Home is where the heart is.

At this point, this is hardly the hottest of hot takes, but Chloé Zhao may just be one of, if not the, most naturally gifted filmmakers of her generation. With only three features to her name, that may sound like a hasty claim, but considering just what she’s achieved in such a relatively short space of time, her filmmaking ascent has been awe-inspiring.

Whether its Songs My Brother Taught Me or The Rider, humanity flows through Zhao’s veins, showcasing a filmmaker in touch with her characters on a molecular level. Her small (but perfectly formed) filmography certainly isn’t the showiest out there, yet therein lies its beauty, as each effort demonstrates a lack of ego and the kind of subtle emotional punch that hits straight to the heart of her protagonists.

With her leap to franchise filmmaking for Marvel’s Eternals and an astonishingly dominant awards season – including the one-two Academy Awards punch of Best Picture and Best Director – under her belt, you’d be forgiven for worrying that her humanist approach is at risk of diminishing, however, Nomadland makes a strong case that Zhao’s heart is very much here to stay.

When her company town of Empire, Nevada is wiped off the map following financial collapse, recently widowed Fern (Frances McDormand) packs her scant, memory-laden belongings into her beat-up van and hits the road. Drifting from town to town across the American West in search of work, Fern slowly embraces a nomadic, hand-to-mouth lifestyle, crossing paths with kindred spirits who’ve suffered at the hands of the Great Recession along the way.

Stretching back to the early days of the Western and the very dawn of film, the road has always held a place in the heart of American cinema. The concept of hitting the dusty trail and heading out to the unknown in search of adventure/work/self-discovery is indelibly engrained in the American mythos, and with its roots in millennia-old tales of epic journeys, there are few genres better placed to dissect the human experience than the road movie.

At its best, it’s a deeply personal form of storytelling, and it’s here, in its purest form, that Nomadland resides. Highlighting the pull of the road as far more than an ego-driven desire for self-discovery, Nomadland renders the fragile necessity of the traveller lifestyle, handling the subject and its characters with an organic compassion that’s been at the heart of Zhao’s filmmaking approach since the very beginning.

Hailing from Beijing but with her heart deep in the American West, the characters and the mythology of the area are at the very core of Chloé Zhao’s personality, and after the intimacies of her first two features, Nomadland thematically and geographically widens the frame to offer a vision that’s close to its characters while being astonishingly vast in its scope.

Huge but personal, isolating yet communal, Nomadland revels in its contrasts, putting forth a story of both simplicity and complexity that asks plenty of questions of its characters but gives no simple answers. The road ahead of Fern offers a freedom and a liberation that’s hard to resist, however, the perils of such a journey are quite clear, as the threat of becoming trapped in her pain and loss is all too real.

These stark dichotomies are what fuels Zhao’s approach, as her low-key, naturalistic storytelling style highlights the intimate humanity of the subject, yet her choice to pull back and take in the enormity of the landscape and the wider context of Fern’s world is achingly beautiful. Holding an ethereal, dreamlike quality, Zhao nevertheless keeps the film’s feet (and tyres) firmly rooted to the ground throughout, seemingly happy to let the story drift along when necessary but never once letting the narrative’s focus float off altogether.

A good portion of this anchoring can be attributed to the many characters involved in the film’s sprawling tale. While Fern’s journey is undoubtedly the core of the story, it’s the characters and personalities that drift in and out of her life that really flesh out Zhao’s script, ensuring it remains tethered and emotionally engaged at all times.

Although this is the Frances McDormand show all the way, real-life nomads like Swankie, Linda May, and Bob Wells, together with veteran character actors like David Strathairn add a lived-in fullness to the story and a real depth to Fern’s journey. Like much of Chloé Zhao’s work, Nomadland is comprised largely of non-actors, a move that injects the kind of earthiness and world weariness into the narrative that just can’t be faked.

Written with nuance and a natural poignancy, these characters drift in and out of Fern’s life like weather-beaten road signs, informing her story in a way that never once feels forced. Over the course of Fern’s journey, we get touching, often heart-breaking backstory snippets from the likes of Swankie and Bob that feel achingly personal while plugging them into the larger story of hardship, isolation, and tragedy in post-recession America.

But, of course, this is Frances McDormand’s film all day long, and while it hardly needs saying at this point, she is nothing short of inimitable throughout. Subtle yet forceful, majestic yet personable, McDormand commands every second of screen time, using extended moments of silence on the road to her advantage as Fern’s story comes together subtly and organically.

Quite simply, there’s no one else that could’ve played a role like this. Blending an earthy authenticity with the kind of stately presence that comes with nearly four decades in the film industry, McDormand carries the entire film on her shoulders as she bounces off her various road companions like an old pal, while beautifully complementing Chloé Zhao’s vision and giving it every chance to shine.

And shine it most certainly does. Helped at every step by DP Joshua James Richards’ breath-taking cinematography, Zhao’s film is stunning to look at, yet never feels forced, relying on the director’s keen eye for natural light and low-key beauty to offer a story of striking simplicity that lets its spectacular Western vistas speak for themselves.

With her camera glued to Fern throughout, Zhao frequently skips between closeup shots and wide angles in such a way to put us right in the passenger seat of her protagonist’s life, while allowing us the opportunity to step back and contemplate the ultimate grandeur of her journey. It may be awkward and frequently overwhelming, yet the rewards in Zhao’s directorial choices will undoubtedly nourish the soul.

Chloé Zhao just gets it. Adapting Jessica Bruder’s deeply personal source material requires an empathy, a naturalism, and an eye for scope that few in Hollywood can match, however, this is precisely the world Zhao inhabits. It’s here that her filmmaking energy effortlessly aligns with the road Nomadland is taking, as she proves to be the perfect conduit for Fern’s story.

Her filmography may only be three films deep at this point, but Zhao has already demonstrated a maturity and an empathy that many filmmakers will never attain in their entire career. Her dedication to the outcasts, outsiders, and those who’ve slipped through society’s cracks is unrivalled, and while there are certainly big things on the horizon for her, Nomadland proves that Zhao isn’t about to lose her personal touch any time soon.

Through Chloé Zhao’s natural feel for the subject matter and Frances McDormand’s stunning performance, Nomadland is a meditative, poetic portrait of the forgotten. Set against the stunning vistas of the American West, Zhao crafts an empathetic, intimate, and overwhelmingly grand tale that beautifully captures the tragedy and freedom of life on the road while exposing the dark underbelly of the American economy.

Nomadland is available to stream on Disney+ (UK & International) and Hulu (US), as well as selected cinemas now.