Director Report Card: Chloe Zhao (2025)

 

5. Hamnet

There was a period after Chloe Zhao's first films became indie darlings, when she first signed a deal to direct “Eternals,” that cinematic taste-makers worried they had lost their girl. “NomadLand” had not yet been declared overrated, ya see. If someone who came up doing low budget dramas shifts to making a mega-budget blockbuster, the unavoidable assumption is that this is mostly what they will be making afterwards. The flurry of projects Zhao was attached to after “Eternals” seemed to see this through. She was making a sci-fi western version of “Dracula” and maybe a “Star Wars.” The humble filmmaker of “The Rider” was no more or so it seemed. Then “Eternals” under-performed by Marvel Cinematic Universe standards, many viewers agreeing that Zhao was not suited to CGI bombast. Her next film to actually get made was “Hamnet.” As an adaptation of an acclaimed book about a very famous historical figure was not exactly on the same micro-budget level of “Songs My Brothers Taught Me” or “The Rider.” However, it was obviously a lot closer to Zhao's foundational work than her swing at superhero shenanigans. While I'm sure some will still insist that transitioning to Oscar-friendly period dramas still means Zhao has lost her way, the consensus seems to be that Zhao is back in her comfort zone. 

William Shakespeare and his wife – usually named in the historical records as Anne Hathaway but sometimes called Agnes – had three children. Only one was a son. The boy's name was Hamnet and he died at the tender age of 11. Some years afterwards, the Bard wrote a play whose title and main character share a name with his deceased child. This has resulted in much scholarly speculation about whether “The Tragedy of Hamlet” was inspired by his son's death or an expression of his grief. Little else is known about Hamnet's life or his death, what took his life remaining a mystery. This has not stopped authors from expanding on the possible connection. Maggie O'Farrel's novel and now Zhao's film adaptation invents most of their narrative around these historical events.

Agnes is centered in this story, the daughter of a rich lord and a woman rumored to be a witch. Before her death, Agnes' mother passed her knowledge of folk remedies onto her daughter. The son of a glove maker, to pay off his father's debt, takes a job teaching Agnes' step siblings Latin. The two soon catch each others' eye, their courtship beginning. William and Agnes soon wed. Shortly afterwards they are blessed with a daughter, Susanna. Not long after that, the twins Hamnet and Judith arrive. As William becomes a successful playwright, he splits time between his country home and the city. Agnes has uncanny visions of her youngest daughter's death. When the plague rips through the area, Judith becomes ill and it seems her predictions are coming true. Hamnet, who has promised his father to protect his sisters and mother, crawls into bed. The next day, Judith is alive and Hamnet is dead. William retreats into his work, returning to London to produce a new play. Agnes is left alone with her grief. When she learns the title of her husband's next play, she is uncertain how to react but goes to see the debut performance nevertheless.

William Shakespeare's body of work is, probably, the most analyzed and studied pieces of fiction in all of the English language. Over the hundreds of years his plays and sonnets have been part of the canon, they've been considered, imitated, adapted, and deconstructed from seemingly every angle imaginable. Shakespeare has always been with us, as far as anyone living is concerned. When one name has cast such a long shadow for such a long time, it becomes difficult to think of him as a human being. He is The Bard, not a man, and therefore his work stands apart from the details of his personal life. Of course, every writer puts themselves into their work and there's no reason to suspect this would have been untrue during the reign of Elizabeth I. “Hamnet” forces us to consider Shakespeare as a living person whose plays reflect what he was feeling and living through. It is a clever way to bring the words of “Hamlet,” so ingrained in our literary culture as to appear stodgy, back to life.

“Hamnet” establishes its thesis moment fairly early on. Early in William and Agnes' courtship, he meets her at her favorite spot in the surrounding woods. His attempts at starting a conversation devolve into awkward stammering. Instead, Agnes suggests he tells a story. Billy Shakespeare relates a rendition of the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice, charming the woman before him. The myth is one of otherworldly devotion and passion that resists godly orders. In other words, the writer is telling a story in order to express how he is feeling. It is a symptom of the creative mind, I'm afraid, that this is sometimes the best way for us to get a specific emotion across. If you know what “Hamnet” is about, and you probably do if you're watching it, you can tell how this set-up will come back around later in the film. 

The legend of Orpheus and Eurydice isn't only one of undying devotion but also of loss and the underworld. This conversation pointedly takes place near a large hole in the forest ground, a gaping black maw that might as well be the entrance to the underworld spoken of in the Greek myth. A parallel is drawn later on between this pit and the gap in the stage setting from which the ghost of Hamlet's father enters and exits. Around this same location, Agnes' pet hawk is also later found dead. It's an emotion floating all throughout “Hamnet,” that the physical reality of death is never far from us. We see it again when Agnes recalls seeing the body of her mother as a little girl or when Judith is bored unbreathing, only to take her first breathe shortly afterwards. “Hamnet” is not exactly a grim reminder of our mortality and the inevitability of death. It's a more sentimental film than that. However, it is concerned with something alive becoming an empty shell. There is a degree of earthy rot inevitably within this reflection on grief. 

