With every annual awards season, films vie for industry and critic circle awards in competition for the pinnacle of this yearly cycle: the coveted Academy Award, or Oscar. Though the Oscars certainly are not an objective treatise on the best films of any given year (I will never forget or forgive Green Book winning Best Picture over Roma and A Star is Born), they do celebrate the art of cinema, incite critical conversation, and garner attention for some smaller films that people may not have had the immense pleasure of experiencing, as is the case for this year.
This season has brought some truly phenomenal films into the forefront, including Promising Young Woman (this masterwork itself would necessitate an entirely different piece to truly dissect all its dense themes), Mank, and Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom. However, two films in contention this year share similar treatments of the American dream, a phenomenon that has always been vaguely defined and would benefit from the elucidation of art.
Nomadland
Following the retirement of her town’s zip code in the aftermath of the Great Recession, a widow named Fern (Frances McDormand evoking quiet pathos) ventures out into the American West as a contemporary nomad to grapple with her grief, isolation, and grievances with the modern American Dream. The gold standard of cinematic naturalism, director Chloé Zhao, who is helming Marvel’s upcoming film Eternals, masterfully sands down the embellishments of existence to portray it in all its intrinsic pain and glory with her mesmerizing depiction of nature and life.
Zhao’s technique is wholly unique, making the internal feelings of down-trodden souls discernable. With every tranquil and tangible shot, Zhao and the cinematography embed the poetic scenery into the audience with a methodical yet raw immediacy. Whether it is Fern touching the tactile rocks that are centuries old or waves bursting on the shore, you feel every emotion wash over you languidly, like a full-throttle yet gentle caress to the soul.
With immaculate filmmaking, you do not glean but are instilled with the sensation that what’s remembered lives and living is congruently integral with remembering, which the modern nomads are fully aware. Zhao’s film is an ode to the brave souls who venture off the beaten path, for they are the embodiment of the most genuine, true form of the American Dream.
In this modern realm, whether it is a national economic downturn or simply the tyranny of the dollar, personal fulfillment can no longer be defined by materialistic status, such as a house, steady job, or moderate bank account balance; it’s about finding it on your own terms authentically. The only way to be truly content in contemporary America is to not only engage with others and community but also to depend on the truest version of oneself.
Zhao masterfully encapsulates the sensation of adhering to autonomy by allowing the audience to experience every feeling to its fullest- the pain, grief, connection, triumph, sorrow, and joy- with immersive, pensive, and lyrical filmmaking that will entrance you from beginning to end.
Nomadland is the type of film that makes me fervently proud to be an avid fan of cinema, that maybe my hefty investment in this form is actually worthwhile. Affecting and compassionate, Nomadland is a masterpiece: There is not a single frame I would change. I implore everyone to watch it.
Grade: A+
Nomadland is now available in theaters and on Hulu.
Minari
A family of Korean immigrants moves to Arkansas on the father’s (an expressive Steven Yeun) motive to establish a farm in pursuit of a better life than the one they had in California, which was composed of monotonous chicken sexing and a home with minimal space.
Based on his own family’s tale of immigration and assimilation, Lee Isaac Chung imbues his Korea-to-California-to-Arkansas story with an engaging remembrance: It’s vivid yet so dreamlike. Languidly shifting from scene to scene, Chung establishes the two inherently conflicting sides of the American dream in his serene and poignant setting: to find unequivocal material success or have unbridled happiness with your closest loved ones, which are both evoked through the precisely defined characters.
Thrillingly intimate and utterly absorbing, Minari is a film that champions love, family, and individuality in earnest fashion, told through a meticulously specific prism of the immigrant experience. Even the most minor scenes have such profound implications on the film’s landscape.
It’s so intricate and kaleidoscopic in how it balances every family member’s perspective, ultimately weaving such a complex tapestry of the immigrant experience, assimilation, and both the triumphs and disillusionments of the American dream juxtaposed against those internal and familial connections. It is eminently exquisite in its construction with gorgeous and staggering cinematography, score, and performances in addition to Chung’s direction.
In the end, it is all about preserving and enriching our relationships while celebrating and welcoming all individuals; any type of success comes second. The American dream is supposed to be like the Korean vegetable that lends the picture its title. It is peaceful, non-invasive, fulfilling, and encompasses everyone, both rich and poor.
Grade: A
Minari is available now in A24 Screening Rooms and on PVOD on Feb. 26.
Photo Credit / Searchlight Pictures
