“We be the bitches of the badlands.”
‘Nomadland’ is one of those movies where nothing much happens, but it’s the type of movie you sit back and vibe with it.
This is a very attentive movie, where you journey along with this woman (played by Frances McDormand) who is fed up with her old life and decides to go off grid by traveling to different places while living in her van. She’s not homeless, just houseless. She is like a leaf that quietly and casually drifts from location to location. She encounters different people in this community, who are played by real nomads. Throughout the whole movie you are never in one place for too long, you just keep moving on.
I’ll give director Chloé Zhao and cinematographer Joshua James Richards major credit for they approach to a story like this. Zhao decision to include real nomads with their actual names in the movie as these characters made the story feel genuine and personal, which helps gives us a solid perspective on what life of a nomad is like but done in a respectful way that doesn’t intrude their lives. The cinematography from Joshua James Richards looks beautiful and does a great job showing off the Western landscape. Some locations can look so cold, and yet, other locations look so tranquil in the sunlight.
This movie is worth checking out just for Frances McDormand performance alone, as she is terrific in this movie. She plays Fern, an adventurous woman who is a child at heart, despite dealing with some personal issues from the inside that we are informed about briefly.
Also, I thought the real nomads were surprisingly good. I’m not sure if all the scenes with them are scripted or not, but either way I thought they were great.
While there’s a lot of things that I enjoyed and appreciated about this movie, but unfortunately it didn’t 100% connect with me on a emotional level. At first, I liked the whole open road freedom to the movie, because since the main character is never in one place, you too become a wanderer, but I also feel it misses the opportunity of a powerful character study, especially with a character like Fern when it’s clear that there’s more underneath the surface with her.
I found the pacing of the movie to be an issue for me, because with a two-hour runtime I would sometimes find myself losing interest in the characters and what was happening on screen, as the movie didn’t further develop or do anything with the content and ideas it presents.
While the music was appropriately used for certain scenes, but most of the time it felt really distracting and took me out of the scenes.
Overall rating: Again, there’s a lot of things that I appreciated about the movie and am interested in what Chloé Zhao has up her sleeves for Marvel’s ‘Eternals’, which I hope gives her the freedom to make whatever she wants in the late future, with the extra cash and name recognition.
I am not exactly sure what I just watched. I would under no circumstances consider this as a western, that's for sure. And drama... I dunno, doesn't that require a story? Or some character conflicts at least? Or did that genre becmoe the go-to label for everything that can't be categorised as anything else?
I have no idea what I just watched. There is no story here, the locations could be presented in any random order, and it wouldn't make any difference. There's no character portrayal either, really, we never really learn much (if anything) about anyone - consequently, there's no conflict, no drama, and no development either. There's no social commentary either, and it's also absolutely devoid of anything remotely political. A few shots here and there that I imagine look real nice in 4k HDR - but then if one wants pretty nature shots, they could just watch NatGeo or Discovery or some such. Some nice musical inserts - but then you can just go listen to any work of the featured composer anywhere, any time. It's like a hundred minute long portrait of some random generic people you most probably don't know and wouldn't care about anyway. And for the record: I don't mind movies in which nothing happens, but then show me something else instead. Nomadland doesn't.
How this movie ended up winning Best Actress, Direction, AND Picture - with all the other nominees in those categories - I'm sorry, but it does not compute. It's too much even if we chalk it up to the year having been long and slow due to the pandemic.
Pretty nihilist film, its characteristics are the perfect represent of the US society in which people are incapable of creating lasting bonds with other people, or, more abstractly, of properly engaging with an idea of other people's identities. This radical individualism is apparent throughout the (too long) minutes, but is never problematised. Also, there is an unmistakable element of some kind of soft masochistic pleasure in solitary grieving/pain, which undoubtedly leads to romanticising the imaginary freedom of "chosing a lifestyle", rather than seriously delving into the conditions which made contemporary nomadism possible.
