For an off-kilter year in which moviegoing has been curtailed and new films have debuted online and not in theaters, it’s fitting that the low-key and muted Nomadland has recently been celebrated. This melancholic ode to independence won the Golden Lion at Venice and the audience favorite prize at Toronto and occupied the plum position as the New York Film Festival’s centerpiece selection in September. As is often the case, the latter honor is given to a filmmaker whose profile has recently gained traction, such as when Steve McQueen’s 12 Years a Slave was given that spotlight in 2013.

Although this is director Chloé Zhao’s third feature, she already has a singular sensibility. Born in Beijing, based in the United States, and a graduate of the New York University’s film school, she has focused on those out in the middle of the country who have often been underrepresented on the big screen. Set against majestic landscapes that are effortlessly woven into and enhance her lyrical yet stark narratives, her first two films were shot on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation in South Dakota, beginning with Songs My Brothers Taught Me (2015).

Her second film and one of 2017’s best movies, The Rider, is a particularly groundbreaking example of a nonprofessional actor ensemble. What that film demanded of its cast is on a higher plane than what you see in most Academy Award-nominated performances. It’s also a strong example of American neorealism, as is her latest film, which is based on Jessica Bruder’s 2017 nonfiction book Nomadland: Surviving America in the Twenty-First Century.

Zhao works once again with first-time performers—save for star Frances McDormand and a few other actors—many of whom are self-described nomads or travelers, who reside in campers or vans traveling the country, taking on seasonal work, and surviving on their own in a lifestyle promoted by van life leader Bob Wells, founder of cheaprvliving.com. (He appears here as himself.) This community is not living completely off the grid, though. Laptops, iPhones, and Facebook are essentials, along with spare tires and kerosene lamps.

Though the film’s based on the nonfiction material, Zhao has created a fictitious story line for protagonist Fern (McDormand). It takes place roughly in the early 2010s, yet the tone and conversations are politely political and far from polarizing, with no Tea Party to be found, though Fern travels with and is perhaps part of what will become Donald Trump’s base: underemployed and economically disadvantaged white working-class folk with no college education who have little savings (though there are exceptions). A distrust and disillusionment with the larger society is tacitly assumed in the aftermath of the Great Recession.

For decades, Fern lived in Empire, Nevada, where her husband worked for the company town’s main employer, United States Gypsum Corporation, and she tutored teens. After his death from cancer and the mine’s closing, she has nothing holding her back: she repurposes her van as a living room/kitchen/bathroom/bedroom on wheels and hits the road, leaving behind what has become a ghost town. At least in one way Fern and her cohorts are ahead of the curve: they have chosen and adapted to self-isolation.

The movie’s a coming-out story, in a way. The scenarios more than suggest Fern is a born loner, more at ease in her thoughts and taking early morning walks by herself than spending time with other nomads. She’s not antisocial; she’ll join gatherings at the local bar or at the campfire, and she’s a team player at an Amazon warehouse during the holiday season rush. (Notably, there’s no sign of the reported stress and exploitation of Amazon workers.) Still, Fern wants to be alone—a gruff Garbo?—so much so that she declines taking care of a needy and abandoned young black Labrador. In resisting the pup’s whimpers, her willpower is stronger than most viewers’.

Fittingly for a story of a woman who travels state to state in pursuit of work or warmer weather, the narrative also roams. Although Fern may not know where she’s headed, the loosely structured narrative gently pushes her along her way. Working once again with cinematographer Joshua James Richards, Zhao’s camera captures the beauty of the Northern Plains: pink cloud streaking the sky at sunset and the otherworldly lunar-esque Badlands of South Dakota, to name two vistas. The widescreen framing barely contains the vastness of the plains or the Amazon warehouse, which seems to go on forever. Shots of Fern’s van coasting along scenery that John Ford would envy connect the loose story line. They smooth out what might otherwise have seemed like choppy slices of life.

One of the movie’s themes is taken from the lyrics of Morrissey’s “Home Is a Question Mark,” which are tattooed on the arm of an Amazon coworker: “Home, is it just a word/Or is it something you carry within you.” As she reassures a student from her former life as an English tutor, Fern considers herself “houseless, not homeless.” In that regard, Zhao matter-of-factly depicts Fern’s day-to-day travels on the road and in campgrounds. However, she also lets in intimations of Fern’s inner life and hints at how she spends her time alone: practicing the flute, looking at family photos, eating by the kerosene stove. By contrast, the film has more vim when Fern interacts with others, and the scenery is always a payoff—a lot of the exteriors were filmed during the magic hour. 

The one noticeable departure for the director is her centering the film on a star, the one-of-a-kind McDormand, who is also one of the producers. McDormand adds Fern to her sisterhood of impish, cranky, fiercely stubborn, and opinionated women. It’s definitely a star vehicle, even as McDormand’s Fern effortlessly blends in and becomes a member of a larger community. Fortunately, the director and McDormand only once give into an actorly flourish, Fern’s private moment with her late husband’s overalls—the first clue that she was once in a long-term relationship. But for the most part, Zhao maintains a quasi-documentary tone, thanks to the supporting cast, most of whom are over 60. Occasionally, several of them have powerful moments that outshine the star. When this occurs, the magic of The Rider returns, in which any impression of artifice disappears.

Nomadland is scheduled to be released on December 4, 2020.