A quietly ground-breaking dig into the American Dream.

As an outsider looking in, the concept of the American Dream has often been a baffling one. Laced with noble intentions but riddled with contradictions and an inherent darkness, it’s always felt like a hollow construct, promising much but delivering relatively little.

At its core, the belief in equality and the unilateral opportunity to obtain one’s aspirations regardless of your background is undoubtedly honourable, yet it doesn’t take much peeling back to see the bleak realities beneath. Quite understandably, this thinly veiled darkness within the American Dream has been a thematic focal point for Hollywood from the very beginning, as an industry built on the very foundations of the concept remains endlessly fascinated by it.

From Citizen Kane to American Beauty via The Godfather, many films have attempted to unearth the dark heart of the American Dream and many have succeeded. It’s a subject that’s been consistently prodded and probed by cinema for years to the point that any new take on the issue must be something special to cut through. Good thing Minari is pretty special then.

Disheartened by his menial job and yearning to own land, ambitious husband and father Jacob (Steven Yeun) relocates his Korean-American family from California to rural Arkansas in search of a fresh start and the American Dream. New beginnings are rarely easy though, yet, amid promises, cultural anxiety, fleeting hopes, and the impending threat of financial disaster, Jacob is convinced he’s found his own slice of Eden in the rich Arkansas soil.

Approaching the notion of the American Dream through the eyes of immigrants is far from a new concept, yet it’s a point-of-view that works and one that filmmakers have returned to again and again for decades. So, while Minari’s setup of a young Korean family making tentative steps to cultivate their own American Dream is relatively safe in its conception, its execution is anything but.

Nuanced, earthy, and steadfastly unpretentious, Minari’s tale of the unwavering drive to make a go of it, even in the face of insurmountable odds, makes no big promises for its characters and delivers few earth-shattering moments, yet it’s all the better for it. The story is low-key and unglamorous in its recounting of the Yi family’s stuttering immigrant journey, however, therein lies its beauty, as its small-scale nature makes it all the more human.

There are no grand proclamations on the nature of the American Dream here. In more ways than one, this is a ground-level look at the multifaceted, frequently vague nature of it all, presenting the notion as a nebulous dream that means different things to different characters, much as it would do to anyone attempting to assimilate into an unfamiliar society.

Is it shooting for the stars? Or is it keeping your head down and your family together in a new and often hostile land? This is Minari’s core question, one which sees Jacob and Monica’s family stretched to breaking point as they wrestle with their opposing aspirations for life in this strange new country.

It’s a fascinating contrast put forth by writer-director Lee Isaac Chung and one that seeds the rift gradually developing between Jacob and Monica as they’re pulled apart by the path before them. There really is no right or wrong answer here, and as the Yi’s farmstead slowly develops while their family life disintegrates, the frustrations drawn to the surface make for a wholly authentic viewing experience that’s as beautiful and hope-filled as it is heart-wrenching.

Small-scale and achingly intimate at times, Minari is, however, shot through with deceptively huge moments and enormous emotions that gradually seep through the story’s cracks to explode on the surface. The result is something raw and utterly uncontrived and will have you living and breathing even the tiniest highs and lows with the Yi family.

To this end, the plot is simple but often devastatingly effective, with Lee Isaac Chung’s script displaying a marked confidence in where it’s going and what it wants to say. Hyper-focused and refreshingly straightforward, the narrative picks up with the family moving into their ramshackle new abode and progressing from there in a way that feels wholly natural and free of cliché.

At the heart of all this is a modest collection of characters that link up to create an incredibly strong emotional foundation without ever overplaying things. Strong but fragile, admirable but flawed, our protagonists are achingly human and superbly drawn, making them thoroughly relatable and remarkably well-rounded.

From this tightknit ensemble, we’re treated to incredible performances across the board. Small but impeccably formed, the cast service the story and its demands superbly, playing its nuances to perfection while ensuring the huge emotions that come from it land with the desired impact.

At the centre of all this is Steven Yeun who puts everything into the performance of his career. Decidedly muted but no less powerful because of it, Yeun’s presence is certainly understated, yet the low-key power of his performance as a father and a husband driven to fulfil his dream is something to behold.

Next to him, Han Ye-ri puts in an equally impactful and wonderfully complimentary performance as Monica, but it’s in the second act introduction of Youn Yuh-jung as wise-cracking grandmother Soon-ja that Minari really clicks up a gear. Equal parts power and fragility, Youn is an effortlessly captivating presence that manages to balance the story beautifully the moment she appears, injecting pathos, playfulness, and a huge dose of heart to proceedings.

Rounding off the cast, the two Yi children really are the beating heart of the film and work in tandem as our protagonists. In particular, Alan Kim as David is an absolute revelation and operates as our eyes and ears through which the film’s events unfold, adding layers of wonder, confusion, and childlike innocence to the narrative, all through an utterly adorable charm.

As a semi-autobiographical take on Lee Isaac Chung’s upbringing in rural Arkansas, David is essentially the director, and, as such, Minari is about as personal as filmmaking gets. Putting absolutely everything into the story, Chung recreates his formative years as a second-generation Korean immigrant in the Deep South to turn in a story that’s as rich and nourishing as the Arkansas soil.

Grounded and unpretentious but wistful in its gentle beauty, Chung’s approach to the story is impeccable, with the filmmaker’s personality shining through in every scene. Utilising the raw natural beauty of the film’s setting, Chung makes full use of the rural setting while contrasting it with the unforgiving realities of the Yi family’s immediate surroundings, producing a satisfying and thoroughly rounded tale that balances hope and hazy nostalgia with an unshakeable harshness.

Written with a poetic sensitivity, impeccably shot, and underpinned by Emile Mosseri’s wonderfully sparse score, Lee Isaac Chung has succeeded in crafting a story that’s monumental yet intimate, using a modest scale to tell a tale with deceptively huge ramifications. Driven by a collection of beautifully captivating performances, Minari is an achingly intimate portrait of family, home, and the hope that dreams bring. Tenderly written and directed with unerring compassion, the film is a clear personal triumph for Chung as he strips back the pains of assimilation and the topsoil of the American Dream to reveal the raw humanity beneath.

Minari is in select cinemas and available to stream from all good VOD platforms now.