I listened to a podcast about Chloe Zhao’s (Songs My Brothers Taught Me, The Rider) Nomadland and how this might feel like a top ten movie in a typical year but maybe closer to the back five range rather than a front-runner for best film of the year. I agreed with that sentiment and wished I had said that myself. Like so much else associated with the year 2020, with a few exceptions, this year of films will quickly be forgotten. The fact that Nomadland is the clubhouse leader to win Best Picture at the time of this March 1st post seems incredible to me. I thought 2019 was a bad year, but it still produced memorable movies such as 1917, Ad Astra, and Parasite that will be remembered for years. While there are still a few movies I have yet to see that I think I’ll enjoy (most notably Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom and The Trial of the Chicago 7), I have seen the other movies that likely will earn a nomination for Best Picture. It’s the weakest list I’ve seen in a long time, coming off a year in which I had said the same thing.

That is not to say that this Francis McDormand (Fargo, Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri) film was bad because that would be a false statement. It should finish in my end-of-year top ten as I continue to process it. The problem with it is I had incredibly high expectations before my viewing. It reminded me of 2019 when the last movie to be released to the public was 1917, a film that exceeded its hype and made the wait all the more worthwhile. That was not the case with Nomadland. I watched News of the World on Christmas Day. I enjoyed it and thought about halfway through, “This is the best movie I’m going to see this year.” This was a very telling statement because I had only seen about five or six movies until that point (again, 2020 made for a unique year in which many movies were delayed or pushed until 2021). With several films for me to still watch, there was something that I felt as if this was the best I was going to get. There was one movie out there that could change my mind: Nomadland. That hope proved to be futile.

Nomadland is far from a bad movie, and I am confident it will land in the top ten of almost all critics’ lists. It will likely land a spot on mine, too, though it will be outside the top two or three as I originally envisioned. In most years, it’s not a top-ten film. However, only some movies that will be up for the big awards would be top ten films during most years. Again, there are exceptions. And numerous films felt highly timely. I look forward to critiquing those that I have seen and watching those I have yet to see.

Undoubtedly, a positive on any film is that it stuck with you far after its watch. All things else being equal is the sign of a compelling movie. I’ve thought about this movie more than anything I’ve watched this year. In fact, of all the movies that I’ve seen, this will likely be the first one that I rewatch. It’s a slow burn that I’ll get more out of a second time around. It’s an authentic film with compelling characters.

Based on Jessica Bruder’s 2017 non-fiction book “Nomadland: Surviving America in the Twenty-First Century, Nomadland features Fern (McDormand) traveling the country in a van she lives. In her own words, she is houseless but not homeless. Unable to survive the recession of 2008, the town of  Empire, Nevada, has closed down its US Gypsum plant due to low demand for sheetrock. The entire area code was discontinued shortly after, forcing all its residents to move out. We learn that Empire was where Fern had established her roots with her now-deceased husband, Bo. Not soon after his death, the sheetrock plant also closes, forcing the skilless Fern to venture into the later stages of her life alone. She makes enough money to survive (her necessities are mainly food and fuel) by working seasonal jobs. These include employment at an Amazon fulfillment center during their busy holiday season, a trailer park host (a job that you’ll never want), a beet processing plant, a rock quarry, and a short-order cook, to name a few.

Fern meets various people living out of their RV (or nomads) in her adventures but has yet to get to know them. They come and go. Some she sees again in her travels. Some she’ll never see again. She seems rather indifferent if it’s the last time she’ll see the person again or not. She’s detached, for sure. Even when she strikes a friendship with Dave (David Strathairn – The River Wild, The Firm), a fellow nomad whom she encounters in multiple steps, she is far less interested in being anything more than a general acquaintance, even with his kindness, generosity, and genuine authenticity in trying to get to know her better.

I didn’t love this film because I couldn’t fully relate. And I don’t mean because I’ve never lived out of a van. It was because I don’t process loss the same way that Fern does. When I lose someone or something important to me, I withdraw. My mind ruminates, and I go to dark, dark places. When it comes to losing a loved one or a relationship, the pain I experience is like nothing I could have ever imagined as I became a man at age eighteen. I certainly didn’t have the world figured out, and there were indeed times that I felt regret or, worse, rejection when it came to my feelings towards a female. Wanting to ask someone out on a date, only to play out in my head her saying no, felt so crippling that I would lay on the floor for hours on end, wondering why it couldn’t be easier.

