Minari Review

Minari is a story about as old as America itself; a down on its luck family migrates to a new, bountifully empty landscape to make a living for themselves off of the land. The only difference on the surface between this and all the other American Dream tales is the color of its protagonists’ skin. The family in question is a family of immigrants, come from Korea to save themselves in America only to find that life in the urban landscapes of the United States aren’t quite what they expected them to be. Now, they turn their sights on rural Arkansas, and a small farm home where they hope to take new root.

The title Minari comes from a Korean plant that is known for its versatility. According to the grandmother of the Yi family, it can grow anywhere and be put into anything. She plants a patch of minari by a nearby stream, and throughout the film tends to it, but it fares equally well on its own. It’s hard not to see the symbolism here; a family is a family, and can survive and even thrive everywhere as long as they are together. Perhaps some of them have lost sight of that.

A word that basically every positive review of this film has used is “tender.” Tender is becoming sort of a buzzword when it comes to low-key family dramas like this one, but I really can’t find anything that better describes this. It’s as soft and gentle as the river burbling through the brook, as sturdy and supporting as the earth that grows their crops, and as warm and lively as the sun that shines down upon their fields. The family goes through bad times and good, and we see them at their best and worst, but always we are there for them, even if they sometimes have to learn how to be there for each other.

For a film this quaint and subtle, there’s a lot going on thematically. At its roots, however, it’s a story about the American dream and how it applies to immigrants. Do they leave behind everything about their home, start anew and risk it all to assimilate and succeed on America’s terms? Or do they find strength and comfort in the familial and cultural bonds that tie them together, and find peace and happiness therein? Jacob and Monica, the husband and wife played by Steven Yeun and Han Ye-ri exemplify this divide. Jacob has dropped much of their money and uprooted everything to find success as a farmer, whereas Monica misses the life they left behind in the city, and resents the stability her husband has given up. The emotional core of the film for me, however, was the relationship between their youngest son David (played by Alan Kim) and Monica’s mother Soon-ja (the aforementioned grandmother, played by Youn yuh-jung). Soon-ja is a far cry from the archetypal American grandmother, but in her own way she is wise and nurturing, and David, born and raised in America, mistrusts her for a while, but soon they develop a bond that is, simply put, precious.

Director Lee Isaac Chung reportedly based this film to some extent off of his own childhood, and it definitely shows. There’s something so searingly intimate and personal about Minari that despite any fault you may be able to find in it if you looked hard, it lodges in your mind and stays there. Clearly, I’m not the only one who feels this way, considering it not only won top honors at Sundance last year but it also just received a Best Picture nomination from the Academy.

Personally, I’m not sure how much Minari impacted me on a personal level – being a white girl from New England it’s no wonder why. If I were to sort through to most acclaimed films of the past year to pick out my favorites, I don’t think I’d include this on the list. But I still find Minari to be a profound and beautiful work. Just because it doesn’t speak to me that much doesn’t mean it won’t speak to anybody, and I can think of plenty of people out there for whom this is going to be essential viewing. Minari is a beautiful film, and I’m glad that it exists.