Minari

 

Writer/director Lee Isaac Chung

Actor Steven Yeun (left) with the director

Actors Steven Yeun (left) and Will Patton with the director

MINARI                     B                                                                                                                   USA  (115 mi)  2020 ‘Scope  d: Lee Isaac Chung

A troublesome family drama that follows a Korean-American family move from California to rural Arkansas in pursuit of the American Dream, starring Steven Yeun from Lee Chang-dong’s 2018 Top Ten List #8 Burning (Beoning) as the overly optimistic husband Jacob Yi and Yeri Han as the hesitant wife Monica who is shocked to see their new home is a mobile home on wheels set in the middle of nowhere.  Filmed in and around Tulsa, Oklahoma, they bring along two kids, Anne (Noel Cho), the dutiful older pre-teen sibling to 7-year old David (Alan S. Kim,) who has a serious heart defect, where we’re told “his heart could stop at any moment.”  Monica is concerned that the nearest hospital is more than an hour away, and is worried they will go broke, like the last farmer on this same plot of land, preferring life in a city where kids can play in a neighborhood setting close to a school while emergency facilities are never far away.  But Jacob was inspired by the open land and the chance to grow their own food, where his idea of a garden grows into a farm, hiring a dirt poor nearby neighbor Paul (Will Patton), a Korean War veteran, to help out as needed, making use of his tractor, where the two work long hours into the night.  This backbreaking work is in addition to their regular jobs working on a chicken hatchery performing the tiresome, mind-numbingly tedious work of endlessly separating female chicks from the males, discarding the males which are of no use, while keeping the egg-laying females.  Realizing Monica has no friends and no one to talk to, they start to attend church, where they are the only immigrant family, yet they are immediately accepted and embraced into the community.  Based on their clear differences of opinion, which Monica never lets him forget, the two ceaselessly argue in front of the kids, who grow weary of their bickering.  To try to quell the storm, Jacob brings in Monica’s mother from Korea to live with them, Soonja (Youn Yuh-jung), someone to look after the kids while they’re at work all day, but Grandma has a potty mouth, watches professional wrestling on TV, and loves to talk smack when playing cards, relishing her victories at their expense, causing David to believe she’s not a “real grandma” as she doesn’t bake cookies or act like one, claiming she snores and “smells like Korea,” though they eventually grow close, as both delight in eccentric misbehavior.  The film is a semi-autobiographical take on Chung’s own upbringing, where the director himself was a first-generation Korean immigrant growing up on rural Arkansas farmland in the 1980’s and shared the same heart defect, studied at Yale and planned to go to medical school before deciding to become a filmmaker, while the plot similarly follows a family of South Korean immigrants who try to make it in rural America during the Reagan era of the 1980’s.  After a decade of high inflation, rising gas and oil prices, and Cold War embargoes, American farmers were losing their farms, so it was a time when Willie Nelson, Neil Young, and John Mellencamp organized the first Farm Aid concert in the heartland of Champaign, Illinois in 1985 (which I happily attended) to raise awareness about the loss of family farms and to raise funds to keep farm families on the land, so there was a patriotic push to value and honor farmers at the time.  The director of MUNYURANGABO (2007), reviewing the aftermath of Rwandan genocide through the eyes of children, was profoundly influenced by the writings of Willa Cather, an early 20th century Pulitzer Prize-winning novelist who wrote about life on the Great Plains, capturing the spirit of the original westward heading pioneers, many of them coming from immigrant groups, where the simplicity of ordinary life prevails. 