The atmosphere is too lulling for the viewer and distracts from the harsh realities and pure surviving (few windy and snowy scenes are simplistic cop-outs and really not enough) that these people have to go through, physically and mentally. I say this with no pleasure or self-entitled smugness - this film is a product from a liberal arsenal which numbs the people who think they're morally enlightened on the issues of the true nature of the lowest strata of American society. This film tries so hard to be an authentic portrayal, but ultimately it fails miserably on multiple levels.
Except for Frances McDormand's role, this film is completely forgettable and not worth watching, if you've already seen Three Billboards Outside Ebbing Missouri, then you have another reason less because you've seen how she performs these kind of roles.
The movie I have been waiting for since I knew of its existence and the only one of the nominees that I really wanted to see. What a beautiful movie! There are movies that fill your heart when you watch them and Nomadland does that: Chloé Zhao's script is built to take us on a journey of exploration through the characteristics of nomads in the United States that allows us to reflect on our lifestyles. Joshua James Richards' cinematography captures you in postcards of contemplation of nature in contrast to the urbanization (often decadent) of capitalist society. Ludovico Einaudi's music score blends very well in moments with cinematography and the contemplative scene. The reason I wanted to see this movie was Frances McDormand, as I imagined that after Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri, she would delight us with an equally masterful performance, and she did; very different from that grieving mother who wants to achieve recognition from the police for the lack of action in the disappearance of her daughter, on this occasion she gives us measured scenes in which her gaze and gestures carry all the burden ; she once again deserves the Oscar for best leading actress, even though the film does not provide any of the so-called "award scenes" full of anger, pain or agony. And finally, the direction of Chloé Zhao who manages to combine elements in such a masterful way that it deserves all the awards; the stories, environments and real people, which she is responsible for weaving into a story to make the film attractive.
After stowing away her material possessions and hitting the highway, a widowed van-dweller roams the seasonal workplaces and temporary sanctuaries of the transient life. It's a lonesome road, one of fleeting connections and uncertain destinations; a solitary existence that's half choice and half necessity. I’ve noticed a certain sense of daydreamy romanticism floating around this sort of lifestyle recently, the glamorized prospect of working from a cel signal with the great outdoors as a backdrop, but Nomadland strips away much of that veneer in showing the other side of the coin. There's promise in such freedom, but also great risk, and not every van lifer is cut out for the harsh realities of such a compartmentalized existence.
Frances McDormand drew a best actress Oscar for her portrayal of Fern, the wandering protagonist whose compassion leads her to make deep connections with similar spirits, but whose withdrawn emotional restlessness forces those relationships to remain decidedly brief. She's wonderful, as expected, with an expressive authenticity that can make the film feel more like a documentary than a staged drama. Evidently, moviegoers weren't the only ones taken by that convincing act: without a firm script, much of the film's dialogue is delivered by true nomads who happened into the indie-scale production and, taking McDormand for one of their own, opened up to her. That knowledge can cause the film to teeter a bit too close to exploitation, but it also lends extra credibility and sentimental power to the viewing experience.
Gloomy but stirring, with a potent contemporary subject, a number of rich supporting characters (if they're actually characters at all), a beautiful photographic sense and a smooth narrative flow. It’s a meaningful picture, if not an uplifting one.
THE GOOD: ‘NOMADLAND’
WRITING: 70
ACTING: 100
LOOK: 100
SOUND: 100
FEEL: 80
NOVELTY: 90
ENJOYMENT: 80
RE-WATCHABILITY: 75
INTRIGUE: 70
EXPECTATIONS: 80
THE GOOD:
Director-writer-editor Chloé Zhao goes for a stripped-down, almost documentary-style direction with Nomadland, which helps viewers embrace the characters and the story as if they were real.
This film captures the tight financial and social situation in the US and most of the world right now, including rising unemployment, insufficient social benefits and price inflation. Nomadland is very much a product of 2020 but uses our current times as a beautiful poetic backdrop for a modern, grounded escapism story.
The piano-heavy score is a beautifully emotional complement to the story, underlining the calm nature of the American wilderness and the freedom of the people living as modern-day nomads.
