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“People want to be settled,” wrote Ralph Waldo Emerson. “It is only to the extent that they are unstable that there is hope for them.” This tension between stability and uprooting, between the illusory consolations of the house and the risky attraction of the open road, is at the heart of “Nomadland”, Chloé Zhao’s third expansive and intimate feature film.
Based on the animated and well-reported book of the same name by Jessica Bruder, “Nomadland” stars Frances McDormand as Fern, a fictional former resident of an ancient real-life place. The film begins with the End of Empire, Nevada, a corporate town that officially ceased to exist in late 2010, after the local gypsum mine and Sheetrock mill closed. Fern, a widow, takes the freeway in a white van she names Vanguard and personalizes with an alcove, kitchen area and storage space for the few memories of her previous life. Fern and Vanguard join a dispersed, rolling tribe – a subculture and literal movement of itinerant Americans and their vehicles, an unstable nation within the borders of the United States.
Bruder’s book, set in the aftermath of the Great Recession, focuses on the economic upheavals and social dislocation that drives people like Fern – middle-aged and older; middle class, more or less – on the road. Reeling from unemployment, broken marriages, lost pensions and collapsing home values, they work long hours in Amazon warehouses during winter vacations and poorly paid stays in national parks during the summer months. They are free but also desperate, pressed by rising inequalities and a frayed safety net.
Zhao softens some of these social critiques, focusing on the practical peculiarities of roaming life and the personal qualities – resilience, solidarity, economy – of its adherents. With the exception of McDormand and a few others, almost everyone in “Nomadland” plays versions of themselves, having made the slightly magical transition from the non-fictional page to the non-documentary screen. Among them are Bob Wells, the handsomely bearded mentor of legions of van dwellers, who summons them to an annual conclave – part culture festival, part self-help seminar – at Quartzsite, Arizona; Swankie, an intrepid kayaker, problem solver and nature lover; and Linda May, a central figure in Bruder’s book who almost steals the film as Fern’s best friend.
Friendship and loneliness are the poles between which Zhao’s film oscillates. He has a loose, episodic structure and a low-key harsh mood that matches the ethos he’s exploring. Zhao, who edited “Nomadland” in addition to writing and directing, sometimes lingers on majestic western landscapes and sometimes quickly jumps from one detail to another. As in ‘The Rider,’ her 2018 film about a rodeo cowboy in South Dakota, she is attentive to the interplay between human emotion and geography, how space, light and wind reveal character.
She captures the pace and boredom of Fern’s days – long hours behind the wheel or at work; disruption caused by weather conditions, interpersonal conflict or vehicle problems – without rush or drag. “Nomadland” is patient, compassionate and open, motivated by a desire to wander and observe rather than judge or explain.
Fern, we eventually find out, has a sister (Melissa Smith), who helps her out of a jam and praises her as “the bravest, most honest member” of their family. We believe these words because they also apply to McDormand, whose courage, empathy and discipline have never been so clearly evident. I don’t mean to say this is a demonstration of award-seeking acting technique, a movie star imitation of bravery of an ordinary person. Rather the opposite. Much of what McDormand does is listen, provide moral and emotional support to non-professional actors as they tell their stories. Her skills and sensitivity help you persuade yourself that what you see is not only realistic, but true.
Which brings me, a bit reluctantly, to David Strathairn, who plays a traveling companion named Dave. He’s a silvery-haired man with a soft voice who catches Fern’s attention and gently tries to win her affection. Her attempts to help her are clumsy and not always well-judged – he offers her a bag of licorice sticks when she wants a pack of cigarettes – and although Fern likes him quite well, his feelings are decidedly mixed.
Mine too. Straitharn is a wonderful actor and an intriguing, non-toxic male presence, but the fact that you know that as soon as you see him is a bit of a problem. Our first glimpse of Dave, who is concentrating behind a box of can opener during an impromptu exchange meeting, comes close to a spoiler. The vast horizon of Fern’s story suddenly threatens to contract into a plot. He promises – or threatens – that a familiar narrative will overtake Fern and the movie.
To some extent, “Nomadland” wants to settle down – doesn’t necessarily want to domesticate its heroine, but at least bend its journey into a more or less predictable arc. At the same time, and in a beautiful Emersonian spirit, the film rebels against its own conventional impulses, gravitating towards a more complicated, more open, more contradictory idea of experience than most American films are willing to allow.
Zhao’s western vision includes breathtaking rock formations, ancient forests, and sweeping desert views – as well as icy parking lots, litter-strewn campsites, and cavernous, soulless workplaces. In the context of the Badlands or an Amazon fulfillment center, an individual can be reduced to next to nothing. Nomadic existence is both a recognition of human impermanence and a protest against it.
Fern and his friends are united as much by the experience of loss as by the spirit of adventure. So many of the stories they share are tinged with grief. It’s hard to describe the mix of sadness, wonder and gratitude you feel in their company – in Fern’s company, through his eyes and ears. It’s like discovering a new country, a country that you might want to visit more than once.
Nomadland
Rated R. Live hard and talk that way too. Duration: 1 hour 48 minutes. In theaters and on Hulu. Please review the guidelines outlined by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention before watching movies in theaters.
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