While this is told in an overly conventional style, no surprise there, what is concerning is the lack of dramatic impact, as this may be a bit too understated and low-key, despite the heaps of praise affiliated with this film, winner of the Grand Jury Prize at Sundance in the U.S. Dramatic Competition, winning the Golden Globes Best Foreign Language picture (disqualified as an American Best Film due to the prevalence of Korean language), nominated for 6 Academy Awards, with Yeun the first Asian-American nominated for Best Actor, with the elderly Youn nominated for Best Supporting Actress, this is only the second Korean-language film to be nominated for Best Picture, following all the hoopla associated with Bong Joon-ho’s Parasite (Gisaengchung) (2019).  While the year or so of Covid may have led to a remarkably weak field, it’s still surprising that this film has been heralded as one of the best, as it simply doesn’t compare with the better immigrant stories, even in recent years, which would have to include the works of Roberto Rossellini, Elia Kazan, Rainer Werner Fassbinder, Jan Troell, Ousmane Sembène, Martin Scorsese, Fatih Akin, Pawel Pawlikowski, and the Dardenne brothers, among many others.  While it does have its own personal touches, much of it seen through the curious eyes of the children, it’s never emotionally moving or involving, largely due to the incessant negativity coming from the wife, whose shrill nature prevents viewers from embracing this story, as she’s constantly undermining the rather heroic efforts of the husband working two jobs simultaneously, never once embracing his efforts, his dreams of growing Korean produce in America, or his everpresent positive spirit, always cutting him down, continually blaming him for the breakup of the family, which is on the verge of separation from the onset, as she refuses to accept the rural locale, preferring to move back to California.  In fact, her lack of emotional support is the central theme of the film, overriding everything else, overshadowing the apparent optimism behind this film.  Even the bland musical score from Emile Mosseri is never inspiring, which is a huge let-down, as there are plenty of quiet moments that could use an emotional push.  From the outset Jacob is proud of his Korean culture, teaching his son to rationally use his mind, declining the mythical services of a professional water diviner, believing he can dig a well on his own property just as easily for free, which he does, but it also soon runs dry, as it’s not a real well.  Wounded pride aside, he connects into a county water supply and pays for the use of water, spending it all on his crops, then shutting it off when it comes to his family’s needs, which has his wife fuming.  Everyone (with the exception of the older daughter) has their flaws, as David pees in his bed at night, with grandma claiming his penis is broken.  As if to offer a remedy, Soonja, using seeds she brought from home, finds a nearby stream and plants minari on the banks, an edible plant, otherwise known as Chinese celery or Japanese parsley, herbs commonly used in Asian diets.  Grandma (who removes the $100 bill her daughter places in the church collection plate) even encourages more physical activity by David, allowing her grandson to just be himself, as it brings him happiness, contradicting the safer and more repressively cautionary measures implemented by his parents, who won’t allow him to run. 

The film isn’t so much about assimilating, but adapting and making their own way, establishing roots in a community, but for that they need to believe in a dream of being successful.  When first the water supply dwindles, followed by successive days of 100 degree heat, and then their first order gets cancelled, leaving fresh produce and nowhere to move it, they are tested like Job seemingly every step of the way, with Jacob and Frank doing yeoman’s work to harvest and save the crop.  If you’re in the farming business, having buyers of your produce seems like the first order of business, but it all happens haphazardly here, where the gist of the film is encountering unexpected obstacles, with Monica watching the money disappear while they’re scrambling to make ends meet, consumed by preventing that next disaster which could wipe them out.  It’s a tenuous relationship with the land and soil, also between themselves, while also being accepted in such a close-knit, small-town community, where they don’t look like everyone else.  At one point, one of David’s friends asks him why he has such a flat face.  It’s not easy being different.  The portrait of the neighbor Paul reveals the extent of how an outcast looks and acts, as he doesn’t attend the church in town, but practices his Pentecostal religion in his own way lugging a wooden cross across the highway on Sundays, bearing his own heavy burden.  He regularly performs exorcisms whenever and wherever he sees a need, outing evil spirits.  In much the same way, Jacob’s faith is continually tested, walking that fine line where his dreams could either save or destroy his family, always having to question whether he’s made the right choice.  In good times it looks like he has, but in bad times a looming disaster lurks just over the horizon threatening to take everything away.  That’s the nature of farming, where you can’t predict the future, as every season isn’t bountiful, yet some seasons are, where there may be some lean years in between, but you keep at it.  While the film is surprisingly free of racial animus, living in an almost too perfect world, Anne, with no conceivable friends, a budding teenager in the middle of nowhere with absolutely nothing to do, gets shortchanged here, as her character isn’t explored nearly as much as David, where he and Grandma kind of steal the show.  Jacob’s desire is for David to have the strength and mental stability even after he’s gone, while Monica is more concerned about his eternal salvation, urging him to pray to see Heaven and awaken healed, living in constant fear that he could suffer an early demise, a fear that is inadvertently transferred onto her son’s tiny shoulders.  She is representative of the here and now, where happiness is based on understanding what she sees, while he is swept up in the possibilities of what hard work can bring, hoping for a financial breakthrough which would provide longterm security for this family.  At one point the parental divide is so prevalent that Monica is about to take the kids back to California with her, but disaster strikes, pulling them together in ways they could never imagine.  Without resorting to a full-fledged melodrama, this is a heartwarming film that offers a sweet and melancholic look at the immigrant experience through the eyes of the immigrants themselves, with its tender moments, yet no big scenes, no emotional build-up to cathartic or transcendent moments, just a realistic glimpse of small yet significant moments in their lives, revealing just how fragile the experience can be.  