Agnes is introduced next to that deep hole in the ground, curled up in the fetal position among a world of vibrant green vegetation. It is one she returns to throughout the film. Her mother was said to have emerged from the woods, like a fairy or nymph. She works with herbs and plants, whispering incantations to them as she crushes them against a stone. Her pet hawk does not seem receptive to any other trainers. William, meanwhile, is first seen in a class room. His natural environment seems to be crouched around a writing desk. His work takes him away from his family often. When Shakespeare does enter into the forested realm that seems to have birthed Agnes, his interactions are a bit awkward and stumbling. These two do love each other and find common ground but they ultimately inhabit different worlds. They are inevitably going to process grief in different ways because, no matter how much they love one another, they walk different lives. 

Zhao plays with the suggestion that Agnes Hathaway truly was attuned to some witchy energy. She claims to be able to tell people's futures from holding their hands. She has visions of uncertain origin. The twins also pull pranks, like dressing in each other's clothes to fool their dad, hinting that they have some otherworldly link as well. Both mother and son seem to have glimpses of the future, when Agnes says she can see Hamnet “up on the stage.” Whether we can take any of these suggestions literally is a matter of interpretation. Agnes herself seems to doubt the sincerity of her own beliefs at times. When Will stares at a shadow puppet show depicting the arrival of the plague in England, it feels like he too is trying to gleam something deeper from what's before him. This is, of course, true of all art. We are seeing mere projections, that we can choose to take meaning from. While “Hamnet' is unambiguous about what it thinks “Hamlet” is about, perhaps we can read this idea into the film itself. This is simply what O'Flannel and Zhao think is what happens.

I wish “Hamnet” trusted its audience a little more than it does. When the titular lad perishes, we are greeted to dreamy visions of him stepping into a door way, seemingly drawn in by a shadowy figure. The climax of the film has Agnes in the audience at a performance of “The Tragedy of Hamlet.” When her husband steps out on-stage, in the role of the prince's ghostly father, she points out that it's as if Shakespeare switched places with his boy. Was it necessary to announce that? In general, “Hamnet” has a bad habit of spelling things out too much. Key lines, like “The rest is silence” and “To be or not to be?,” are uttered before appearing in the play, in far too cute of a coincidence. Ultimately, the emotional connection Agnes feels with the material on-stage is touching but, the minute the credits roll, ring a little false. Yes, Hamnet will live forever on-stage. But I bet Agnes Hathaway would have rather watched her son grow up. 

“Hamnet” is at its best when depicting that grief as a raw, ugly thing. Jessie Buckley foregrounds Agnes' otherworldly quality, with intensely staring eyes and a puckish grin. However, when her emotions boil over, Buckley holds little back. During the birthing scene, she wails towards the heavens, face glistening with sweat, eyes wild with pain. When it appears she's lost her babies, the look of trembling panic is beautifully raw. Paul Mescal has moments like that too, when in a drunken stupor and finding himself unable to put the right words down. His tears come in their own way later on, just as ugly and real. However, the two actors notably never cry in a scene together, making the separation in how these two characters process their grief all too apparent. If that finale works at all, it's thank to the sadness and acceptance Buckley and Mescal are able to get across through their eyes and faces. 

Another way “Hamnet” grounds the legendary figures it concerns in more human matters is by reminding us that William Shakespeare was someone's son too. The Bard's relationship with his dad is shown as combative. His father belittles him for not taking up the family profession of being a glover and for pursuing an intellectual career. I think every line of dialogue the character has includes some insult towards his eldest son. Agnes' dad wasn't great either, as he married a condescending woman after his first wife's passing. It's a bit too on-the-nose but the moment, when William finally confronts his father, does prove fittingly cathartic. If nothing else, the subplot touches on something I've been thinking about a lot, now that I'm in my thirties. Few parents are ideal but, perhaps, every generation tries to be better than the one that came before it. It is indicative of “Hamnet's” maturity, that it nods towards this idea. 

“Hamnet” sees an interesting blend of Zhao's neo-realistic style from her earlier work with something more brooding and dream-like. When depicting Agnes howling in the sprawling wilderness, an apocalyptic dream, or the kids performing an impromptu enactment of the witches' spell from “MacBeth,” I get the impression that the director might have a pretty decent folk horror film in her. Łukasz Żal, the cinematographer of Pawel Pawlikowski's last two movies and “The Zone of Interest,” photographed this one. He often assumes a similar God's eye view as what he did in those films, creating a somewhat distant approach to the characters. Zhao smartly pairs these with somewhat square, almost formal looking sets. The impression it gives is of a stage play, the characters performing before a backdrop. Another decently clever way to link together the various themes apparent in the film.

“Hamnet” is more polished than Zhao's previous dramas. I would say it is not even as grounded in its imagery and ambiance as “NomadLand” was. Perhaps that is inevitable, when discussing the leap from modern-set films about homelessness to a historical biography set in the 17th century. The performances are strong, the visuals are sharp, the score is solid. The script mostly makes the right decisions, at least in the ambitious themes it presents. Ultimately, like many films of this sort, it feels the need to be too tidy and cute in the way it wraps things up or links the creation of a work to the work itself. Nevertheless, it is evident that the flaws of “Eternals” was not because Zhao was a one-trick pony but likelier out of difficulty of fitting her quirks into the Marvel house style. “Hamnet” shows that she still has plenty of skills at her disposal, being a well made and occasionally powerful film. [Grade: B]

Director Report Card: Chloe Zhao (2021)

4. Eternals

When the rumors started to circulate a few years back, that Marvel Studios were pursuing a film adaptation of the Eternals, a lot of people reacted with one question: “What the fuck are the Eternals?” A group of characters created by Jack Kirby upon returning to Marvel in 1970, the team has never been especially popular or beloved. In fact, many see it as a watered-down version of the New Gods mythos Kirby created at DC Comics. Nevertheless, the unstoppable studio went full steam ahead with the project. Once Chloe Zhao, who was only a hotly coveted up-and-comer at the time and not yet an Academy Award winner, became attached, "Eternals" became more intriguing. What was it about this particular team that attracted someone from the art house set to make the leap to mega-budget, superhero filmmaking? Now that the film has been out about a month, this is a question people are still trying to answer. 

