The Nomad's Journey

While exploring various techniques to live safely from her renovated van, Fern, effortlessly played by Frances McDormand, experiences a moment of genuine, almost child-like joy as she learns how to fix a flat tire. Her nomadic life often appears empty of happiness or pleasure, and while that is the pattern of her current existence, moments of elation do punctuate the steady stream of grief and pain she endures. It’s these moments of joyfulness, which McDormand performs with an explosive burst of wonder, which anchor the themes of Nomadland, Chloe Zhao’s third feature film about an older woman who has lost everything to the grinding wheels of capitalism. If that sounds like a depressing journey to take, well, at times it is. The film deftly studies the pain and grief which occurs when we tie our self-worth to a capitalist system; a system which is fine watching people, like Fern, faulter and fail for the good of the all mighty dollar. Nomadland is filled with stories like Fern’s – a lost job, a lost wage, a health problem – and suddenly that small house, with the beautiful backyard view, is gone. With beautiful subtlety, Zhao weaves these themes of pain, grief, and joy through a poetic narrative which, while never directly calling out capitalism, is still a clear indictment of a system that has permitted too many to fall through the cracks. 

Fern and her husband (who dies shortly before the start of the film) worked at a manufacturing plant in the small town of Empire, Nevada. It was a company town, and so those that worked were provided housing; their ability to live, safely and securely, was only by the benevolence of a large for-profit corporation. In 2008, a victim of the Great Recession, the company closed and with it went the housing and stability for the people it employed. The loss of one job is tragic, the loss of many is catastrophic, upending people’s livelihoods as their security blanket is ripped away from them and they fall into a web of bureaucratic social safety nets. Fern, like so many others, became a nomad, living in her car and floating from job to job. Nomadland, smartly, refuses to directly attack the core issues facing Fern and her fellow nomads. Instead, we experience them, as a fly on the wall, watching Fern move through the different spaces with a timid confidence that grows stronger over time, and the camera intimately approaching her space without ever feeling intrusive. Zhao, who also wrote the script based on the novel by Jessica Bruder, choses to highlight various moments in Fern’s life. Among them are the many part-time, seasonal jobs which take her across the country, to show us how the themes of grief, pain, and joy manifest through mundane tasks most of us take for granted. The script bluntly depicts the finality of this type of employment, layering in the delicate realities of getting by in a capitalist society. 

During the holidays, Fern returns to an Amazon processing plant for seasonal employment. Remarkably, the filmmakers were able to film at an Amazon warehouse with full use of the brand name and products. While there’s nothing overtly negative said or depicted about Amazon, it’s the nuance of Zhao’s writing and directing where you find the criticisms. As Fern and her employees huddle for a pre-shift meeting, you notice that everyone working is near, at, or past retirement age. An evocative portrayal of the people ensuring our gifts arrive to their destinations on time. The workers arrive to the site early, processing and shipping packages for Christmas, putting real hustle behind their work. Because Amazon is engrained in our daily lives and we are versed in the workings of Amazon Prime, we can sense the stress and pressure they are working under, even if the film doesn’t discuss it openly. That this job will end, like all their jobs now, hangs heavily over Fern’s daily life, as job insecurity affects every decision she must make. Fern will take many such temporary jobs, and she will dutifully be thankful for the opportunity to have work and earn income, even as that income is unable to define her as she once saw herself. And so, she moves through life, grief stricken and pained with fleeting joy. 

There is grief – in the loss of Fern’s husband, the loss of a dear friend, the loss of her home, and the loss of herself. There is pain – the tangible pain Fern experiences working physically demanding jobs, sleeping in a renovated van, and various health issues. There is pain – the emotional pain of loss, the idea of self-worth, and a sister who is part of the economic machinery. But there is joy. Joy in learning to fix a tire, in seeing the stars above the desert. Joy in the periodic reuniting with fellow nomads and feeling a closeness with someone again. Joy in the freedom of the open road. And joy in returning to your home to remember your past self. But how do you keep all that joy amidst the grief and the pain? How do you keep that joy when it’s tied to earning a living? Nomadland doesn’t have the answer to that, but what Fern does teach us is to have the hope and courage to find something different. It’s difficult to see yourself not as a reflection of the work you do, but as the person you are. The material life you create is only possible through the work you do, and American work culture makes it very hard to detach, to value your own worth apart from your job. Unknowingly, I believe, Fern’s quest, her hero’s journey, is to find her value apart from a system designed to control you. In the end though, the only thing she can do is return to where she was happiest, a now empty home in a now empty company town with only a view of the world.