NOMADS (1986) review

There’s a hypnotic lull in the frames of NOMADS. It begins with a cacophony of city noises that transforms into a tribal beat before settling on a weird mid-80s rock score. It only makes sense in a movie about supernatural Inuit revenants that wander desolate urban landscapes. The mono-myth of mankind, summed up in the melting pot of Los Angeles, invites all Shadows in, no matter what their origins.

The movie itself comes off as an H.P. Lovecraft tale produced by Val Lewton: an overworked doctor finds herself psychically reliving the last week of a French anthropologist after tending to him in Emergency. He’s stumbled upon ghosts in modern-day L.A. (a city filled with nomadic souls) and becomes consumed with their existence. His obsession turns to madness, and eventually death.

Usually, ghost stories circle around the mystery of unfinished business. The ghost needs its sins atoned, or its death avenged. It needs to be seen, heard, or understood. NOMADS is the opposite: these ghosts don’t want to be understood or heard. They want to be invisible. Seeing them leads to very, very bad things.

The film takes a pause three-quarters through. It seems like an idea more fit for a novel than a movie. But it’s a really good idea nonetheless, and one that relies on its concept to unsettle you rather than with cheap, loud scares.