5000 years ago, the Celestials — god-like cosmic entities with the ability to create life — would make a team of ten immortal, superpowered individuals and send them to Earth. These Eternals had one mission: To protect humanity from a race of destructive monsters known as Deviants. The last Deviant was exterminated in the 1500s and the team has gone their separate ways since then. In England, Eternals Sersi and Sprite are attacked by a new Deviant. They are protected by Ikaris, the most powerful Eternal. The decision is made to reassemble the team, especially once it's discovered that Ajak — the Eternal with a direct line to the Celestial Arishem — has been murdered. Ikaris and Sersi travel the globe to find their old teammates again, while continuing to struggle against the Deviants and their centuries of regrets. Soon, secrets and alliances are revealed. 

On a narrative level, "Eternals" takes the Marvel Cinematic Universe to a cosmic level that hasn't previously been seen. The film depicts nothing less than the origins of the entire universe and tracks 7000 years of human history. The towering Celestials created galaxies and seed them with life, providing this superhero universe with its own creation myth. A story of this scope certainly provides more than a few eye-popping visuals. Such as Sersi being summoned before the massive face of the planet sized Arishem. Or the winding, bio-mechanical interiors of an elaborate "World Engine." Even the sight of the Eternals' triangular ship, the Domo, is a little weirder and more far-out than what we've come to expect from the MCU. 

Yet "Eternals" has a serious issue: I don't give a shit about the Eternals. I don't just mean the comic books the characters appeared in or the legacies they hold as Marvel heroes. In the film, the Eternals are godly entities that are apart from, and above, humanity. They are millions of years old and operate on behalf of cosmic entities beyond human comprehension. The movie tells us over and over again that the Eternals, Sersi especially, love humanity. That they've come to value and adore the human animal over their 7000 year stay on the planet. The movie tells us this but doesn't really show it. Instead, the film devotes much of its runtime to these god-like titans bickering among themselves, about their purposes and goals. It feels a bit, at times, like you are watching a grand, intergalactic soap opera that never takes its time to make us actually care about its larger-than-life mythic heroes.

"Eternals" pays lip service to how much its heroes love the human race and wish to protect them from annihilation. Yet the evidence seems to suggest otherwise. The Celestials designed the titular team only to exterminate Deviants. This precluded them from intervening in all the wars and genocides that have happened over Earthly history, for some reason. Arishem doesn't seem to give a shit about them doing other stuff on Earth or interacting with humans on a personal level but the script reiterates this rule over and over again. It's an awkward attempt to justify why the Marvel universe is just now finding out about these immortal beings, why they did nothing to stop Thanos or any of the other planet-threatening villains in past movies. 

Yet even this writing is not as awkward as the movie's attempts to portray this conflict. That involves the heroes mostly standing back and arguing amongst themselves while the Spaniards raze Tenochtitlan and massacre its residents. This is not a good way to depict how your heroes love humanity! Even this moment is not the film's clumsiest attempt to fuse superhero shenanigans with historical atrocities. That comes when the bombing of Hiroshima is depicted as making Phastos, the Eternals' genius engineer and inventor, abandon his cause. Depicting the real world annihilation of 70,000 people only in the context of how it makes a comic book character feel is insensitive, to say the least. Ya know, maybe a story of superpowered action figures is not the place to address such heavy topics. 

The film's inability to actually convince us that the Eternals love people as much as they claim they do is not the only example of telling and not showing here. From the moment they met, Sersi and Ikaris felt attracted to each other. In the shadows of Babylon, they finally admit their love for each other. They have a symbolic wedding of sorts and even consummate their union, in what is the MCU's first actual sex scene. And yet we never see how much these two supposedly care about each other. Their eons-spanning love is limited to a few terse conversations. This is not the only love story the movie belly flops on either. Later, we learn another Eternal has an unrequited crush on Ikaris. We are informed of this totally through dialogue. When it starts to affect the story, it is the movie's most unnatural moment, the characters clumsily bending along with what the narrative tells them to do.

"Eternals" is so concerned with the overwrought, but strangely lifeless, interpersonal affairs of these immortal assholes that it barely functions as satisfying superhero spectacle. Take a look at the Eternals' century spanning rivalry with the Deviants. Within the realm of underwhelming Marvel movie villains, these guys have to rank among the least interesting. They are big CGI monsters that rampage and attack but have no individuality. Eventually, one of the Deviants evolves into a more humanoid form and is given voice by Bill Skarsgard. (Though I don't know why Marvel got a well-known actor for a role anyone could have played.) This is a too-little, too-late attempt to make us care about this conflict. That's right before the movie itself admits the Deviants are only a plot device to bring the Eternals to Earth. Even after that reveal, the film continues to prolong this subplot, when more important things are happening at the exact same time. 