2018 Top Ten List #8 Burning (Beoning)

Director Lee Chang-dong

Director Lee Chang-dong with actress Jeon Jong-seo

BURNING (Beoning)                  A-                   

South Korea  (148 mi)  2018  ‘Scope  d:  Lee Chang-dong

His first film in 8-years, after having two films make the year’s Top Ten, 2011 Top Ten Films of the Year #6 Poetry and 2011 Top Ten Films of the Year #8 Secret Sunshine, this is a curiously murky and enigmatic film that explores an ambiguous state between the living and illusory worlds, Lee Chang-dong’s moody and self-reflective film was the highest rated at Cannes this year, averaging 3.8 on the Screendaily jury grid, breaking the 3.7 record set earlier by 2017 Top Ten List #2 Toni Erdmann, but like that film, came away with no major jury awards, winning a FIPRESCI prize, where it is described as “A visually stunning film and an emotionally complex comment on contemporary society.”  Extremely subtle and fatalistic, this is a fascinating character study about how money allows you to literally get away with murder, while low-end workers have a dim view of their own future, as if it’s literally been stolen from them, painting a picture of two distinctively different South Koreas.  Based on Haruki Murakami’s short story Barn Burning, Barn Burning, by Haruki Murakami 13-page short story (pdf), Lee’s clever adaptation is transplanted from Tokyo to Paju, South Korea with a few other minor changes as well, where just about the entire film takes place under the surface, focused upon a central character of Jongsu (Yoo Ah-in), an aloof and aspiring young novelist living at his father’s farm on the outskirts of town after his father has been imprisoned for striking a government official.  The location of the farm is so far north that it is near the DMZ where telephone poles have speakers continually broadcasting North Korean propaganda, which adds a curious aspect to this film, like an underlying layer of deceit.  Walking through town, a victim of staggering youth unemployment (working a temp job as a delivery boy), he runs into a childhood neighbor that he doesn’t recognize at first, Haemi (Jeon Jong-seo), who may have undergone plastic surgery to improve her appearance, as what she recalls when they were much younger was Jongsu crossing the street to tell her just how ugly she was.  They seem to have polar opposite personalities, as Haemi is outgoing and socially gregarious, even theatrical in the way she expresses herself, which includes a mime performance over dinner that Jongsu finds utterly captivating, while he is more quietly introspective and keeps to himself most of the time, barely uttering a word.  Yet the film is seen through his keenly observing eyes.  When she invites him up to her one-roomed apartment, they have sex before offering the keys and telling him to feed her reclusive cat (that he never sees) while she’s away on a visit to Africa.  He has to ask if the cat is real or illusory, like the mime show, but he dutifully feeds the cat, sight unseen, while usually masturbating on the premises.  In this way the film resembles Wong Kar-wai’s marvelous CHUNGKING EXPRESS (1994), specifically Faye Wong’s wacky clean-up visits into Tony Leung’s apartment while he’s out of town, obviously taking a liking to what she sees, but she never lets on, refusing to speak about it.  When her flight home from Nairobi is delayed a few days due to terrorist alerts, Haemi calls to have Jongsu pick her up at the airport, but she has a surprising friend with her, Ben (Korean-American actor Steven Yeun), who she met at the airport as they were the only Koreans.  Exploring this CABARET (1972)-like threesome becomes the unraveling centerpiece of the film, with suggestions of a toxic masculinity.  Beautifully shot by Hong Kyung-pyo, there is another quiet film with a deeply despairing take on a Murakami novel by the same name, Vietnamese director Tran Anh Hung’s greatly overlooked and unappreciated Norwegian Wood (2010) that uses the dazzling impressionistic visual imagery of master cinematographer Mark Lee Ping-bin to examine the depths of grief.  More renowned in Asia than the United States, where he’s acclaimed as the “voice of a generation,” Murakami’s work places an emphasis on the mundane aspects of everyday life, where you have to read between the lines to appreciate his artistry. 