Frances McDormand is impossible to dislike. Here she is a perfectly normal woman without extra frills or distinct features, but she still comes across as likeable, funny, heartfelt and genuine.
The different people Fern meets during the film, all living nomadic lives like herself, help personify the life, the emotions, the fears and the challenges attached to life in modern society. Some of these conversations about love, death, relationships and dreams are the most rewarding moments this film has to offer.
Seeing this beautiful freedom, this wild and untouched nature and these people forming a unique nomadic eco-system feels so soothing and liberating in these trying times we currently live in. We come to realize that this is not only a lifestyle; it is also a form of therapy and a coping method.
Buried under all those barren American landscapes, the driving and the meeting with people is a deeper and surprisingly hard-hitting emotional journey that reaches a satisfying conclusion as the end credits start rolling.
THE BAD:
The script lingers around the same themes and the same people throughout the majority of its runtime, meaning that it’s starting to feel somewhat repetitive towards the end.
It remains unclear exactly what the end goal of this film is as the story lacks a definite closure.
THE UGLY:
Cannot wait for the sequel, Nomadworld!
THE VERDICT:
Chloé Zhao’s Academy Award-nominated drama is as much an intricate character piece as it is a great exploration of American society today.
85% = :white_check_mark: = GOOD
After watching Nomadland I could see how some people would just stop watching after the first third and never go back to the film, likewise I could see how what is played out in front of you gets under your skin like a favourite song.
For me Nomadland is a poem made into a visual feast. Casting Frances McDormand was obviously a coup for director Chloe Zhao who likes to point the camera at real people, film, and then edit down until it is something palatable. McDormand is just the actorly glue that holds the film together and the perfect actor to play a natural role. No showboating, she just looks and behaves exactly like the ‘real’ nomads featuring in the running time. Most of those on the screen with exception of David Strathairn and France McDormand are exactly as they are in real life. Swankie is still alive and well, and she does what you see during the runtime in her own non-filmed life.
If the film has a noticeable fault it appears to show that this tough life on the road in the USA seems to have been somewhat romanticised because it does not take a huge stretch of imagination to realise that even on a good day this is a tough, tough life, with a social security system that does not care, a private health care system and open hostility to people without homes one can imagine every day is hard work. This is not shown to any extent in Nomadland.
For me the film is not there to show these points but more about the ornery, tough character of Fern who is resilient, tough, and self-reliant. She certainly is not painted as an angel of compassion and understanding but as we all can be be – many points between kind and mean. Life has thrown some awful brickbats at her, ending up with her being on the road and needing no one, it has battered a lot of love and feeling out of her to the point where she is incapable of real love, having close friends or even relaxing to a full extent. When her husband died, then Empire the town, she did too but carried on living.
The vistas are both beautiful and sparse and certainly seem to say that travelling up and down the USA in a minivan is not so bad. I’m not convinced. For me the people throughout the film are hanging on to their broken pasts and not wanting to move on up the road but instead just travel the road, almost an easy way out that ironically is not easy.
Fern visits her empty house and town at the conclusion in the most emotionally strong scenes in the movie as the desolated town and her old home sit empty and dusty perhaps a metaphor for her soul and life, perhaps the soul and life of the USA?
It is both sad and beautiful and if you do not fret so much about the story, the apparently ‘whitewashing’ of the hardships what you see is a beautifully made, mournful poem.
That’s the way I see Nomadland and if you know me from my presence on t’Internet then you know I like this type of approach.
I recommend Nomadland, you will either love it or hate it – but it will make you feel something.
I wanted to like this so badly, but I couldn't quite get there. I have to stop going into movies with high expectations. I was waiting to be blown away but Nomadland is just not a good movie.
