Minari – first look review | Little White Lies

Festivals

Minari – first look review

27 Jan 2020

Words by Hannah Strong

Four people in a grassy field, with a swing and trees in the background.
Four people in a grassy field, with a swing and trees in the background.
Lee Isaac Chung’s beau­ti­ful­ly observed dra­ma fol­lows a South Kore­an fam­i­ly who relo­cate to rur­al Arkansas.

The title of Lee Isaac Chung’s fourth fea­ture refers to Oenan­the javan­i­ca, or Java water­drop­wort, a type of herb pop­u­lar through­out Asia. Minari’ is the name giv­en to the plant in South Korea, and in Chung’s poignant dra­ma it pro­vides a bond­ing oppor­tu­ni­ty for a young boy and the grand­moth­er he’s strug­gling to con­nect with.

Sev­en-year-old David (Alan Kim) has recent­ly relo­cat­ed with his fam­i­ly from Cal­i­for­nia to rur­al Arkansas, where his father Jacob (Stephen Yeun) plans on start­ing a farm spe­cial­is­ing in Kore­an veg­eta­bles – much to the dis­may of wife Mon­i­ca (Yeri Han), who resents liv­ing in a mobile home and wor­ries about their finan­cial secu­ri­ty. Their sit­u­a­tion becomes more com­plex when Monica’s elder­ly moth­er Soon­ja (Yuh-Jung Youn) joins them from South Korea, not least because David has nev­er met her, and instant­ly strug­gles to under­stand their cul­tur­al differences.

The film is in part based on Chung’s own child­hood, and the direc­tor invites view­ers into that most inti­mate of spaces – the fam­i­ly home – to wit­ness the com­e­dy and tragedy that plays out with­in the appar­ent safe­ty of four walls. David, who is fre­quent­ly chas­tised by his par­ents for overex­ert­ing him­self due to their con­cerns over his heart mur­mur, is bored and aim­less until his grand­moth­er arrives, and although he rejects her at first and goes out of his way to cause mis­chief, Soon­ja finds her grandson’s schemes amus­ing rather than vexing.

The con­ver­gence and clash between Amer­i­can and Kore­an cul­tures is beau­ti­ful­ly observed. When Soon­ja reveals she has brought her favourite gro­ceries with her, Mon­i­ca bursts into tears, over­whelmed by mem­o­ries of a life left behind, while a neigh­bour express­es an inter­est in the Kore­an pro­duce after reveal­ing he spent time there dur­ing the Kore­an War. Mean­while, Jacob is adamant on man­i­fest­ing des­tiny and carv­ing out his own patch in the land of the free, though his dogged pur­suit of this – even if his inten­tions are pure – threat­ens to tear the fam­i­ly apart.

Although the entire cast is superb, Kim is the stand-out per­former, demon­strat­ing matu­ri­ty beyond his years while main­tain­ing the sense of mis­chief which is so cru­cial to David’s char­ac­ter. His scenes with Jung Youn are key to the film’s suc­cess, and she deliv­ers a sim­i­lar­ly charm­ing turn as Soon­ja, who her­self under­goes a spir­i­tu­al trans­for­ma­tion over the course of the film.

Through his grandmother’s encour­age­ment, David soon begins to blos­som, as Soonja’s unique per­spec­tive allows her to see what his par­ents do not. At the same time, Jacob and Monica’s rela­tion­ship is afford­ed equal nar­ra­tive weight, as Chang reck­ons with the chal­lenges and pres­sures that come with being a first-gen­er­a­tion immi­grant, from form­ing friend­ships to decid­ing where to go to church.

So much ground is cov­ered in such rich detail – from the lush greens of the rur­al set­ting to the soft­ness of Emile Mosseri’s melan­choly score – that Minari can feel a lit­tle over­whelm­ing, but in the best pos­si­ble way. It’s an affec­tion­ate, some­times heart­break­ing work about the mag­ic of fam­i­ly, and how all the quirks our loved ones poss­es, even if they may frus­trate us at times, shouldn’t be forgotten.

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