When Steven Yeun was young, his father sighed a lot. Loud, guttural sighs. Yeun found it “oppressive.” A former architect who moved from South Korea to Saskatchewan to Michigan, his dad felt obligated to keep their family afloat, forgetting that everyone else was doing their part, too.
Today, Yeun is a father himself. He understands those sighs and the tension they imply. While portraying Jacob Yi, his character in the sublime movie “Minari,” he experienced the power of a good exhale. Jacob works a rote day job but wants to prove that he can achieve more. After he and his wife (Han Ye-ri) move their two kids, Anne (Noel Kate Cho) and David (8-year-old scene-stealer Alan Kim), from California to rural Arkansas, Jacob begins the laborious process of planting a Korean garden. If it prospers, he’ll sell the produce to vendors and live out what he believes to be the American dream.
Yeun, who recently received a Screen Actors Guild Award nomination for his performance and could soon earn an Oscar nod, has become one of the most exciting actors of his generation. Since leaving “The Walking Dead” in 2016, he’s played an animal-rights activist in “Okja,” a maligned lawyer in “Mayhem,” a union organizer in “Sorry to Bother You,” a wealthy sphinx in the Korean psychodrama “Burning” and a high-strung robin in the animated Netflix series “Tuca & Bertie.” On-screen, Yeun tends to project a calmness that can be seductive and disquieting. In “Minari,” written and directed by Lee Isaac Chung, Jacob’s composure barely hides his exasperation. “They need to see me succeed at something for once,” he says of his kids. The film is often funny, but Yeun, who has a background in improv comedy, has to carry deep-seated disenchantment in his body.
“Minari” is newly available to rent on video-on-demand platforms. A few weeks ago, I talked to Yeun via Zoom about mentoring Kim, channeling his father for the role and how his star power helped this small Sundance movie shine. Minor spoilers follow.
There are a lot of disappointments about this year, but one of the disappointments as it relates to awards season is that we don’t get to see Alan Kim have the full red-carpet experience.
Oh, he would crush it.
There’s always a new kid of the season, and Alan was going to be our fun little awards-season buddy. So that’s a bummer. When the movie was first premiering at Sundance last January, before we recognized what this year was going to do to us, were you taking on a fatherly role in terms of shepherding Alan into the overwhelming entertainment world?
Yeah, I remember in filming his parents asked some questions and I talked with them about this world. But also, I think Alan is just incredibly special. I think he’s wise beyond his years, and so pure. I remember the first time we were doing his audition. I left the room and I came back in, in character, and I just started improvising with him. He was just right there with me in this random audition room, present. And I was like, “Wow.” I looked at Isaac and I was like, “This kid’s really great.” We collectively felt like we had our David. And Isaac came up to him later that day: “That was really great, Alan. Just so you know, we were improvising. This was just for pretend. You were so in it. You know that this is not real, right?” And he was like, “Yeah, no, I know.” He can balance that innocence and purity with an awareness of what’s happening. He’s a special, special talent, that kid.
You’ve been part of a number of movies that have done the festival circuit and been incredibly respected, but never one that’s been such a direct awards contender. Were you looking forward to the whole regalia of the season, which is basically four months of being on a plane traveling from one coast to the next and then to Europe and back and shaking a ton of hands?
It’s hard to speak from it now without considering the year that we all collectively experienced. I mean, at least for myself, life was made realer than real this last year. Pre-pandemic, I’m sure I would’ve been like, “Great! That’s going to be so fun to go to Korea, go on these press tours, take my family to these places. It’ll be hard work, but this is something that we really love and believe in.” It would have been so fun to do all this stuff together.
But something that we were tapping into that I feel really resonates is just seeing what’s important and understanding the connection to not just your own family, but just to each other and the ways in which we misunderstand each other, the ways in which we’re disconnected from each other, the ways in which we’re isolated from each other and perhaps the ways in which we might be able to reconnect to each other. And so for me, I have two young children and my incredible wife. If I was on this press tour, it would’ve been a lot of time spent away. I’m very grateful for even how difficult it was to have two young children during this pandemic. We learned a lot and we grew a lot.
You’ve talked a bit about how your relationship with your father and your childhood informed your approach in the movie. I wonder how your own fatherhood, which is still relatively new, informed your sense of the character.
I’m very glad that I am a father in general, but then also being able to approach this role, I think it was very integral to it, just the ways in which fatherhood changed me. I don’t know if I would’ve been able to study that. And then in turn, the reconnection that it created for me to recontextualize the humanity of my father’s existence back then was really important because I think the largest hurdle for me was warring against the images and the projections and the internalized calculations of who my father and that generation is. Instead, trying to see them as the human beings and the chaotic people that they intrinsically are. I don’t know if I would have been able to really access that fully if I didn’t also empathize with the experience of fatherhood.