All three have uniquely different personalities, where the viewer is always kept off-guard as to the specifics of the relationship, as is Jongsu, oftentimes feeling like the odd man out, immediately feeling jealous and threatened, especially when he discovers Ben comes from an upper class of what is likely inherited wealth, driving a Porsche sports car, having his own upscale apartment in Seoul’s wealthiest district, living a carefree lifestyle where he can do pretty much whatever he wants, which is the exact opposite of the more cash-strapped Haemi and Jongsu who are up to their ears in debt.  Ben has a very cavalier manner about himself, where he’s used to getting what he wants, but is equally charmed by Haemi, whose vivacious personality excites them both, where they politely put up with the other guy just to be close to her, sort of pretending to have a friendship, though Jongsu likely loathes Ben from the outset.  Driving his father’s old, barely functioning Kia truck, dressed in a worn out track suit, Jongsu is such a soft-spoken guy, never stepping out of bounds, knowing deep down the feelings he has for Haemi, but he keeps them secret as they visit various restaurants and multi-colored dance clubs, including an extremely laid-back café where the muted music in the background is Miles Davis playing the original score for Louis Malle’s film ELEVATOR TO THE GALLOWS (Ascenseur Pour L’Échafaud), aka FRANTIC from 1958, Miles Davis - Ascenseur pour l'échafaud - Lift to the Gallows (Full Album) (26:15).  This ultra-cool and extremely melancholy music is just dripping with film noir atmosphere, described as “The loneliest trumpet sound you will ever hear,” which only accentuates the distances between characters, as none of them reveal anything personal about themselves, yet there’s a continuing struggle under the surface that never reveals itself, with motives remaining hidden, out of sight, where they pretend to be best of friends, but they’re anything but that, carefully concealed behind social custom and polite manner, exhibiting no signs of suspicion, yet there’s not an ounce of trust anywhere to be found.  This strange game plays out onscreen, where hidden in the deep recesses there may be some strange and mysterious hope for a calamitous event knocking out their competition, opening up a pathway to Haemi’s heart, but some key evidence is missing, something they can’t put their finger on or explain, but we sense there is an underlying problem that will soon loom larger as time goes on.  This is a minimalist film with original electronic music by Mowg that grows increasingly ominous, where nothing is as it seems, challenging the audience to see through the waves of deception, offering an accurate portrait of modern day life where truth is hidden underneath layers of class and deceitful messaging, all targeting secret aims and agendas, but media is engulfed in mixed messaging, sending so many different signals that it’s hard to sift through all the bullshit, but what’s clear is young people today aren’t getting the same opportunities as previous generations, stuck in an unending cycle of lower-end jobs with no way to pull themselves up, leaving them angry and hopelessly demoralized.  What’s clear is that the youth of the nation exists in a kind of existential void where they can either fade away in insignificance, largely forgotten, or live a casual life of wealth and excess.  As Jongsu tells Ben, “To me, the world is a mystery.”  This is truly a film for the times with an alienated lower class who haven’t a clue how to unravel the mystery of it all. 

