‘Nomadland’ review; Dir. Chloé Zhao (2020)

Early on in Chloé Zhao’s docu-fiction Nomadland, a character shows off a tattoo of a famous Morrissey famous lyric: “Home is it just a word. Or is it something you carry within you?”. It perhaps best encapsulates the recent Golden Lion winner – a film about self-discovery and finding one’s home in the world.

Much like Songs My Brothers Taught Me and The Rider before it, Nomadland is another authentic slice of Americana in which sixty-somethings Fern (Frances McDormand) navigates the American West. Based on Jessica Bruder’s non-fiction book ‘Nomadland: Surviving America in the 21st Century’, the film tells the story of those affected by the financial crash of 2008; old-timers that can’t live off retirement benefits but don’t earn enough for a stable living either so end up roaming the country in vans seeking temporary, seasonal employment as they go. After losing her husband, Fern sets out on this path too – that of the nomad.

Fern’s way of life is one that many would consider undesirable. And the film shows some of the hardships these people can face – cold nights without heat; flat tyres stranding them in the middle of nowhere; a lack of stability. But, at the same time, the film is a bittersweet celebration of the community and humanity of this tribe. Fern encounters other nomads in her travels and, as she did in The Rider, Zhao brings non-actors into the fold to play themselves. It adds a level of authenticity to the proceedings that’s difficult to replicate otherwise. For these people, this is their life and Zhao does an immaculate job of giving this unheard group of people a voice. It’s beautiful to watch the Chinese-born-filmmaker explore this territory with such delicate, deft skill and emotion.

In some respects, McDormand takes on the observer role here as she weaves in and out of these stories and lives – soaking up monologues of people taking to the road to heal through nature or the surreal events they’ve experienced in their journeys. A particular speech from one of the nomads, Swankie, about the time she felt she was flying with hundreds of swallows on a cliffside drive is an incredibly poignant example of this; van-dwelling preacher Bob Wells (who has a small cameo here) also has some powerful observations to make at the end of the film.

Nomadland is a monolithic piece of work so human and so intimate that it feels tactile and poetic; every second of this film is gushing with tenderness and authenticity. Zhao is a master of her craft with an attention to detail that is so nuanced, it evokes every emotion from joy to sadness. It’s hard to think that any other film this year will be able to match the heights that Nomadland hits. It’s unlike anything else you’ll see which is to say, quite simply, it’s a melancholic masterpiece. This is an overwhelmingly emotional, cathartic experience through masterfully gentle storytelling – cinema so pure that it demands to be felt.