The journey of Minari is as tender and nurturing as the resilient crop from which it borrows its name. It’s a picturesque representation of an immigrant family pursuing a slice of the new American dream, a dream reimagined through the lens of the Yi family's unique cultural and personal ambitions. The film gently plows through the heartlands of both America and family life, a testament to the tenacity of humanity in the face of relentless adversity.

The story unveils the Yi family's move to Arkansas during the 1980s, a visual narrative rich with the juxtaposition of Korean heritage entwining with the sprawling, open American vistas. At the heart of it all is Jacob Yi, a captivating character filled with the intense drive of a father determined to wring out success from the untamed soil for the sake of his loved ones. He’s the epitome of the old adage where the man’s reach must exceed his grasp, or what’s a heaven for?

But Minari isn't just Jacob’s story. It's a family tale. From Monica's poignant skepticism to the wide-eyed wonder and innocence of David and Anne, the dynamics at play are wrought with realism and a sense of heart-felt struggle. Then there’s Soonja, the grandmother whose arrival and traditional wisdom add a layer of depth, often with a touch of humor that brings light to the darker turns of their journey.

Director Lee Isaac Chung doesn't shy away from the hardships of the immigrant experience, but he also poignantly lights up the resilience which propels the Yi family forward. The movie flows like the water that feeds the minari—sometimes calm, sometimes turbulent, but always life-sustaining.

The simplicity of Minari’s narrative belies the complexity of its themes. Through quiet moments and unspoken tensions, it captures the essence of what it means to chase a dream, the clash between old and new, and the bittersweet realization that growth often comes entangled with pain.

Moreover, cinematography in Minari is not just a visual feast but a character of its own, illustrating the vastness of their new life and underscoring the isolation that physical and emotional distance can create. Coupled with a score that perfectly encapsulates the highs and lows of the Yi family’s experiences, every technical aspect of Minari feels careful, considered, and perfectly placed.

And yet, it’s not without small weeds of difficulty. Some might find the pacing deliberate, reflecting the real-time growth and toil of starting a farm from scratch—a slow burn that meticulously cultivates its story rather than rushing through the soil of its plot.

As Minari meanders to its close, one can’t help but reflect on the truly universal aspects of their story. It holds a mirror to the challenges humanity faces—adaptation, resilience, and the enduring pursuit of betterment. It's a film that doesn't ask for your awe with grand statements, but rather, earns it through genuine portrayal and subtle warmth.

Rating it an 8 out of 10 feels just. It's undeniably 'good to see,' a cinematographic minari itself—effortlessly natural, surprisingly resilient, and undeniably nourishing. It’s a film that grows on you, its tendrils wrapping gently around your senses and tugging at the roots of empathy and understanding that lie in all of us.