Minari, directed by Lee Isaac Chung, is a stubborn film, one that refuses to be what we expect it to be. What could be a more reliable mark of authentic artistry? Insistently small in scope, opaque in narrative trajectory, and complex in its treatment of characters who surprise (and disappoint) to the very end, Minari is a truth teller’s rendition of the immigrant tale, a quirky family saga that makes a worthy bid for inclusion in our canon of cinematic Americana.
In the film’s opening sequence, the Yi family arrives at their new home, an unremarkable trailer that feels poorly captured by the frame, as if Chung is intentionally depriving us of the full picture. This serves to introduce us to his directorial strategy: we will experience this story, like the children of the Yi family, without the full picture, wondering about things unseen and unsaid.
How big is the farm, really, and where is it located? How is it doing financially? Do Jacob (Stephen Yeun) and Monica (Han Ye-ri) still love each other? Is Grandma Soon-ja (Youn Yuh-jung) up to something? Why does Jacob want this so badly? Bits and pieces filter down to us, through the walls, from around corners.
By extension, we learn about the characters progressively throughout the film, such that their actions even late in the story reveal major new facets of their personalities. When little David (Alan Kim) tricks Soon-ja into sipping pee, for example, she chases after him, enraged, and he flees accordingly. But when Stephen and Monica lay out his punishment—Chung isn’t afraid to show what discipline in this family inevitably looks like—Soon-ja backtracks and hilariously recants her complaint: “It was fun!”
We thus learn of her soft side just as David does, allowing us to experience his relief in real time. Jacob’s character, too, is constantly in flux: he initially seems the easygoing, down to earth dad, juxtaposed with his frustrated wife—but after an eccentric war vet visits for dinner, we realize that Jacob may in fact be the more prideful and inflexible of the pair. We, like children, must rely on these rare cracks in the facades to help us mold our impressions of the adults.
Chung knows to mostly avoid easy comic scenes in which his immigrant characters interact awkwardly with the community. These “fish out of water” scenarios, in my opinion, are a frequent misstep of immigrant movies, since they create the impression that the family is basically united, an alliance of common purpose facing an uncomprehending world. Whereas in reality, as Chung shows us, the important conflicts for an immigrant family—as with any family—are all within the family itself.
Minari doesn’t conclude with the family “making it;” if anything, the opposite occurs. And questions linger about family tensions that aren’t quite resolved. But Chung pushes us to identify a different type of happy ending, and sure enough, it’s there. His initial aim was to adapt Willa Cather’s great American novel, My Antonia, and this personal film indeed showcases him as an up-and-coming disciple of Cather’s: a fellow celebrant of self sufficiency, pioneering spirit, and the endless mysteries of the people we love.
-Jim Andersen
For more reviews, see my negative review of Nomadland.