Were the characters interesting, the lack of plot could be justified. But I wasn't invested with Fern’s journey at all. She is abrasive with zero personality. Chloé Zhao has nothing interesting to say about the reality she portrays. That’s why most of the movie is just long shot of van driving with the same dramatic piano playing. It’s basically a cycle of Fern chatting, being outcast, and traveling while she displays the exact same expression. There's no character study. Not to come off as someone lacking empathy but I simply couldn’t care less about people in this movie. Thus I found the topic of Nomadland to be incredibly purposeless. It's because of the way Americans talk about themselves. Like, “even the poor in America are much better off then the average person in most other countries around the world.” So, does that mean Americans can't be poor? Then how the hell am I supposed to feel sorry for Fern?!
Since the film dances around questions of economic struggle, we are left with the familiar tired message of most indie movies - ~leave all your possessions behind to be fReEeE, connect with nature~. For some reason, the poor are more “close to Earth” than other people and their hardship is just part of their spiritual journey to self enlightenment. And of course, there's no threats living that lifestyle, everyone is so nice. One would think the poor fight the poor for survival, so I expected people around those parts to be dangerous but no, it seems like the nomads community is just super nice.
The movie is so superficial. For Chloé Zhao it’s totally enough to showcase what it's like to live in poverty by letting some poor people speak for a couple of minutes. She never explores why they are in these situations or the societal factors that put them there in the first place. The book Nomadland is based on is very critical of Amazon's labor practices, so it is very weird to see people defending the depiction of Amazon in the film, which is not as 'apolitical' as the movie and Chloé Zhao are acting like it is. Fern always finds jobs but we never see her spending any money and yet somehow she has not enough to fix her van. How does that make sense? Maybe it was explained later in the movie (because I didn’t finish watching it)?
This movie is a whole lot of nothing. No story, character development, action or climax. The cinematography was nice every once in a while but not Oscar-worthy in the slightest. There's a reason the term Oscar Bait exists. These types of films are incredibly successful because they are an American liberal’s dream. And Nomadland is just the typical ~artistic portrait of poverty as a beautiful struggle devoid of any real political messaging~ Hollywood movie. I really can’t understand why people are parsing the film’s lack of anger toward capitalism. The movie is very neutral. I guess it was made for the same people who were acting as if they beat fascism buy electing a president who says how “nothing would fundamentally change.” The meager crumbs Americans float as "progress".
One last thing, having Frances McDormand and David Strathairn acting among people playing fictionalised versions of themselves is jarring. I don’t understand the ‘woke police’. Had McDormand’s characters be trans, Twitter would have been on fire. So, it’s okay to pretend you’re poor but not trans? The ‘woke’ people are shockingly selective of their outrage and it’s an issue I have with this era of ‘woke activism’.
Review by Andrew BloomVIP 9BlockedParentSpoilers2021-03-20T05:46:27Z
[9.4/10] Nomadland is an unassuming period piece, taking place roughly a decade before it was released. You wouldn’t know that beyond a few stray mentions of dates and times and the presence of a couple old cell phones that could be written off as the tech available to the film’s titular nomads. The movie centers on those travelers, getting by in desert campouts and parking lot largesse and the wide spots in the countryside. The places they inhabit feel simultaneously weathered and timeless enough to resist being dated.
And yet, it’s hard to imagine a film more salient to our times. Palpable in the very premise of the film is the sense of things left behind by a society with not enough care for the least of us. The precious possession, animals, and even people cast aside because there’s no one there to care for them permeate the film’s consciousness. It is, in its way, a blistering indictment of the community that would prompt its denizens to resort to such desperate, if resourceful, measures for want of other choices.
But it’s also a movie about loss, about the way that our connections to the people closest to us create roots deeper than any particular place, even places with warm beds and hot food. When those roots are torn up by illness or death or a changing economic landscape, it may be hard, if not impossible, to put them down ever again. Coupled with the practical reasons for adopting this lifestyle, Nomadland delves into the psychology of it, the sense of deep bonds severed that lead to a rootlessness even in those blessed with the options to settle down someplace.