Aside from my movie reviews, I like writing poetry and other prose. While I consider most of my writing poetry, it is almost all free verse. It’s almost as if I’m creating characters and writing short stories with themes of loss, broken relationships, regret, depression, anxiety, rejection, guilt, etc. It’s an entirely different type of writing than my movies, which are much more concrete, though they often dip into my feelings and personal experiences. Like many movie reviews, my poems usually fall on the long side. I have a lot to say. However, I wrote one poem in 2003 (I began getting involved with writing poetry in 2002) with just four lines. I can’t even envision writing a poem so short again. I like the complexities and the storytelling aspect of longer poems. This poem is called My Regret, and I’d like to share it.

My Regret

Regret is approaching while I sit and do nothing.
Regret is close because rejection seems worse.
Regret is near as I see your door closing.
Regret is next as you walk away. 

I’ve been so paralyzed by rejection that I’ve let regret dominate my life. It started for me early and has manifested many times over the last 30 years. I mention this because it’s an excellent way to show how I could relate to Fern. And I’m not sure I indeed was able to. The loss of a loving spouse would have haunted me for years. I may have been able to wear a public face, much like Fern did. But I would have crumbled in the confines of my van. And we spend enough time with Fern to know this isn’t her. Instead, she’s trying to get past the pain of losing her husband, home, town, and livelihood by exploring the world around her and getting to know new people that she can still keep at arm’s length. Even though in some of the relationships she develops with someone she meets in her travels, she can completely distance herself at the drop of a dime. It’s one of those get-out-of-jail-free cards she can keep in her back pocket.

I don’t doubt her loss or her grief. Unfortunately, we learn about it too late in our story. For most of the movie, I felt she was a nomad simply because she lost her home. While this is true, as evidenced by her seasonal jobs as a way to sustain life and get her from one location to the next or, sometimes, even one day to the next, I never felt like the physical distance she was putting between her and the town of Empire was her way as emotionally distance herself from the memories of a place that once brought her so much joy. That wasn’t McDormand’s fault, nor was it the fault of Zhao. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. It’s just how Zhao chose to craft her story and her lead character. For me, it was missing that element of grief. At the same time, I appreciate Zhao for not making Fern overly emotional and an overly sentimental story to get the audience to cry. It’s a catch-22 in my mind, but ultimately, there needed to be more substance for me to call this a Best Picture winner and, in most years, a Best Picture nominee. It lacked a certain “it” factor.

I resonate with Fern not becoming too attached to the people she met on her voyage for all that was missing in how she dealt with her grief. Even during the scene with her sister and her family, she always seemed to have her bags packed and one foot out the door. Whether this was a conscious or unconscious decision is left for each viewer to decide. But she’s uncomfortable in any stable environment where she doesn’t feel free to make her own decisions whenever she wants to make them.

There is an audience for this Nomadland. If independent movies over big-budget blockbusters are your preference, It checks all categories. I am a fan of character-driven movies, which is undoubtedly what this film is. It’s not what I expected it to be or what I wanted it to be. I can’t entirely agree with words such as flawless, nearly perfect, or a masterpiece. I appreciate its ambition, subtlety, consistency of its lead character, and realism. Everything that Zhao and McDormand did felt purposeful. It was just a little hard for me to relate to Fern. More importantly, however, I was surprised to find out how I was supposed to relate to her when I was too far into the story. It felt like she was a nomad because she was poor and looking for work. While this was true, this wasn’t the true reason for her travels. It’s just that the unfolding of this part of the story could have been more seamless.

Plot 10/10
Character Development 8/10
Character Chemistry 7/10
Acting 9/10
Screenplay 8/10
Directing 8.5/10
Cinematography 10/10
Sound 8/10
Hook and Reel 8/10
Universal Relevance 9/10
85.5%

B

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