"Eternals" proves most interesting when it abandons the world-shaking conflicts all together. The story is most compelling when it asks the question of "what do you do when you've been alive for 10,000 years?" The super-strong Gilgamesh, when robbed of monsters to punch, becomes a gourmet chef. He also sees after Thena, who has developed superhero Alzheimer's. Laser-blasting Kingo becomes a Bollywood movie star, pretending to be his own child every generation and creating an acting lineage that begins in the silent era and extends into the modern day. Druig starts a commune in the Amazon, Ajak retires to a ranch in the mid-west, Phastos falls in love and raises a son, and Sersi teaches history. The idea of immortals walking among us, trying to add meaning to their endless lives, is the film's most intriguing element. (And one doubtlessly beholden to "Highlander," which Zhao pays homage to with a similar opening scroll.) 

One can't help but imagine a low-key version of "Eternals" focused entirely on that idea. I bet that would be a pretty good Chloe Zhao movie. Any time an indie darling like Zhao makes the leap to big budget superhero movies like this, you always wonder how much of their individual style will survive the studio scrutiny. If nothing else, Zhao's visual trademarks put in token appearances. There's plenty of shots of sunrises breaking over sweeping landscapes, the actors frequently posing in front of them. There's even a strange beauty to some of the shots, like a Deviant being twisted into a tree-like structure. You don't see much of Zhao in the action sequences, which attempt to marry the gritty intimacy of her earlier films with CGI mayhem. The result just feels weirdly framed and oddly unexciting.

"Eternals" did present an interesting opportunity. Much like "Guardians of the Galaxy," the comic book Eternals are a group of characters with few die hard fans and zero preconceived notions in the public's consciousness. The movie can bend genders, ethnicities, and orientation and nobody would care. Even a pretty big nerd like me knew little about them, beyond the alien Eternals inspiring the legendary heroes of Earthly legend. (Which was another manifestation of Jack Kirby's lifelong fascination with mythology.) I wish the movie did more with that. We get a few mentions of how the Eternals' antics over the years inspired ancient stories. Otherwise, the movie is more preoccupied with slotting its characters into easily understood superhero archetypes. Ikaris has abilities similar to Superman. Mikkari is a Flash-like speedster. Druig can control minds, Ajak can heal wounds, Phastos is a master inventor, and Sprite can cast illusions. Only Sersi's ability to change the molecular properties of matter is especially novel. Some of the powers, like Thena generating her own weapons, feels specialized to the point of being impractical. 

When you have a group of characters defined more by their superpowers than their personalities, it's really up to the cast to make them memorable. This approach yields mixed results. Newly swole Kumail Nanjiana largely steals the show as Kingo, being this largely humorless movie's main source of comic relief. Nanjiana's way with a zinger makes a running gag, about Kingo making a documentary about his immortal friends, into a highlight of the film. Bryan Tyree Henry also adds some humanity to the nerdy and sometimes neurotic Phastos. "Train to Busan's" Ma Dong-Seok gets a couple of bright moments as Gilgamesh and Angelina Jolie acquaints herself well when Thena is swinging a sword or acting traumatized. 

Yet not every cast member shines. Gemma Chan, making her second appearance in the MCU, does her best to make Sersi the heart and soul of the movie. She's often swallowed by the story's cosmic melodrama. This is also true of Barry Keoghan as Druig, who shows some spark when he's not saddled with weighty dialogue about cosmic matters. If nothing else, he has good chemistry with Laura Ridloff as Makkari. Salma Hayek's Ajak also does little beside deliver exposition, giving the star few chances to shine. I really wanted to like Lia McHugh as Sprite but the script builds the character's entire emotional arc into a two scenes, leaving the clearly talent McHugh little to work with. And then there's Richard Madden as Ikaris, a man who has the superheroics build but not an ounce of screen presence to back it up. 

Ultimately, so much of "Eternals" feels miscalculated. It asks us to be invested in a group of characters few people are familiar with while keeping most of them emotionally distant from us. For Zhao, a filmmaker so good at getting naturalistic performances out of non-actors, whose work is so motivated by an empathetic drive to tell people's stories, it's strange that she isn't able to find much humanity or pathos in these cosmic beings. The result has led to a mixed reaction among audiences and box office grossed that are probably below Marvel's expectations. Which makes the cliffhanger ending and dense post-credit teasers — both of which expect us to get excited about stuff we barely understand — seem overly optimistic. Where "Eternals" will end up residing, both within the trajectory of Zhao's career and the Marvel Cinematic Universe, remains to be seen. Yet it's still among the studio's least satisfying works, a film that covers an ocean of history but never finds much heart there. [Grade: C]

Director Report Card: Chloe Zhao (2020)

3. NomadLand

Following the critical praise of "The Rider," Chloe Zhao was already on her way to the A-List. Based on the strength of her second feature, Marvel offered her the chance to direct one of their mega-budget superhero epics. Frances McDormand and producer Peter Spears also saw "The Rider" early on. They decided Zhao would be the perfect filmmaker to direct the adaptation of Jessica Bruder's non-fiction book, "Nomadland: Surviving America in the Twenty-First Century." Zhao would shoot the film while simultaneously doing pre-production prep on "Eternals." It was originally assumed that the superhero movie would see wide-release before the independent feature but COVID changed all that. Now, after a very strange year, "Nomadland" has emerged as the favorite to win Best Picture at 2021's Oscars. 

