Directing: A
Acting: A-
Writing: A
Cinematography: A-
Editing: A

Minari is a minor miracle of a movie, something unlike anything else you have ever watched, and yet no less an American story than any other American film. It’s a incredibly specific story that focuses on one family of Korean immigrants attempting to start a farm in Arkansas, and still a reflection of the very story of countless setters who were an integral part of what made this country what it is. It’s a story of struggle and rebirth, of hope borne of adversity, an example of the American dream that shows it’s not as simple as this country wants to tell itself.

It certainly shows that the American dream has many faces, brought in from places all over the world: America is made of immigrants and always has been. In this case, it is largely inspired by the memories of writer-director Lee Isaac Chung’s own childhood—hence its setting in the 1980s—and it is so well constructed, all of its threads so beautifully woven together, it is easily one of the best films of the year.

One of my favorite things about it is how it effortlessly avoids clichés or stereotypes. And I don’t just mean in regards to the Korean-American family at the story’s center; this applies every bit as much to the locals in the rural part of Arkansas this family moves to. There’s a certain irony to the likelihood that if this movie were written and directed by yet another white guy out of Hollywood, it would have depicted the Arkansas natives into caricatures. Chung treats every one of his characters with respect and humanity, even the crazy-religious man (Will Patton) hired by Jacob (Steven Yeun) to help on his Korean vegetable farm. This is a guy who spontaneously breaks out into speaking in tongues, whose Sunday “church” involves dragging a crucifix down a long road every weekend—someone the local white kids make fun of. Chung presents this man matter-of-factly, even as Jacob occasionally has his patience tested by his antics, and never plays him for laughs.

There’s something perfect about the timing of this movie’s release (currently only available on VOD), in the midst of a spike in anti-Asian violence. You might expect to see racism as part of Jacob and his family’s struggles in Arkansas, but that is not at all a part of this story—suggesting it was also not much of Chung’s real-life family’s story either. No doubt it was present, but it’s not the point of this particular story, nor does it have to be part of the story of every ethnic minority’s family. Instead, Minari is simply about the hope and bravery of the immigrant experience, the idea of coming to America for a better life than was offered in their native land, and the challenge of making their way in a new and entirely different land. Basically, the story of every immigrant since before the birth of this country—and this offers a framework for easy empathy. Minari tells a story so tender, and moving, and sad, and funny, it’s impossible to think of these people as “other.” They are every bit as American as any of us.

The performances are excellent all around, with Steven Yeun as Jacob and Yeri Han as Monica, a married couple whose relationship is tested by the decision to uproot their lives in California, where they could not keep up with the pacing demands of a job sexing chickens. They buy a mobile home in a large tract of land which Jacob converts into a farm. It must be said, however, that the performances of their two children, Noel Cho as Anne and Alan S. Kim as little David, is astonishing. It’s always impressive when child actors are found who are not overly precious or precocious, and these kids have a naturalistic screen presence that makes them irresistible. Alan S. Kim, at seven years old, is almost unbearably adorable, but he doesn’t just skate by on his looks. He’s a talented little actor.

And all that’s without yet even mentioning Yuh-jung Youn as Soonja, the grandmother who comes to live with them and give lonely Monica some company and assistance with the kids. David keeps telling her “You’re not a real grandma” because she doesn’t do the expected grandmotherly duties like bake cookies and has a foul mouth, but it’s because of these things that she might be my favorite character.

As you might expect, certain tragedies befall this family, but never in the ways you might fear or think you can predict. I spent a fair amount of Minari particularly afraid that something really horrible would happen and turn it into a major tear jerker, but as it turns out this isn’t really that kind of movie. It’s not really any kind of movie—it has that in common with Nomadland: these movies could not be more different from each other, yet they are fundamentally their own thing, and yet both are also quintessentially American. They yield the floor to certain populations not typically given voice in American cinema, a sad irony indeed. But Minari is rich with detailed specifics of experience, beautifully shot in lush Southern wilderness, a window into lives that are steeped in both Korean and American tradition. And that blending of tradition is the case for all of us if we just go back enough generations.

“Minari,” by the way, is a water celery, an easily grown Korean vegetable that Soonja grows on the banks of a nearby creek after spreading seeds there. The more you think about Minari the film, the more you consider how much of it can be regarded as metaphor, such as in this case, putting down roots in a new place. By the end of this family’s story, they are collectively a phoenix rising from literal ashes, symbols of perseverance against the odds. It’s a beautiful meditation on the resilience of humanity and the strength of collective resolve.

Overall: A