-proclaimed “Garden of Eden,” later giving a reason that resonates with many first-generation parents: “They need to see me succeed at something for once.”
Chung penned and directed the Sundance Grand Jury and Audience Award winner as a semi-autobiographical ode to his parents’ own immigrant story, which explains its seamless blend of vivid memory with rugged fiction. As Chung himself became a father, he began piecing together remnants of the early years with his family. Much of the film is told through the eyes of David, reflecting Chung’s personal experience growing up in Arkansas.
For young David, the most formative aspect of the move comes not from his unfamiliar surroundings, but with the arrival of his firecracker grandmother Soonja (Korean movie veteran Yuh-Jung Youn).
When Jacob agrees to have Monica’s widowed mother stay as a caretaker for the children, David unwittingly forms a bond with the woman whom he complains “smells like Korea” and “isn’t like a real grandma” — according to David, real grandmas “bake cookies, don’t swear and don’t wear men’s underwear.” Soonja and David’s eclectic bond brings a necessary levity to the family ensemble, while also illustrating the subtle generational differences between Korean and American identity.
“Minari” shines in the liminal spaces: Monica’s tears over Soonja bringing home gochugaru (Korean chili flakes), offbeat Pentecostal neighbor Paul (Will Patton) carrying his cross around town, David and Soonja tightly clinging to each other in the dark. Against the backdrop of Emile Mosseri’s soaring score and Lachlan Milne’s intimately observant cinematography, the film seems to radiate from its simplicity.
While it rides at a significantly slower pace, it’s reflective of both the unhurried nature of the farmland and first-generation immigrants’ need for life to slow down — after all, the comprehension of dual languages, cultures and worlds at all times is its own daunting task.
Made by a predominantly Asian American cast and crew, “Minari” is a richly textured experience that celebrates our shared humanity. The film’s title stems from a Korean herb that has the ability to grow anywhere, dies in its first year, then thrives in its second, and in doing so, purifies the water and soil around it. Much like the immigrant experience, there’s an undeniable beauty in blooming despite it all.
Rating: 4.5 out of 5 stars
“Minari” is now available to stream on demand, in limited theaters and through the virtual A24 Screening Room.
Note: The writer of this article is currently an intern at A24, the studio that distributed the film.
