“You know, I’ve met hundreds of people out here and I don’t ever say a final goodbye. I always just say, ‘I’ll see you down the road.’ And I do. And whether it’s a month, or a year, or sometimes years, I see them again.”
That speech by real-life nomad Bob Wells comes at the end of the third act of Nomadland; after we’ve seen Frances McDormands’ Fern spend a year travelling around the western and mid-western United States looking for temporary work and communing with nature after the death of her husband and the closure of a gypsum plant forced her out of her home in Empire, Nevada. It’s a moving sentiment, intrinsically specific in its’ folksy connotations, quoted both in the films’ trailer and by director Chloé Zhao on winning the Golden Globe Award in that category last month -to the point it might feel wearily aphoristic by now. However I was glad to see upon finally watching the movie, only just now released in Canada, that the meaning in that line baked into the context of the film and the greater pantheon of Ferns’ experiences, outweighs any platitudinous judgments that can be attributed to it. Frankly, the ideology of the movie is bent around it and earns its’ hopeful spirit.
Nomadland is the third film from Zhao, after a pair of South Dakota-set indie dramas (Songs My Brothers Taught Me and The Rider), and is a continuation of her unique fascination with the Badlands and her minimalist, starkly neorealist approach to filmmaking: remote, on-location shooting, use of natural lighting, and the employment of working-class non-actors in most of the roles. McDormand and David Strathairn are the only professionals cast in the project, and even they are decidedly inconspicuous among all the real-life nomads playing slightly fictionalized versions of themselves. Zhao has never made a documentary, but she has a very keen documentarian eye, objectively framing these people almost as interview subjects at times, and allowing them free expression in their lifestyle. Though the movie is based on a non-fiction book by Jessica Bruder with a script by Zhao herself, there’s a palpable looseness to so many individual scenes, to so many characters; a naturalism just about impossible to attain methodically.
And it works to communicate this exquisitely distinct world extremely well and draws you in like no other. As good documentaries do, the movie hones in on its’ community of focus, observing in an impartial capacity so that their lifestyle speaks for itself. Essentially these nomads are people, largely older poorer folks, who have been laid off, made redundant, or lost a loved one or source of livelihood. Looking for peace with themselves and nature, they have chosen a simple self-sufficient existence of travelling the country, working temporary odd jobs, and living out of vans. Zhao doesn’t pass judgement, as much as an underlying critique of America’s homeless crisis inevitably permeates the narrative; she vividly explores the nomadic experience from her vantage point in Fern as humbling, quiet, and serene –though not without its’ inconveniences and difficulties. Much like the nomads, her camera is rarely still -always moving, always agitated, as though fearful it might miss some slice of life or natural wonder if it were to be static. And there is plenty of wonder to behold, Zhao and cinematographer Joshua James Richards not only capturing picturesque scenes of natural tranquility (a lot of it around South Dakota), but composing their elements of character against these with gorgeous precision. There are multiple shots of McDormand within her environment that are just astonishing to look at!
McDormand is the centrepiece of the movie, and as much as it is an outlet for exploring the world of nomads, it is principally a character study of this emotionally lost woman finding a home within that world. At this point, it’s not contentious to say that McDormand is one of the best actresses of her generation, and she demonstrates why again here. Her immersion in the role is such that every subtle detail in her expression and candour and even the presumptive thoughts you can detect crossing her mind are distinctly Ferns’. And though she isn’t as open a character as others McDormand has played, you get the sense of knowing her just as well and identifying with her underlying grief. Being a nomad is seen to often mean solitude, and Fern is clearly lonely -but she needs to be. She needs to be withdrawn from that existence she had back in Empire with her husband, and even from her family in California from whom she’s somewhat estranged. It’s also the reason she carefully avoids the romantic insinuations of Strathairn’s Dave, who she runs into every so often through her travels and who, with his own family and an expectant grandchild, simply isn’t compatible with Ferns’ psychological state and wayward compulsions. Ultimately it’s not entirely clear how much she finds herself, but she is content by the end, and confident in her new purpose. So often the journey of self-discovery Fern embarks on here is characterized in media and life as an exclusively young persons’ enterprise: finding themselves before venturing further into adulthood. And so it’s awfully relieving to see it played out in this for an older woman, just as in need of that exhilaration and new perspective on life as her younger peers.
Nomadland is a solemn and comforting movie, naturalistic and graceful in an immediately endearing way. Yet Zhao imbues the film also with a deep respect for the utter majesty of nature, such that it seems so vast in spite of its’ minimalism. Her complete love in the values she is expressing, the people she is showcasing is only equaled by her measured craft and soothing artistry. Those who have not seen her earlier films (and both are well worth seeking out) will encounter through Nomadland an impressive young visionary. And honestly it’s a tad disappointing that if they don’t, they’ll likely meet her through Marvel’s The Eternals, which she directed after this and is slated to come out later this year. It’s a bold leap and one that will get her a lot of deserved publicity, but is also concerning: the Marvel machine doesn’t have a great track record of allowing their directors full creative agency. Certainly, there won’t be any quiet, contemplative long takes in that one.
There’s a scene late in the film where Fern is walking along a coastal cliff-face on a gray and downcast day. The sea wind is blowing heavily all around her, and she closes her eyes, leans back her head, and takes a moment to just meditate on where she is, what she’s feeling. I’ve been there, and I imagine a lot of people have. And in a way, that’s the experience of Nomadland. It allows you to vicariously inhabit these spaces, be a part of these mesmerizing nomadic communes, take greater stock of where you are and who you are -and understand more comprehensively how the former determines the latter.
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