In 2011, Fern loses two things: Her husband of many years and her long-time job at the Gypsum plant in Empire, Nevada. The closure of the plant cripples the town, which soon becomes abandoned. With few other options, she buys a van and decides to start living on the road. She travels the country, working odd jobs when she can, but never putting down roots. An invitation to a desert conference held by author Bob Wells puts her in contact with an entire community of modern nomads. Soon, Fern makes friends and recounted family as she continues down the road. 

"Nomadland" is truly a film for our times. When we first meet Fern, she is working a seasonal job at an Amazon fulfillment center. It's refreshing to see a job that myself, and a lot of people like me, have held down at one point in time or another. And it's not like anyone works at Amazon or similar places because they want to. The spectre of financial ruin lingers large in the background of "Nomadland." Like Zhao's earlier films, it depicts people living in poverty that have been left behind by the rest of the world. Fern works odd, low-paying, and demeaning jobs because she has to, because she has no other options. This is the existence that most Americans are grappling with in the modern age.

Fern and her fellow nomads choose to live life on the road because it at least allows them some degree of freedom. Many of the travelers featured in the film describe their desire to see America, then just suffer in one location. One of the most touching scenes in the movie concerns Swankie, a terminally-ill woman living out the last years of her life on the road. As she talks about seeing sparrows fly over a lake, shedding their egg shells as they take to the air. Being on the road gives many of these people a sense of serenity they wouldn't find otherwise.

This is not why Fern has taken up the nomadic lifestyle. "Nomadland" joins the proud tradition of American movies that literalizes the idea of people running from their past by driving around the country. Fern has never really grappled with the traumatic loss of her husband or her home. She refuses to put down roots anywhere, refuting several invitations to find a new home throughout the film. Interestingly, the film never judges Fern for her choice to stay on the road. There's no grand reckoning concerning her grief. Becoming a nomad works for her. It's a healthy way for her to handle her feelings. 

Overall, Zhao's handling of the more dramatic elements of the story are much more assured here than in "The Rider." There are no heavy-handed metaphors about wild horses here. Instead, Zhao lets her story breath naturally. Our climax occurs when Fern opens up to Bob Wells about her late husband, which leads to a very emotional outpouring of feelings from Bob about his son's suicide. The quiet scenes that follow are a perfectly thoughtful conclusion to the story, a cathartic release that never draws too much attention to itself. 

"Nomadland" is also fascinating as a peek into a unique American subculture. We learn all about the ins and outs of modern nomadic living here. We see the pros and cons of this lifestyle. A tight-knit community is depicted here. Several times, Fern depends on a fellow nomad to drive her to an auto shop. She gets jobs because of her friends. A "pay-it-forward" attitude to express among them, never allowing payment for their favors. They insist they'll pay it back further down the road.

There are a lot of downsides to living in a van though. Early on, a good samaritan warns Fern about how cold it's going to get that night, fearful she'll freeze to death in her van. When a vehicle breaks down in the middle of nowhere, the nomads have nobody but themselves to depend on. Also: They don't typically have access to in-door plumbing. "Nomadland" frankly depicts what someone living in a van has to do when nature calls. (It involves buckets.) The film is definitely not a glamorous depiction of modern nomadic living. It's honest. 

Due to its premise, "Nomadland" naturally becomes a travelogue of America. Since this is a Chloe Zhao movie, we are largely visiting the American Midwest. We are taken through the winding deserts of Arizona. A notable episode takes place in Badlands National Park in South Dakota, Fern playfully skipping along the park's distinctive rock formations. Several scenes are set in the shadow of a brontosaurus statue in the nearby town of Wall. "Nomadland" is clearly interested in giving us a peek at some less explored corners of America. 

Zhao's films continue to combine narrative filmmaking with documentary elements. Much like her first two features, “Nomadland” casts most of its characters with real people. Swankie played herself and really does have cancer. Bob Wells' words are his own, describing his own real feelings. Many of the stories told on camera are real and they are told by real people. The production was so committed to realism throughout filming that many of the nomads assumed Frances McDormand really was her character, not realizing she was a two-time Academy Award winning actress.

Zhao's trademark fusion of documentary filmmaking and more cinematic techniques are present in her shooting style as well. When watching Fern go about her various jobs, “Nomadland” feels very naturalistic. We simply sit back and watch as she packs boxes in an Amazon center or works the conveyor belt at a beet processing plant. Otherwise times, Zhao embraces the sweeping vistas the story presents her with. Many of “Nomadland's” shots are gorgeous, showing a van weaving down a long road in the purple glow of early morning dawns. Or a view of the ocean from a rainy clifftop. Joshua James Richards' cinematography is among the film's many Oscar nominations and probably deserves to win.

Holding the entire enterprise together is Frances McDormand's amazing lead performance. McDormand, shown off in many of her other roles, has the ability to convey an extensive range of emotion simply through a glance or a slight raising of her shoulder. Rarely does Fern verbalize the grief and pain she lives with, McDormand simply suggesting it through the weary face or tired eyes. When she finds those moments of serenity, like when dunking into a hot spring along the road, the audience feels the same sense of relaxation and realization. 

