A ‘Nomadland’ Review
Nomadland is a deeply moving portrayal of the destruction of American industry and the people found in the rubble. It is at its very best when it feels more like American Factory than Into the Wild.
I’m grateful to have finally seen the most evasive film of 2020 and thankfully it was worth the wait. Nomadland initially popped up on my radar because of the odd assortment of people attached to the film; living legend Frances McDormand is going to produce and star in an adaptation of a nonfiction book about older Americans who take to the road after the Great Recession, with the director of the forthcoming Marvel film Eternals attached to direct the film. This is worth discussing even by itself. Chloé Zhao is a filmmaker with a passion and penchant for the deeply personal. Her first two features were centered around individuals facing extraordinary circumstances. Both the physical and the metaphorical lens stay so close to the performers, most of whom are first-time performers and people from the communities she is spending time portraying. They all take place in the American West, using the wilds of the seemingly untamed land as a backdrop for these extremely emotional and vulnerable stories. And yet in late Spring 2018, Marvel Studios announced that this brilliant young filmmaker will be helming a new addition to the MCU starring Angelina Jolie and Richard Madden. I mention all this to set the stage for what was released to critics at Venice last September. Released in 2017, the Jessica Bruder novel by the same name was relatively successful, netting an award from Barnes & Noble, and was eventually adapted into a documentary short, but this sort of story feels like it deserved an adaptation from a real master filmmaker with an eye for observational cinema.
The story of Nomadland is built around a fictional character named Fern, played by Frances McDormand, who is recently widowed, recently unemployed, and has been forced into a transient lifestyle. Fern has spent the better part of her life living in the town of Empire, Nevada: a company town for the US Gypsum Mining company. When the demand for gypsum falls the livelihood of the entire town crumbles, leaving hundreds of people jobless and many of them homeless. Situations like these were taking place all over the United States after the financial crisis began in 2008. As industries fell apart, the workers whose careers centered around those industries found themselves in a desperate place, and a common theme developed of middle-aged and older adults selling many of their possessions and hitting the road. Figures like Bob Wells and other experts in affordable and effective living began to emerge and became celebrities in this community, organizing information and meetups throughout the US as a way to teach the newcomers how to live the lifestyle of a nomad. It is through meetups like these and her temp jobs working for Amazon plants, tourist traps, and campsites that Fern meets fellow travelers and develops a network of relationships. The travelers that occupy her life are real figures featured in the Jessica Bruder novel, including Bob Wells, Linda May, and my girl Swankie. Casting these people to portray themselves in a semi-fictitious version of their lives is where Nomadland soars.
The first half of Nomadland is shot and presented like an observational documentary or something akin to cinéma vérité. Frances McDormand is the lone professional through most of the film, showing off her immense talent and penchant for feeling like a regular person full of decency and life. The first half of Nomadland has some of the most affecting moments displayed on film in 2020 because the story follows that style. Zhao spends these moments turning the focus towards the relationships between nomads and the things they learn and the details of their lives: whether it be a lecture on pooping in buckets, or two friends having themselves a spa day. There’s a real trust that you can place in the performers on screen because they are real, good people who have been placed in difficult circumstances as they try to figure out how to live their lives and where their next place of employment will be. It goes even beyond seeing any number of Coen Brothers’ character actors, and while Warren Keith, Kathy Lamkin, and Gene Jones seem like real people plucked from any town in west Texas or central California, it is deeply moving to see Linda May herself talk about the difficulties of living Linda May’s life. These intimate moments of friendship are cast upon the backdrop of the western United States, beautifully shot by Zhao collaborator Joshua James Richards. These two clearly have a deep love for the expansive landscapes and the natural beauty put on display. While many of the nomads already inhabited this area of the country, a film about people feeling uprooted and alone who find community in adverse situations couldn’t be in a better location than a region of the country that is known for its adverse situations and the communities that form in these areas.
The narrative of the film shifts about halfway through when David Strathairn is introduced as a fellow traveler named Dave, who has a number of can openers and a son and daughter-in-law who he doesn’t keep in contact with. For me, the introduction of another great actor soured what had made the film so special for me, not only because it felt like this moment that shifted from an observational story about the mundane into a “will they, won’t they?” story. This is what feels almost disingenuous about Nomadland; the introduction of another successful, famous person into a story about people who have no concern for the Oscar chances of a film they said yes to appearing in. From my perspective, it seems that Chloé Zhao and her collaborators couldn’t help but introduce some “drama” in order for the audience to enjoy Frances McDormand giving a monologue about rich people benefiting from the real estate bubble bursting. There’s an undertone in films similar to Nomadland that centers around the feeling of exploration and “seeking the great beyond”; thankfully, Nomadland exhibits none of that. Even the women who say Fern is like a pioneer are poised as tone-deaf observers of a tragedy happening in real-time. What is taking place isn’t a privilege, rather it is simply a result of the hand that many of these folks have been dealt. While someone like Bob Wells approaches “van life” as a way to seek freedom from the trap of a 9-5 or capitalism as a whole, most of the people presented in the film aren’t here because they just thought it would be a good time. In my letterboxd review, I made this comment in jest, but I’m sincerely grateful that there aren’t any rich Millenials in sprinter vans in this film. Chloé Zhao attempts to be as honest as possible about the lives that these people lead and tries her best to stick to what Jessica Bruder described in her book, and that’s when it operates at its absolute peak.
It feels like hyperbole to say that a film like Nomadland only comes along every dozen or so years because there are a wealth of extremely intimate portrayals of the lives of everyday people. The difference is in the quality of filmmaking and the people attached to a film like Nomadland. Thanks to a well-run campaign by Searchlight, the movie has skyrocketed from what would be a well-liked film amongst a particular subset of film watchers, to an awards front runner. In spite of the slightly weaker second half, it is a beautiful film, both in its aesthetic and substance. Chloé Zhao is a really special director, with a distinct perspective as a Chinese filmmaker, who has spent much of her career portraying the American west, and I can say with certainty I have no idea what her rendition of a Marvel movie will look like. Nomadland is great, it's a film with portions of it that are so unassailable that they cannot be brought down by any narrative drama or monologue and will be seared into the minds of those who choose to give it a chance.