The embodiment of this situation is Fern, a widow from a mining town in Nevada that withered on the vine when no one needed sheetrock anymore. The film follows her travelogue over the course of a year and beyond, rambling the countryside to wherever there’s work or community enough to sustain her. We see the world through the window of the van that doubles as both her transportation and her shelter, as she makes friends, muddles through as best she can, and scrapes by on a combination of hard work and the kindness of strangers.
Writer/director/editor Chloé Zhao lends this journey the air of naturalism it deserves. There are no big speeches here, little in the way of plot or firm structure. Instead, the movie laudably takes on the spirit of its protagonist, salt-of-the-earth wandering mixed with the buoying and complicated tangles of human interactions brought to the foreground. It’s a film that ambles, and sometimes stutters, but always in tune with the atmosphere Zhao aims to create and the internal feelings that Fern conveys.
It seems bold to say for an actor as deservedly decorated and venerable as Frances McDormand, but Fern may be her magnum opus. Fern is not a character who tells people what she really thinks or feels, almost to a fault. But in the tiniest expressions on McDormand’s face, the shifts in body language or sense of palpable discomfort when something seems too close or just close enough, she communicates those sensations and sentiments to the audience clear as a bell.
That thoroughly lived-in performance matches beautifully with Nomadland’s stunning cinematography. Director of Photography Joshua James Richards shoots astounding vistas from across the American landscape, finding beauty in desolate old towns, desert flora and fauna, and faces lit by fires crackling from the ground and stars shining from the night sky. The sense of loneliness mixed with human connection, of tininess within a vast natural world, comes through in the wonderful collection of images Zhao and Richards present.
It matches with the deliberateness of Zhao’s approach here, buoyed by soothing but melancholy piano-based score that adds feeling to the movie’s empty spaces. There’s something propulsive about Nomadland in its way, sinking into Fern’s endless search for the next odd job, the next temporary solution to her problem, the next friendly face who offers solace amid the ceaseless wandering. But Zhao also isn’t afraid to pause and show Fern simply being, to focus on the smaller moments of her life and experience that make the character and journey seem so real and viscerally felt.
Her plight comes through in the tough choices she makes in the first half of the film, and the fellow travelers she connects with grappling with the same. Through Fern, the viewer hears stories of sickness, grief, and other methods of falling through the safety net that prompt people to learn to live out of their vans in faraway places. No one ever articulates it, short of the nomads’ resident philosopher, but there’s the sense of these individuals having been victimized by a system that no longer has use for them, wanting to detach and start anew somewhere that they’re not bound by it.
It results in an inherent transience, but also deeper, liberating ties to the natural world in spare moments of grace and beauty. People flit in and out of Fern’s life -- Swankie, Linda May, Dave -- each leaving an impression on her but finding ways to move on as time and necessity progress. The joy and renewed loss of these fleeting but no less meaningful bonds animates the film, as we see small doses of stability and community infused into Fern’s life before they’re drained away by her road-bound existence.
And yet, even there, she has a certain peace away from the hustle and bustle of mainstream existence, one we learn she eschews by choice. That’s the striking turn in the second half -- learning that Fern is not wholly a nomad by necessity, with opportunities to settle down with new friends and old family. But her eccentricity, her courage, keeps her more comfortable drifting from place to place than putting down stakes again.
Ultimately, the film ties that to the loss of her husband and, eventually, the loss of the town where they made their home. It’s an irrevocable sort of grief, one that keeps Fern at a certain distance even from those who would welcome here, for fear that laying down roots again would be a betrayal to his memory, a wiping away of what he meant and the life they built together to try to replace in with anything half as sweet or stable. As time marches on, Fern seems to find some peace in this too, in the sense that all those lost souls will be met again a little on down the road, and it keeps her moving.
There is something irrepressibly timely about that tack. Nomadland does not shy away from the economic circumstances and uphill climb that leave so many straining to keep a foothold in the ever-shifting terrain of subsistence and prosperity. At the same time, it leans into a communal loneliness founded on loss, cut only by the warmth of the dribs and drabs of human connection that fade in and out of one’s life. It’s a message that is, like Fern herself, made for all seasons.