Any time a movie is so well received, to genuinely be considered the best reviewed movie of the year, a backlash sets in immediately. Some folks are preemptively declaring “Nomadland” overrated, calling it boring or lifeless. A low-key, independent effort like this perhaps was never meant to be scrutinized on such a wide level. (If it wasn't for COVID rendering 2020's Awards Season so unusual, who knows if this would be the frontrunner it's become.) “Nomadland” isn't your typical awards bait movie and is all the better because of it. It's a beautifully told story and a convincing snapshot of the times we are living through. I'm confident it is Zhao's best film yet, her most balanced and fully formed work. [Grade: A]

After watching through her three features to date, I'm really curious why Marvel scooped up Zhao for their next massive superhero flick. Zhao's films, with their intimate direction and focus on realism, are about as far away from a Marvel movie as you can get. "The Eternals" is a far out and cosmic story, the exact opposite of a micro-examination like "Songs My Brothers Taught Me." On the other hand, Zhao was a great catch for the company, as they'll probably have a movie in the docket from a Best Director winner soon. Whether Zhao truly does something different with "Eternals" or if her quirks are ironed out by the giant budget remains to be seen. Either way, this was an interesting and insightful quick retrospective to do. 

Director Report Card: Chloe Zhao (2017)

2. The Rider

During the making of "Songs My Brothers Taught Me," Chloe Zhao would meet the Jandreau brothers. A trio of professional bull riders, she was immediately intrigued by their life stories. A lengthy chunk in the middle of that movie is actually devoted to bull riding, despite having little to do with the actual story. Inspiration struck and Brady Jandeau would become the focus of her next movie. The resulting project would be "The Rider." Released in 2017, the film would be met with critical acclaim and truly become Zhao's break-out feature. 

Brady comes from a family of cowboys. His whole life, the only thing he's ever wanted to be was a rodeo star. Recently, however, he suffered a traumatic brain injury during a show. He checks himself out of the hospital, pulling the staples out of his head on his own. He returns home, to meet his alcoholic father and autistic little sister. Brady aspires to return to the rodeo soon but soon discovers that his injury left him with life-long conditions. He struggles with this change in his life. 

"The Rider" operates similarly to "Songs My Brothers Taught Me." Both are essentially fusions of documentaries and scripted dramas. Most of the actors are playing thinly fictionalized versions of themselves. Jandreau really did suffer the injury he does in the film and has learned to live with the same conditions the character has. The actual footage of Brady being thrown from the horse and having his head crushed is seemingly shown in the film, via blurry cell phone footage. While "The Rider" combines facts and fiction in a similar way to "Songs My Brothers Taught Me," it does so in a far more polished manner. This film has far more momentum to its story. It is shot in a far more cinematic style. Essentially, the filmmaker applied the lessons of her first feature to her second.

However, some things remain prominent over the two movies. "The Rider" and "Songs My Brothers Taught Me" tell similar stories. Both are about young men, at pivotal moments in their lives, pulled between their responsibilities to their families and what they feel are their destinies. Brady loves his sister dearly, taking care of her. He struggles with his father but similarly feels responsible for him. At the same time, he feels drawn to riding. He's determined to, literally, get back up on that horse. Much like John Winters is pulled between staying with his sister and pursuing a life outside the reservation, "The Rider" is pulled between these two desires.

There's a big difference though, which might be why "The Rider" is a much more compelling film. Here, what Brady feels is his destiny can kill him. Throughout the movie, we meet Lane Scott, a real life friend of Brady Jandreau and a former bull rider who suffered a much more severe injury. Lane is permanently disabled, having lost the ability to speak or walk because of his injury. This acts as a possible future for Brady, a place he could end up if he continues to pursue his dangerous hobby. Yet he feels drawn to it anyway, a deadly passion that he can't quit. (Zhao makes sure to draw parallels between Brady's addiction to riding to his father's alcoholism or the way his friends mindlessly peck away at video slot machines.)

The reason this struggle really works is because the film makes it abundantly clear how much riding means to Brady. A pivotal scene has him finally getting back on top of a horse. The movie slows down, the world around him going quiet. In that moment, all we see and feel is what Brady is feeling. It's a sense of freedom, a rush that nothing else can compare to. I'm not a cowboy and I bet most of the people who have seen this movie aren't either. However, we all have something in our lives that give us that same feeling, something that helps us break out of the daily bullshit of our lives and experience something more serene. The clear depiction of this is what makes "The Rider" so compelling. 

While her first movie was, perhaps, too naturalistic, Zhao's documentary instincts still prove a little stronger than the more traditional attempts at dramatic storytelling. Throughout "The Rider," Brady gets a job as a horse trainer. He helps other people learn the ropes of being in the rodeo. Along the way, he encounters a wild horse that can't be broken. He has some success with taming it, in a quiet and calming way. Yet, near the movie's end, the horse gets out of its pin and injuries itself on a barb wire fence. Brady can't bring himself to put the horse down, someone else having to do it. Gee, could this possibly be a metaphor about how Brady's own wildness is going to get him killed? Perhaps that metaphor could've been deployed with a little more subtly. 

