Minari – C-VILLE Weekly

Golden games

This year continues to be anything but typical, and yet the march to the 93rd annual Academy Awards ceremony, moved to April 25, feels familiar. While far fewer films played in theaters over the past 12 months, we still have many cinematic achievements to celebrate, and a must-see movie list is a welcome distraction from the doldrums of late winter.

This time around, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences selected eight films for best-picture consideration. In the 1930s and ’40s, eight to 12 films were nominated for what was then called the outstanding film of the year. The most nominations was in 1934 with 12 choices in a year that saw the release of It Happened One Night, Cleopatra, The Thin Man, and Imitation of Life. The possible nominees list was honed down to five in 1944, and it stayed that way for 65 years.

In 2009, the Oscars’ governing body increased the number of possible best-picture nominations from five to 10. That begs the question: Why aren’t 10 films nominated each year?

While sweeping historical films are always considered best picture Oscar fodder, this year the smaller personal dramas have a strong showing. Two of these, The Father and Nomadland, share a few similarities—a minimal number of speaking parts, and each film takes on aging in different ways.

The Father portrays a man coping with dementia, and both lead actor Anthony Hopkins and supporting actress Olivia Colman are nominated for their performances in the unsettling film. Frances McDormand is nominated for her starring role in Nomadland. In terms of setting and atmosphere, the films could not be more different. The Father is claustrophobic by design, and Nomadland is without walls, literally.

A third film with nominations for leading actress and best picture is Promising Young Woman. This one takes an unflinching look at misogyny and rape culture, but with a Lisa Frank color palette, and wit so sharp it could cut a man. It is a scathing disassembly of the good guy trope, and easily the most controversial film among the nominations. Director Emerald Fennell is also up for an award, making her and Nomadland director Chloé Zhao only the sixth and seventh women to be put forward as best director in the history of the Academy Awards.

Judas and the Black Messiah and The Trial of the Chicago 7 are historical dramas, and both stories, set in late 1960s Chicago, capture the palpable tension of the time. While Trial features an ensemble cast of men portraying the true events during the trial for anti-Vietnam War activists during the 1968 Democratic National Convention, Judas follows the betrayal of Black Panthers leader Fred Hampton.

Sound of Metal is a crushing film starring Riz Ahmed as a punk-metal drummer who suddenly loses his hearing. Incredible performances and immersive sound design help bring the audience closer to the drummer’s struggles. Supporting actor Paul Raci was also nominated, and is considered to be the odds-on favorite.

Though not intended as a palate cleanser, Minari sort of functions as one in this field. The charming film about a young Korean family in pursuit of the American dream is not without traumas—the family struggles with just about everything, but their perseverance and the film’s gorgeous cinematography combine to instill hope.

Perhaps the most classically “Oscar” film on this year’s list is David Fincher’s Mank. Not only does it star previous Oscar winner Gary Oldman, the movie itself is about the making of the Oscar-winning Citizen Kane. Oldman is Herman J. Mankiewicz, the screenwriter for Kane, who struggles with meeting his deadline, pleasing Orson Welles, and combatting alcoholism. It may be a self-indulgent exercise to make a movie about making a movie, but this is a brilliant film that gives us insight into the politics of Tinseltown and its players during the golden age of cinema.

The Academy Awards are, of course, self-indulgent, self-congratulatory, and navel-gazing. But, for better or worse, the awards determine who in Hollywood gets money, power, and attention for their next project. Art and film can nudge national and global cultural trends, putting award winners in a position to guide that conversation, and it’s in this role that the Academy Awards are not purely frivolous.

Sown with hope

Few things are as American as tales of immigrants pulling themselves up by their bootstraps and making a life through hard work and sacrifice. For better or worse, our national penchant for embracing this narrative is hard to deny. Initially, Minari may seem like one of those all-too-familiar sagas—but Lee Isaac Chung’s keen eye for moments and commitment to affection over nostalgia make the film more substantive than expected.

Minari is a semi-autobiographical look at writer/director Chung’s own childhood. Chung was raised on an Arkansas farm by Korean immigrants, and his film uses a vegetable farm in the Deep South as its jumping off point. But this is not your typical corn or wheat plot—patriarch Jacob (Steven Yeun) wants to grow Korean vegetables for his fellow transplants to satisfy both their palates and an untapped market. Not a bad idea, in theory.

Chung might be currently closer in age to his father figure in the film, but he is represented on screen by precocious newcomer Alan Kim as David, who is generally well behaved and keeps to himself when not with sister Anne (Noel Cho) or his mother, Monica (Yeri Han).

Grandma (Youn Yuh-jung) arrives a few months after the family has moved from California to Arkansas, presumably to help with the house and children. But instead of getting a strict and buttoned-up matriarch, we get Soonja, a youthful and lively presence. She insists on doing what she wants, when she wants, regardless of what Jacob or Monica might suggest.

Monica is happy enough, but she misses her life before living in a trailer on a farm. Jacob wants more—more money and more respect—and he wants to grow something of his own that he can be proud of. When Monica suggests starting their farm slowly and building it over time, he is offended that his new pursuit might be mistaken as a hobby. This is his profession.

The highs and lows of this family could have easily slipped into the saccharine and hellscape, but Minari has a more nuanced view of the past. When things get bad—and they do get bad—hope is not lost. Nor are these people phoenixes, triumphantly emerging from the flames. They are a loving family that needs to mourn and keep moving forward. It is this active resistance of the Hollywoodification of their experiences that keeps Minari firmly rooted in the ground Jacob sows.

This is not to say there are no lessons in Minari. Its even-keeled handling of the slightly fictionalized youth of the writer/director doesn’t prevent it from having a few heavy-handed, teachable moments. Most notably, the film is named after a robust vegetable that grandma insists on growing by a nearby brook. The frequent repetition that Minari can grow anywhere, and both the rich and poor eat it, does not distract from the value of the metaphor.

All of this drama and parable is artfully displayed, thanks to cinematographer Lachlan Milne. The lush—though occasionally barren—farmland begs for sweeping camera movement and a soaring score. Milne balances the grandeur of the pastoral with the intimacy of the people who shape that land. The camera sits with their faces, and shows their body language with a sharp attention to both style and substance. We not only hear what they say, but we rest with them and feel the love and the frustration, the kindness and the criticism.

Minari premiered at the Sundance Film Festival in 2020, and has been generating Oscar buzz since. Both Yeun and Yuh-jung have racked up plenty of critical praise and year-end awards, as has Chung for both his writing and his directing. This attention is well-deserved. Minari is sweet without being cloying, and allows its audience the time and space to get to know its characters. Such affection is welcome warmth during this cold winter.