Nomadland | Film Review
Home. Is it just a word? Or is it something you carry with you?
A dusty white van on a curved road. Grey clouds that billow across the sky. Mountains blur in the distance. Credits begin rolling down the 5-inch screen of my phone. I sit in silence.
Nomad [noh-mad] noun: a person with no fixed abode who roams about; a wanderer
Chloé Zhao’s screenplay explores poetic nuances, playing with the idea of being homeless or a nomad, in a modern light.
In the film, Frances McDormand’s character, Fern, works to maintain an unconventional van lifestyle after her hometown – Empire, Nevada – was discontinued due to a reduced demand of sheetrock for its plant. Fern grapples with the loss of her husband, her house, and sense of normalcy. Despite her enormous loss, Fern swallows her pain, leaving the audience to wonder if she will eventually snap. Fern encounters numerous other van-dwellers, who take her under their wing and teach her the mechanics of van-living. Over the course of the movie, Fern unearths the beauty of a nomadic lifestyle, and discovers the true meaning of ‘home’. Chloé Zhao was able to perfectly capture the struggles of life, while reminding viewers the importance of savoring every single moment of it.
Possibly the most beautiful scene in the entirety of the film: pictured dark silhouettes like shadows, red lights illuminating the shadows’ faces. In this scene, it is said, “Stars blow up... They become part of you. So, hold out your right hand and look at a star. Because there are atoms from stars that blew up eons ago that landed on this planet, and now they’re in your hand”. It was a pleasant reminder that we are ants in this world. Every issue, every worry, every burden – life is so much larger than us, and so we must enjoy it while we can.
The Academy Award winning film, Nomadland, proved to the world that there is power in stillness. A montage of short, yet impactful scenes, the film serves as a prime example of the phrase, “Less is more”. The movie is no stranger to five-second scenes with little to no dialogue. And these silent scenes are in fact, the loudest. The lack of words makes each and every one precious.
Each scene is crafted with such intricate detail, despite its simplicity. The dark cinematography only adds to this notion, with light peeking through a single area (e.g., a window or lantern). To me, these slivers of light are signs of hope. The film is made up of gorgeous wide shots of nature, followed by nearly pitch-black stills of Fern smoking a cigarette or sitting in her van. The theme of juxtaposition continues with the beautiful nature scenes clashing with the ugly indoors, such as the painting-like sunset and moth-infested restroom.
Fern’s character portrays an eerie stillness that does not go unnoticed. She, undoubtedly, carries weight on her shoulders, yet she remained peaceful, or possibly hiding her hurt. Fern is an incredibly broken character, which may be what draws viewers to her. She is simply the essence of human nature, making her someone we can all see ourselves in. Nomadland was able to set itself apart from other films through not only its thought-provoking screenplay, but its illustrative cinematography as well.
