One of the things I love most about this life is that there’s no final goodbye. 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.
I’m just really on board with what Chloe Zhao is doing as a filmmaker. I loved The Rider, her last film, and with this one, only her third feature, she’s crafted a true masterpiece of cinema, chasing the ghosts of the American Dream as they live out their lives on a never-ending road that, hopefully at least, leads them to a measure of solace, if not exactly redemption. As Zhao examines the journeys of the souls who have either dropped out or opted out of the larger American society, she likes to place her camera sometimes far from her subjects, capturing the individual alone, dwarfed by wilderness; she also likes to place it painfully close, letting the faces of her subjects, often weathered, worn and craggy, fill the screen so that we can see every flicker of emotion, examine those faces like landscapes themselves, formed, like the topography of the earth, by the long, slow efforts of time and circumstance. This is really beautiful, visually, and allows for incredibly nuanced performances, but I think she’s also getting at something thematic.
Because I suppose the question of those who have stepped outside of “normal” society is always “Why?” What would lead a person to move into this strange nomadic existence? And Zhao seems to be saying that the reasons are both big picture and deeply personal. The brutal devastation of a wrecked economy can’t be overstated as a reason nor can an overall de-emphasis on the value of older individuals. So far, societal. But the reasons are deeper than that. There are, in fact, as many stories on the road as there are people and most of those stories are painful, filled with sorrow and regret. As she did in The Rider, Zhao blurs the boundaries of fact and fiction, using documentary style to capture a lot of the nomads as they are, real people, sometimes playing versions of themselves, at other times seeming to simply just be themselves, as much as anyone ever is, even in a documentary. But those faces will stay with you forever, as will the “performances” of the supporting cast whether it’s Linda May or Bob Wells or Swankie or Derek Endres. Not sure I’ll find an organic place to bring him up, so I’ll mention David Strathairn; feels like it’s been ages since I’ve seen him, but he’s as excellent as always. Swankie, a non-professional who’s never been in a movie before, comes damn close to stealing the whole movie with a magnificent monologue about coming to the end of her life and still having dreams.
And the film does have powerful lines of dialogue, but it’s a minimal script really. Zhao, I think, likes examining subjects who aren’t talkative, people who are experiencing deep emotions, but not really articulating them. In a way, Zhao’s films are about exploding the myth of the unfeeling stoic; the people in her movie don’t emote a lot or talk about their feelings, but their emotions are intense and profound, just as they are for most of us. In some ways, maybe Zhao is specifically talking about the emotions that are too deep for words. I know that’s my experience with her movies; I’m often moved in ways that I can’t explain. I cried a lot watching Nomadland and I wasn’t always able to put into words why; sometimes it was a moment as simple as, you know, Fern standing next to a massive tree. There’s an immensity to the world Zhao captures here that is just inherently moving to me. Also of note here is Zhao’s use of music. The film features the compositions of Ludovico Einaudi and, though I believe none of them were written for the film, they match the gorgeous visuals and the deep emotion of the film to absolute perfection.
But I guess it’s time to talk about Frances McDormand as I wrap up. I could have really started with her, I suppose, so central is she to this movie’s power. I’m a fan of McDormand when she goes big; I guess all I have to say to illustrate that is to say I actually love her performance in Three Billboards. But here she goes very minimal; she’s taciturn, often poker-faced, quiet but steely. But as the film progresses, we start to understand her and the things that drive her and the things she’s chasing. It’s a performance of such lived reality, such naturalism, that it’s downright brilliant and we may look back in decades to come and consider this her best work. I think I’m ready to make that declaration now actually.
Anyway, I’ve gone on at length here, even by my own standards, but this is a film I connected with deeply. I’m so glad we got this movie before Zhao got sucked into the MCU machine. How do I feel about that? Well, I’d much rather she was making another movie like this one, but I am intrigued to see if she can get some of her own personal touch into a blockbuster and, if she gets a good paycheck out of the deal, I’m fine with that. And one of the few jokes in the movie, or maybe it’s actually not, has Fern wandering past a deserted theater advertising The Avengers. But, as strange as it is to consider Zhao in the setting of a blockbuster comic-book movie, in one sense she’ll be right at home. She’ll be tackling a superhero group called the Eternals, but really that’s who she’s always been making movies about. The nomads . . . they just go on, don’t they? 4 stars.
tl;dr – beautifully written & directed, featuring a magnificent central performance, Nomadland is as emotionally devastating as it is understated and wonderful. 4 stars.