Ultimately, "The Rider" is truly elevated by its matter-of-factor portrait of living through a traumatic brain injury. In his day-to-day life, Brady discovers how his body is different now. His hand randomly goes into a death grip several times, forcing him to pry his own fingers apart. An attempt to ride a horse ends with him stopping and vomiting. These changes are as startling to the audience as they are to him. He has to learn to cope with these changes now. They aren't going away. "The Rider" portrays this struggle without melodrama but naturally captures the difficulty of recovery. 

Inevitably, Zhao has to examine the life style surrounding Brady's beloved rodeo. It's an exclusively male space. The cowboys go out drinking and smoke weed together. They gamble and attempt to pick up women. Inevitably, people come to blows. A creeper tries to convince Brady's little sister to drink a beer, which causes him to get very defensive. A playful wrestling match with a friend, spurned on by footage of Brady's old rodeo, eventually gets more violent. His friends never question if riding again is the best thing for Brady's health. They push him to risk his life again atop a horse. The critique of this extremely macho lifestyle, that values public displays of toughness over one's well-being, is pretty evidence. 

As she did last time, Zhao largely fills her film with first-timers and non-professional actors. The entirety of the cast is playing either themselves or characters that share their names. Despite this being Brady Jandreau's first (and, so far, only) acting role, he gives an extraordinary performance. Even in the movie's most dramatic moments, he maintains an utterly realistic stature. He approaches his physical and neurological challenges with stoic determination. Yet it's clear, in Jandreau's body language, the kind of toll these events take on him. Zhao manages to get a meaningful, incredibly emotionally affecting performance out of a quiet, ordinary guy.

The same can be said for a lot of the supporting cast. Brady's father and sister essentially play themselves. I personally find it very touching the way Zhao never makes a big deal over Lilly's autism. From her manner of speech and actions - she cuts up a bra given to her - it's obvious that she's not neurotypical. Yet the film doesn't feel the need to specify what Lilly's exact condition is or portray her life as some big struggle. This is just who she is. It's part of her life and Brady's life but it doesn't exclusively define her. (Much the same way Brady's challenges are not his sole attribute.) Brady's real life dad, Tim, also gives an empathetic and interesting performance as the fictional Wayne, a man struggling with his own addiction to alcohol. 

"The Rider" is similar to Zhao's debut in another way too. Both are set among the flat, wide Dakota prairies. As in "Songs My Brothers Taught Me," Zhao creates some truly striking images among this highly cinematic landscape. The scene of Brady riding a horse before a setting sun, the horizon stretching in behind him, is the stuff of Americana. So is the images of him and his bodies sitting around a campfire in the black of night, singing cowboy songs and strumming on their guitars. The lo-fi beauty of these images feels at once totally natural but also intrinsically mythic. "The Rider" re-invents western iconography for the modern world without being excessively showy about it. 

"The Rider" would slowly gain buzz across several festivals, earning rave reviews in each one. It was one of those indies that sneaks up on you. A film that emerged seemingly out of nowhere to become one of the best reviewed movies of the year. People who I really respect, who really have their ear to the ground of film criticism, put this one on the top of their list. And "The Rider" is, indeed, an extraordinary film. A quietly moving depiction of recovery and struggle amid iconic American landscapes, it clearly signals the arrival of an exciting new talent. [Grade: A]

Director Report Card: Chloe Zhao (2015)

Chloe Zhao is one of the more extraordinary cinematic success stories in recent memory. A Chinese immigrant, she began her career with a tiny independent film made for less than 200,000 dollars. By continuing to do what she does, Zhao won critical acclaim. And now, she's currently nominated for multiple Oscars, looking like the favorite to win in both the Best Director (she's the first Asian woman to ever be nominated in the category, much less win) and Best Picture category. And she already has a multi-million dollar Marvel superhero movie lined-up for release next. It's a pretty incredible career path and I'm intrigued to follow that evolution some more.

1. Songs My Brother Taught Me

Born in Beijing but living in English speaking countries since she was 15, Chloe Zhao grew up in an artistic family. Her mother was a singer and dancer and her step-mom is a famous Chinese actress. Studying film production in New York City, her feature debut would take her even further abroad. "Songs My Brothers Taught Me" was filmed in South Dakota, on a real Indian reservation, cast mostly with people from the local community. Quotes Zhao gave to the press would suggest that capturing realism was her goal above everything else. 

Set on the Pine Ridge Reservation, the film follows two siblings, John and his little sister Jashaun. Their older brother is in prison. Their mother is a manic-depressive and their estranged father - who left behind 25 other kids with other women - recently died in a house fire. John makes some money selling bootleg alcohol but it's abundantly clear he has no future on the reservation. He makes the secret plan to move to Los Angeles with his girlfriend, in hopes of starting a new life. When Jashaun discovers this, she is heartbroken.

More than anything else, "Songs My Brothers Taught Me" is devoted to showing life on an Indian reservation as it actually happens. The film is not groundbreaking in this regard, as a number of movies have depicted what people living in those communities go through. Yet Zhao's film is startling for the way it keenly captures the poverty of the situation. The homes seen here are falling apart. There's little in the way of work and there's not much to do most of the time. Many of the residents are ex-convicts or addicts. John and Jashaun are growing up in a series of ramshackle homes, lost amid a sprawling, flat, empty landscape. 

