The coal trucks were driven off the mountain and past my house in a predictable order. It was an order determined, I guessed, by how far their destination was from the tipple.
The red truck was my favorite. For weeks, during the summer of 1975, I hid behind a bush near the road and waited for that truck to drive by. At each pass I'd jump from behind the bush and use a pretend-gun stick to shoot at the driver who would pretend-shoot back. I'd stagger as if hit, then fall backward onto the grass as he blasted his horn in triumph.
We carried out this routine every single day, every single pass. Until suddenly we didn't. The red truck -- and all the other trucks, too -- one day just stopped driving by.
It was my first lesson in how our lives and livelihoods are controlled by others. Especially by those who have the power that comes with big money. The sort of money that can pay a guy to haul coal until it's no longer profitable to do so, and the sort of power that allows The Man to not worry about how a trucker will feed his family after the coal mine is closed and his job is terminated.
Chloé Zhao's Nomadland reminded me of that trucker and others I've known who are forced to alter their lifestyle and reimagine their dreams because the work they carried out for most of their lives was no longer useful to The Man. That's the context behind this movie: the main manufacturing company in Empire, Nevada shuts down, forcing hundreds of employees to relocate and killing the town of Empire. Widowed Fern chooses to become a van dweller, a nomadic lifestyle in which people travel from job to job while living in their vehicle. Fern and others form a loose-knit community, and run into each other time and again as they travel their circuitous route.
Members of this community refuse to say "goodbye" when they split up. Instead, they'll "see you on down the road."
Nomadland is beautifully shot, with Academy Award-worthy performances by Frances McDormand and David Strathairn. Director Zhao is patient and allows the story to naturally unfold. While the film is not politically themed, I couldn't help but think of it from that perspective. Is the nomad lifestyle one that's chosen through free will, or is it forced upon people who are marginalized in society?
Is Fern living this lifestyle because she loves it, or because she has no other choice?
Considering that question for more than a moment is a waste of time. It doesn't matter why Fern embraced the nomad lifestyle. She did. The beauty of the film is watching as she lives every single moment of her life. This lifestyle doesn't lend itself to waste or want; you live in the moment or you don't survive.
And perhaps that's a lesson for us all.
One interesting aspect on Nomadland is that real-life nomads play fictionalized versions of themselves, adding true depth and genuineness. Casting this group allows the peek behind the curtain to feel real, almost as if one is watching a documentary. I fell in love with Linda May, Swanky, and Bob. They're happy, kind people who care for others in their community.
Exactly the sort of people I hope to see again some day on down the road.
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