There is something alluring about the great outdoors. Imagine being able to set up a tent and live off of the land. It’s the type of self-made man story that man strives for, understanding their true independence in this great big world. Oh sure, there are some examples where it seems foolish – notably The Revenant (2014), Into the Wild (2007), and Jeremiah Johnson (1972) – but every now and then one comes along that gets to the heart of something greater. It’s a journey of the self, and it’s what makes films like The Way (2010), Wild (2014), and Tracks (2013) resonate more with me. Something is learned when you have to trust instincts and break out of your shell. On some level, they’re all self-indulgent and silly, but every now and then a filmmaker has enough sense to understand what is really being searched for.
I haven’t found a film in this genre that has been as fulfilling as Nomadland (2020). Director Chloe Zhao’s latest film is a perfect encapsulation of why people live off the grid. Nomads as a group do not have a specific location they call their home, instead wandering around to wherever they find suitable. As Frances McDormand’s Fern decides to go nomad, she discovers a world that is far different from the stereotypes. It is sometime after America’s Great Recession, in a time where businesses don’t hold as much endearment for their employees. Fern begins the story working at an Amazon plant, talking to other nomads who discuss their seasonal work and this struggle to make enough to survive.
Unlike most films, what drew me into the film wasn’t the journey but the stops along the way. Fern plays more like a cipher which Zhao uses to connect the pieces between every supporting character, the majority of which are actual nomads. They bring with it authenticity as a stop off in the desert turns into a communal moment of joy.
It’s also a chance to talk more directly with them and create this bigger understanding. Nomadland is ultimately about the humanity that lives in America. Most of the people that Fern meets in the first half all share some tragic story. Despite their independence, they all have some heartbreak whether by health conditions or a broken family. These are the people who feel cast aside, unable to make it in a country where the cost of living only charts upwards. There’s an acceptance of their fate with some living out their final days touring the country, finding some deeper meaning in their own lives.
This is especially effective because not every character is reduced to a cameo. While Fern rarely stays in the same spot for more than 15 minutes, there is something heartwarming about what she discovers. As she works janitorial and kitchen jobs, she talks to people with their own dreams. It's impossible to know whether they’ll achieve them, but what’s incredible is who sticks around. As the film’s third act profoundly declares, nobody really dies. We’ll just see them later down the road. Zhao’s ability to convey this in subtle ways is endearing, where friendships that feel fleeting come back to hold deeper meaning, opening up a perspective in Fern that allows her to grow as a character.
By hook or by crook, I honestly believe that McDormand has quietly become one of the most interesting actors of the past few years. As divisive as Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri (2017) was, I think it allowed her to explore a complicated woman that was far more dimensional than we gave credit for. The same goes for Nomadland where she at times comes across more as observant, taking in these stories while looking for meaning in her own life. There is a hidden pain inside of her that is slowly revealed as she bonds with strangers, able to crack jokes. She is comfortable, but is she finding any true answer?
Many may be disappointed that there is no real catharsis from a narrative standpoint. The journey that Fern goes on is cyclical, not always revealing the most obvious of answers. At the end of the day, she still lives in a van and works odd jobs. Most of the characters come and go, even ending with a touching story about death. It’s hard to know if Fern even grows as a character. Even then, the journey creates this impressively human story about life. Do we want conventions from this world, or should we use our mobility as a chance to better explore this world? After all, we only live once and we shouldn’t be restrained.
I feel that, even if by accident, Nomadland is a film that feels especially relevant in light of recent events. America as a country may be divided over political differences, but the pandemic has also brought with it economic challenges as well as the general idea of being connected to our fellow citizens. There is more reason to feel alone, to desperately search for work and come to terms with dying. This isn’t a story about sickness, but the way it meditates on mortality is only elevated by how much struggle there is to find value in life sometimes. What is even worth doing in 2021 when the potential for accidentally dying in the most innocent of ways is high? It’s paralyzing, and Nomadland is a film that captures that emotion clearly.
While I can admit to having a comfortable living, there is something to how this conveys vulnerability. All that it will take for Fern to be hopeless is a van breaking down, a tire going flat, or even a lack of food. She has the drive to live that is reflective of everyone’s struggle in a year where jobs have been cut exponentially, having fears that tomorrow isn’t promised. She may be somber and not always emotionally resilient, but it’s because of her strategic view of the world, only ever laughing when she finds somebody who “gets it,” who has had to deal with hazards. They are the most alive, even as they seem closest to potential death.
More than anything, Nomadland is an atmospheric achievement that feels like it’s more than generic spiritual growth. Yes, it teaches Fern to be more self-reliant and it is ultimately her story. However, the viewer is more likely to be left thinking about the people who are barely present. There is something to Zhao’s ability to empathize with them, making them feel familiar. The viewer may act like they don’t know a nomad, but this suggests that they’re among us, helping to give the country a greater backbone. They’re like us, trying to make it through the world. They just happen to do it in bolder and more complicated ways.
In all honesty, I would love if Nomadland resonated with Oscar voters enough to be the Best Picture winner. It has a poignant honesty that I think speaks to the moment. However, I think it’s too much of an arthouse darling, not unlike Roma (2018), that will isolate average viewers. Even then, I don’t know that I’ve seen something as masterfully capture what it means to be alive in this country at this moment without being too on the nose. Everything about the film is meditative, allowing the viewer to grapple with everyone’s life while questioning ways to better their own. McDormand gives a great performance and it would be criminal if Zhao is ignored for directing nods. It’s a worthwhile journey that continues to reveal itself the longer you think about it. All you have to do is stop and listen.
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