It's no wonder John is ready to walk away from it. But it's not that easy a choice to make. Family is a deeply important theme in "Songs My Brothers Taught Me." During their father's wake, John bonds with his myriad stepbrothers over the lack of presence their father had in their lives. He often visits his other brother in prison, who encourages him to leave the reservation. Yet Jashaun depends on him and he has roots here. It's a hard choice young people have to make every day, choosing between their fidelity to their families and the opportunity for a future.

Mostly, "Songs My Brothers Taught Me" is a movie about how people cope with living in such a depressed community. John and Jashaun's mother is a newly born-again Christian. She spends a lot of time at church, trying to figure out the twists life has thrown at her. Yet the kids often have other ways of coping. John dreams of becoming a boxer. Many of his classmates have similar ambitions of being professional bull riders. The rush of physical sports, the thrill and danger of it, helps kill the tedium of living in the middle of nowhere. 

I say John dreams of becoming a boxer. In the one scene where we actually see him get into the ring, he's soundly knocked on his ass several times. His classmates talk about wanting to become bull riders, how it's their sole plans for the future. A lengthy sequence set at a rodeo shows the riders getting tossed off the bulls far more often than anything else. These goals are not so easily achieved. Seemingly, no hopes and dreams make it off the reservation. The world of “Songs My Brothers Taught Me” is one where people have very little to look forward to.

But mostly, people pick drugs and alcohol to help them get through. John's mom is a recovering addict. His father was heavily implied to be a drunk. He scraps together a little money, re-selling alcohol on the reservation. It's illegal to sell booze on the reservation but this has done little to stop the rise of alcoholism among the locals. Sobriety and Twelve Step programs are constantly referenced in the background of the film. When not discussing alcohol, characters are seen constantly puffing on cigarettes or smoking mysterious substances out of pipes. It's clear that addiction is a constant source of strife in this community. It's an obstacle seemingly everyone is trying to overcome. 

Among the subplots Zhao uses to illustrate her grim points is one about Jashaun befriending an ex-convict. Recently paroled from prison, the man makes what money he can by producing art. He makes blankets and T-shirts, paintings and tattoos. It's interesting, the contrast between the man's rough and tumble appearance with the artistic side he shows. A more traditional film would've focused on this friendship more, a bond between an ex-con trying to get his life back together and a precocious young girl. Instead, this is but one fabric in “Songs My Brothers Taught Me,” another dream that ends in disappointment.

That last detail points towards a problem I have with Zhao's debut film: Nothing much happens in it. It's another one of those indie dramas that are preoccupied with creating a sense of realism, that are practically documentaries in their lack of big dramatic events. While this is admirable, and the film is ultimately good, it's also incredibly slow. The movie only runs 98 minutes but feels considerably longer. More than once, during another languidly paced sequence, I found myself looking at the time and astounded to see there was still a half-hour left. It's possible Zhao did a little too good of a job of capturing what life is like on an Indian reservation where there's absolutely nothing to do. 

Frustratingly, the movie didn't have to be so slow. There's a real sense of a unique subculture being put on-camera sometimes in the movie. Jashaun visits a party with her brother, where a local band plays and people dress up and celebrate. (This makes Zhao, probably, the only Best Director Oscar winner to reference Juggalos in one of her movies.) A moment where John skins and cleans a deer he killed is another compelling, commonplace event you rarely see put on film. The scenes of the dinner after John's father's funeral, where stories are shared and addiction is discussed frankly, also feels like a really real moment put right on camera. There's a line between nothing happening and capturing meaningful real moments. It's a line “Songs My Brothers Taught Me” straddles for its whole run time.

Zhao's commitment to verisimilitude extends to the movie's visual approach. Most of “Songs My Brothers Taught Me” is shot in a very naturalistic manner. Many scenes are shot from a short distance, showing the characters go about their lives. More than once, Zhao simply points her camera at the impoverished homes. The interiors are often dimly lit and sparsely decorated. Yet Zhao is also capable of creating some really striking images. Jashaun has a striking dreams sequence, of a fire atop a mountain in the distance. This moment is mirrored in a scene where John's truck is set ablaze by rival bootleggers. It's obvious that the wide, flat plains of South Dakota were inspiring to the director, as she returns to that image again and again throughout “Songs My Brothers Taught Me's” run time.  

It's unsurprising to see that most of the cast of “Songs My Brothers Taught Me” were made up of first-timers, amateur actors who have done little work on-screen otherwise. A lot of the actors share their character names, further showing how Zhao's film is practically a documentary. John Reddy plays John. Jashaun St. John plays Jashaun. So forth. Reddy and St. John both give strong performances. Reddy projects the conflict and turmoil John feels through his eyes and body language. St. John is a bit more of a raw nerve, wearing her emotions closer to her sleeve. One imagines the feelings and thoughts the characters have are not too dissimilar to their own.

”Songs My Brothers Taught Me” would premiere at the 2015 Sundance Film Festival, playing Cannes shortly after that. The movie would earn many positive reviews from both screening, Zhao even winning the award for best first feature at Cannes. (One of these festivals is probably how Forest Whittaker, of all point, ended up becoming a producer for the movie.) The reviews were largely positive and the movie would even end up receiving a few nominations at the Independent Spirit Awards. Pretty good for a first movie made for less than 200,000 dollars. [Grade: B-]