Minari is wonderful, wonderful!

Minari – A Journey of Roots, Resilience, and Hope

Some of the fiercest fires in life are the ones that burn our dreams to the ground, leaving us broken and devastated. Yet, in the charred remnants, there lies the potential for rebirth — for bigger dreams, stronger resolve, and deeper connections. Minari, a poignant exploration of the immigrant experience, encapsulates this truth through the story of a Korean-American family navigating the struggles of pursuing the American Dream in the rural landscape of Arkansas. It's a film that masterfully blends pain and hope, showing that sometimes, our greatest challenges can lead to the most profound transformations.

At the heart of Minari is Jacob Yi, played with quiet determination by Steven Yeun, who sees the barren land in Arkansas as the key to his family’s future. He believes that the soil holds the promise of prosperity, a chance to carve out a new life and fulfill the American Dream. Jacob’s unwavering vision is one that demands everything from him — his energy, his time, and ultimately, his soul. He’s willing to sacrifice it all for the promise of a better tomorrow. For Jacob, the land is not just dirt, but fertile ground for his aspirations.

Contrasting Jacob’s idealism is Monica, his wife, portrayed with nuance and emotional depth by Yeri Han. Monica is afraid of this new chapter. She looks at their mobile home in the middle of nowhere, far from the comforts of city life — schools, hospitals, and even the sense of community — and sees a life of isolation and hardship. Where Jacob sees opportunity, Monica sees an unrelenting, uncertain future. Her fears are not just of the physical distance from civilization but also the emotional distance between herself and Jacob, who has become so consumed by his dream that he can no longer see the toll it is taking on her.

This emotional divide between Jacob and Monica serves as one of the central tensions of the film. It’s the embodiment of the immigrant experience: the struggle between holding onto one’s roots and embracing a new life that often feels both foreign and disconnected. Their children, David and Anne, are left to navigate the space between two worlds. They are neither fully American nor fully Korean, caught in a cultural limbo that many second-generation immigrants know all too well. As the family members struggle to reconcile their differing visions of the future, the film subtly suggests that these small moments of disconnect are part of the larger struggle of finding belonging in a world that often feels indifferent to those who are different.

However, the true turning point of Minari comes with the arrival of the grandmother, Soonja. She is not a conventional grandmother in the way David, the young son, expects. To him, she is more of a stranger than a familial figure, and initially, he is both confused and disturbed by her presence. But as the film progresses, we begin to see Soonja not as an outsider, but as a symbol of cultural continuity, a bridge between the old and the new. Just as Jacob sees the Arkansas land as something raw but full of potential, Monica’s initial discomfort with the land mirrors her growing relationship with Soonja. In both cases, what appears foreign and uncomfortable gradually becomes a source of deep-rooted strength and emotional nourishment.

The film’s use of Minari — the eponymous herb — as a metaphor is brilliant. Minari, a hardy plant known for its ability to thrive in the most difficult conditions, becomes a symbol of the Yi family’s journey. The grandmother plants it by the creek, hoping that the herb will take root in the American soil, just as the family hopes to take root in this new land. The resilience of the Minari plant, which grows even in harsh conditions, reflects the family’s ability to endure, adapt, and ultimately flourish despite the challenges they face. The plant, much like the family, begins to take root, finding its place in the unfamiliar terrain.

One of the most touching and symbolic moments in Minari occurs early in the film when Jacob, eager to create a sense of unity in their new home, asks the family to sleep together in the same room. His request is met with resistance from the family, who are not yet ready to fully embrace the closeness he desires. But by the end of the film, when they are finally seen sleeping together, it marks a quiet, yet profound, shift. This simple gesture — from resistance to acceptance, from isolation to unity — is central to the film's message about family and the emotional labor that goes into building a home. It’s these small, often unspoken moments that speak to the core of Minari: that home is not just a physical place, but a space where love, sacrifice, and connection can take root, no matter the circumstances.

Directed by Lee Isaac Chung, Minari is loosely based on his own experiences growing up in rural America as a child of Korean immigrants. His personal connection to the story lends an authenticity and intimacy to the narrative that resonates deeply with audiences. The film’s ability to capture the complexities of immigrant life, while also highlighting universal themes of family, love, and sacrifice, is what makes it so emotionally powerful.

What sets Minari apart is its restraint and nuance. Rather than relying on sweeping gestures or overt melodrama, the film unfolds in quiet, deliberate moments that capture the beauty of the everyday — the quiet struggles of a family trying to hold on to its cultural identity while embracing the future. The performances are subtle but deeply affecting, with Steven Yeun and Yeri Han delivering remarkable portrayals of parents whose dreams are at odds with their fears, but whose love for their children binds them together.

Minari is also notable for its depiction of the immigrant experience, not as a monolithic narrative of triumph over adversity, but as a series of small, intimate moments that shape a family’s journey. It doesn’t romanticize the struggles of immigrants, but rather, it honors the complexity of their lives — the sacrifices, the disappointments, and the quiet moments of grace that come from simply enduring. This is a film that speaks not just to the Korean-American experience, but to anyone who has ever felt like a stranger in a strange land, trying to find a place to belong.

Released on February 11, 2021, Minari was met with critical acclaim, earning multiple Academy Award nominations, including Best Picture, Best Director, and Best Supporting Actress for Youn Yuh-jung, who played the grandmother. The film’s exploration of identity, culture, and the immigrant experience made it a standout in a year marked by uncertainty and upheaval. It was hailed as a masterpiece of understated filmmaking — a film that speaks volumes in its quiet moments and leaves a lasting impact long after the credits roll.

In conclusion, Minari is a beautiful, quiet meditation on the immigrant experience — one that doesn’t just show the struggle, but the resilience and hope that come from building something new from the ground up. It’s about planting roots in unfamiliar soil, about holding onto one’s heritage while adapting to the future, and about the power of family to weather life’s storms. In its simplicity, Minari reminds us that even the smallest seeds can grow into something extraordinary, given the right conditions.

Minari is currently available for streaming on Prime Video.