Minari
Written by Andreas Babiolakis
We are playing catch up by reviewing films that are a part of the current awards season.
My review for Minari — the film I crowned the best film of 2020 (and still feel that way about) — is quite late. Part of this hesitation was due to me working on the Decades Project (where I rank the best one hundred film of every decade), and also trying to play catch-up by watching every potential awards season juggernaut that I missed doing the former lists. Part of me also just wanted to marinate on what I had just watched, because Lee Isaac Chung’s opus here is so striking in every single way. It’s not quite a film you rush to explain. You might be quick to recommend it, sure. Part of me just wanted it to become a part of me first. I feel like months later, I am at that point (by now, my excuse on waiting to review Minari was just plain forgetfulness, but here I am now).
It’s virtually impossible to watch Minari and not feel like a piece of you lies within this film. I’m a Johannesburg native that moved to Toronto when I was a child, and saw my parents facing the similar restart that the Yi family in Minari deal with. My grandparents would come visit us too, as well as relatives. Clearly, though, this was a brand new life that required some adjustments. That’s as far as the connections between me and Chung’s upbringing go, and I certainly can’t relate to English not being my primary language of use, or being a marginalized race or culture trying to get a fair shake in the United States. However, Minari isn’t really about those struggles at all, even tough Chung does address them here and there. The film is more concerned with the notion that societies across the world all have similar burdens spawned by the same desires and dreams, and it will be an uphill battle for everyone that isn’t fortunate. That is something I believe almost every single viewer can relate to, and this message transcends any barrier, turning Minari into a tale for all.
Even though Minari is personal to Lee Isaac Chung, its themes are relatable to almost any viewer.
Chung is discussing his own youth in this film, but his style is elevated above any strictly personal approach. If anything, I got the vibes of auteurs like Edward Yang or Terrence Malick here: the former’s ability to create a massive scope surrounding the gaze of a young child or teenager, and the latter’s knack for being able to encapsulate the chemistries of relationships of any kind (husband-wife, parent-child, elder-youth) in such a poetic way. It’s as if Chung illustrated Minari through depictions of his memories, not his understanding of his past as it stands today. The film almost feels hazy, like these are cloudy recollections that stick out via certain details: the blades of grass one walked through, the humming of an appliance in the room, or looks a father gave one when they were in trouble.
Piecing together these memories are the people who inhabit them, and the cast of Minari is so important to the film’s success. In fact, I feel almost glad that I waited this long to review the film, despite having seen it months ago. The reason why is that I can see that these characters resonated with everyone else as greatly as they did with me, even with stars Steven Yeun and Youn Yuh-jung getting Academy Award nominations for their work (gotta love history being made!). No one in Minari tries to steal the show or make the film their own; everyone knows this is meant to be a tabula rasa for every viewer to find themselves in. Each performer does enough to confirm their traits, so we know what kind of a father and mother Jacob and Monica are, or why a child may be bothered by a grandmother, and yet we know she is loving and kind and this child misunderstands her.
The roles of each family member are perfectly played by this well chosen cast.
These players all have their own goals, but it’s the generations that separate what these goals are. For the kids of the Yi family, they wish to experience life as it lays ahead before them, awaiting to be explored. The Yi parents have been there and done that. They just want to stay afloat, and hope that moving to Arkansas (from California, having originated from South Korea) will finally be the fresh start that will grant them the success they need to keep afloat without the sensation of drowning. We finally have the elders, represented by grandmother Soon-ja, who knows that there is so much more to life than all of this: as if the hopes of one cycle back to the start when they reach an old enough age, and have garnered enough wisdom to know more. Yet, despite this similarity, young David views his grandmother as an enemy (it all starts with them having to share a room when she visits).
We live vicariously through every family member, even though David is somewhat of the vantage point of Minari; the film isn’t held back and forced to be through his perspective, however. We’re aware of every family member’s thoughts and current states at all times. A great indication of this is how we are always fully aware of David’s heart condition, not just that he has something and needs to be careful, but that it’s something his parents are mindful of and know the full dangers of what can happen (and so are we, in a way that perhaps a child might not be fully aware of or told). We also aren’t forced to dislike Soon-ja. If anything, Minari allows David’s acts of rebellion to feel bad or dishonest, and we don’t have to root for him simply because he is the “protagonist” or anything. We can actually look at Minari any way we wish to, and that’s part of the joy of life, is it not? That freedom to assess our experiences in our own ways, without being forced into feeling certain ways. Minari wants you to feel something, but you determine what that is.
Minari places you in all of the family members’ different shoes, for a fuller statement on living.
The American Dream isn’t working out for anyone. Not for the Yi parents who want to be able to provide for their children effortlessly. Not for the Yi children that experience limitations of many sorts (societal, biological, financial, and more). Not for the older generations, who don’t want their kin or children to suffer the same ways they did. The truth is that the American Dream doesn’t work out for most people. Ever. We chase it, and find that we are often exactly where we started. We continue to chase it, because we feel like we have come closer, and yet that isn’t necessarily true. Movement doesn’t always mean we are going forward in the right direction. Unless you win and make it to the top, you haven’t won yet. I know this all too well. I’m sure most of you readers can relate, too. So can Lee Isaac Chung.
Minari is largely fluid and aesthetic, even with its narrative strengths, but it leaves its greatest plot-based punches for its ultimate crescendo. Otherwise, Minari is just the experience of life and its many challenges, blessings, and mysteries. You just get the feeling that we are only living a slice of what Chung is so eager to share and tell us, but what we have is enough. Sometimes, you don’t have to oversell a point in order for it to resonate with audiences, and Minari is so careful with how much it shares, allowing us to look around and inspect as much as we can. That’s part of the joy of watching Minari. It’s not just Chung’s life being retold, or our lives being symbolized. This is a collective life we share for two hours, and it’s not often that a film can achieve this kind of ability.
The climax of Minari is overwhelming, bringing the entire film to a massive, disastrously-stunning high.
The film is titled after the plants the Yi family grow and tend to, but I think there’s so much more to the title and metaphor than just the representation of growth. What is minari used for? The leaves are cut and used as garnishes and/or herbs, but the stems are eaten. The parts we try our best to flourish with don’t mix in, or aren’t appreciated. It’s the parts of us below — our cores that we don’t focus on, that life takes a hold of — that tell the biggest stories: enough to enrich those who devour them (figuratively, through the act of listening). Minari is about the desire to just achieve what everyone else has, but most of us are chasing the same goals without realizing that we’re not actually in this alone. All we can do is try our best. Sometimes, the end of the road (the leaves) isn’t what we had hoped for. It’s the road (the stem) that meant everything. Life isn’t about where we end up, but the voyage itself; even if it leads to nowhere. Lee Isaac Chung’s beautiful Minari is an early staple of the 2020’s that has already transcended above most other confinements; it will surely pass the test of time as well.
Andreas Babiolakis has a Masters degree in Film and Photography Preservation and Collections Management from Ryerson University, as well as a Bachelors degree in Cinema Studies from York University. His favourite times of year are the Criterion Collection flash sales and the annual Toronto International Film Festival.