Did you have ideas about the way Jacob carries himself physically, specifically his posture, the way he walks, the way he gestures? He has this quiet rage to him, a certain striving and a certain disenchantment. I wonder how consciously that came out in physical decisions that you made.
It’s a confluence of a couple of things. I think I made active choices on body language that felt natural to me and felt correct for the character and the generation by my own memories. My dad would push things with his middle finger. He would hold his hands on his waist in a specific way. But what really ended up informing a lot of the unconscious body language was that I didn’t realize what my dad’s sighs were when I was younger.
His sighs?
He used to sigh so deeply when we were younger. When I was a kid, I was like, “Please stop sighing. It’s oppressive to me.” But in playing this role and being a father myself, I get it. You understand the ways in which you construct this idea that you’re carrying this whole family on your back. You wish that your family could appreciate how much you’re doing for them and how much you’re worrying about them and how much you’re trying to provide for them. But the real lesson that I think Jacob learns is that the way that he conveys his love can’t be mired in simply duty. His way of expressing love just can’t only be, “Let me guard my space and do my role and that’s how I was showing you my love.” Love is a verb. It’s not just Jacob carrying the weight of this anxiety on his shoulders, but it’s actually also [his wife] Monica, also [his mother-in-law] Soon-ja, also the kids.
I think a profound scene for that is when the barn is burning and Jacob is catatonic and just staring at the fire and you look over and you see Monica, who Ye-ri performed incredibly, just sobbing. It really shows how much weight is being carried by everyone around him. And I think that’s that body language that I ended up tapping into — just a feeling of insecurity, a feeling of being unseen, a feeling of injustice and just objective determination. And then that just raises your shoulders a specific way and makes you move at a pace a specific way.
Was there a scene or a moment when you consciously emulated one of your father’s sighs?
I think where I emulated something that my father did was actually when Jacob was sitting in his chair while [his religious friend] Paul is having the exorcism. He crossed his legs and just kind of sat on his throne in this way that felt like a quiet, regal protest for me. I’ve seen my dad do that before.
Can you draw a contrast in how the physicality of this character differs from that of, say, Ben in “Burning,” where you are this quiet, menacing, lurking presence with potentially psychopathic tendencies? Or “Sorry to Bother You,” where you were a socially active everyman?
All of those start primarily from a state of mind and working on where these characters foundationally rest their understanding of reality. For Ben, he’s so privileged. He can sit at ease in any position, right? He can be polite and sitting up and proper and still be at ease, and he can be sitting back slouched and still be at ease. With someone like Jacob, he’s slouching or emulating what it looks like to sit at ease, but he’s still tense. He’s trying to let go of some steam. He doesn’t have full agency over that, whereas Ben would. And in “Sorry to Bother You,” I think he’s a chameleon. He’s just trying to be slippery and kind of malleable and fit into whatever the situation requires of him, and so he’s more amorphous that way.
“Minari” was your first time producing a movie. Was there a particular reason for that, and what did it mean to you?
For me, I’ve always wanted to produce. But for this, not that there was any lack of trust in Isaac or anybody, but for me, I realized the position that I had been afforded at the moment and that I could be a part of greenlighting a project that probably wouldn’t have been made like this.
Were you conscious of being able to do that because you have attained a certain clout within the industry?
Sure, yeah. I think it’s fair to say that the industry reacts on metrics, and so there was a real feeling that I could contribute to something like this. I also wanted to make sure that it wasn’t shrunken down or tainted or altered along the process. I really wanted to have a voice in making sure to maintain the integrity of the script as I read it from the very beginning. You’ll still run into opinions and certain suggestions about what could be done, and I think that was a responsibility that myself or Christina Oh at [the production company] Plan B or Isaac would take upon ourselves, to be like, “No, no, no. That’s important to us on a specific, truthful level from our point of view.”
Do you have an example of that?
Nothing really manifested in a way that was aggressive. I think perhaps people were watching the first couple of takes and then being like, “Oh, wow, yeah, this movie is going to be in a completely foreign language.” And prior to that, something like that hadn’t been really made by an American before. “The Farewell” was one of the first. But this one was primarily in Korean, and I think that’s jarring to people. It was more, “Trust us, this is how we have to do it.” We were lucky to shoot our film with such graciousness. It was just about surrounding ourselves with the right people to make sure that this thing could feel as true as possible. That’s what I really wanted to help and have a hand in.
This interview has been condensed and edited for clarity.
