A uniquely American struggle is met by an indomitable American spirit in Chloe Zhao’s Nomadland. Adapted by Zhao from a nonfiction book by Jessica Bruder, the movie stars Frances McDormand as Fern, a widow left without work—indeed, without place—when the Nevada factory town she’s lived and worked in completely shuts down. Fern outfits her van so she can cook and sleep in it and hits the road, picking up various seasonal jobs (an Amazon warehouse, Wall Drug Store) along the highways of the American West.
As with her two previous films, Songs My Brothers Taught Me and The Rider, Nomadland is a work of cultural anthropology. (Zhao was born and raised in Beijing, giving her work a traveler’s acute curiosity.) She once again employs a number of nonprofessional actors, drawing from their own experiences, to populate the movie. Around campfires in makeshift RV parks or tables in factory lunchrooms, other “nomads” share their stories—of loss and disenfranchisement, but also inventive independence. At one point an older woman Fern meets (Charlene Swankie) vividly describes driving around a bend in the road and encountering a swarming flock of swallows; the tableau she paints with her words is as entrancing as the film’s lush landscape cinematography.
As for Fern, she’s a particularly tricky character: cool but not unfriendly, private but not closed off. There’s a wonderful, nonverbal moment of character detail when Fern is offered a dog who has been left behind at an RV park; she gives the animal a quick, gentle pat on the head, then turns and quickly walks away. Mostly, McDormand delivers a listening performance, ceding many of the scenes to the nonprofessional actors and their stories.
As such, Nomadland can at times feel like a tourist experience. We stop by Swankie for a while, learn a bit about another woman named Linda (Linda May), meet some neo-hippie kids around a campfire, get a glimpse of a mangy, piano-playing raconteur. Many of them register as passing curiosities. This is partly the nature of the nomad lifestyle—just “passing through”—but it also renders some of these folks as souvenirs.
Countering that is Dave, a fellow traveler played by David Strathairn. Fern and Dave run into each other on the road a handful of times, eventually forming a tentative, wary relationship that might, just maybe, offer something more stable. But would that be a good thing? That’s the central question of the movie: is Fern’s lifestyle really her choice, or is it something foisted upon her by economic realities? (She says at one point,“I need work. I like work.” And we see that she’s a hard worker.) By its bittersweet ending, Nomadland delicately suggests that Fern’s experience is a choice, but one born out of hardship. The “choice” represents the potential of the United States. The “hardship” is the nation’s capitalist curse.