This gulf between knowledge and the unknown, real and illusory, only grows as the film progresses, with one miraculous scene setting the stage.  Ben drives Haemi to Jongsu’s farm, with the three of them drinking expensive French wine on the porch and watching the sunset over the fields.  Ben offers the allure of smoking some pot, then playing the Miles Davis music from his car, adding a surreal layer of hypnotic bliss, with Haemi capturing the ancient spirit, emboldened by being high, ripping her shirt and sweater off, offering a silhouette dancing topless against a setting sun at dusk, an elusive time between day and night, suddenly free and liberated, completely in tune with her body, like a fertility ritual, with both guys glued to their seats, refusing to move a muscle.  Falling asleep on the couch afterwards, these two guys continue a weird discussion, with Jongsu acknowledging a hatred for his abusive father, who drove his mother away at an early age, forcing him to burn her belongings, while also out of the blue pledging his love for Haemi, but doesn’t tell her, instead telling Ben, who finds this kind of personal confession amusing, as if he now has the upper hand, deciding to add some of his own hidden secrets, telling Jongsu that he has a penchant for arson, specifically burning greenhouses, perhaps one every two or three months, not really providing a motive, just revealing a peculiar habit, like an uncontrolled pyromaniac who likes to watch the fires they set.  In this case, it’s hard to distinguish whether this is a metaphor for something else or an actual criminal habit, but it shows just how different the worlds are where these two men come from, one still traumatized since childhood, the other oblivious to consequences, as if wealth allows him to remain outside the law.   Ben goes so far as to telegraph his intentions, saying he plans to burn another one down very soon, choosing a site very close to where Jongsu lives, so close he may miss it.  In his misplaced anger at Ben, Jongsu lashes out against Haemi, inexplicably offering another cruel comment, exactly like he did much earlier in their lives, which shows how distanced he is from his true feelings, as he has nothing but affection for her.  By the next day Jongsu takes up jogging, obsessively visiting all the greenhouses in the vicinity, checking on each one of them individually, yet notices nothing new.  Instead he receives a strange call from Haemi that is quickly interrupted, sounding like footsteps followed by a deafening silence when her phone quickly goes dead, mysteriously disappearing afterwards, never heard from again.  He stops by her apartment, but it’s been all tidied up, looking clean as a whistle, not at all lived in, with her suitcase still there, and no sign of the cat.  With no other clues, he decides to stalk Ben, who he silently blames and has derogatorily labeled a Gatsby, claiming there are many of them in Korea these days, monetarily above the fray, answering to their own laws, as if society’s morals don’t apply to them, another comment on the extreme class differentiation in present-day South Korea.  Following in his car, learning what he can, hoping to make some sense out of this, Jongsu’s efforts lead to confusion and themes of loneliness, but also anger and helplessness, a sense that something is terribly wrong with the world that he can’t quite realize or comprehend, all engulfed in blurred lines of reality, where there are suggestions that he may never know the truth, that there will always be a missing piece to contend with, that life will always be an unsolved mystery, yet he pursues his quest anyway out of love and a steadfast allegiance to Haemi, who has been reduced to a living ghost, still fresh in his mind, so close that he can almost touch her, yet he can’t.  While the finale is different in the film than the story, more definitive, yet the beauty of the film is the development of a mysterious undertone, a focus on meticulous detail, and the idea of an all-consuming broken relationship where the sorrow never ends, with the young novelist writing Haemi’s story perhaps to purge his soul of a crime he never committed, forced to live with the eternal sadness that comes with the full knowledge that he failed to ever once tell her how he felt.