There are many films in which Pierce Brosnan broods, smolders, and struggles with an accent. Nomads is the only one where he does all three while being stalked by Adam Ant and Mary Woronov dressed like extras from a “post-apocalyptic leather daddy” fashion show. Directed by John McTiernan before he redeemed himself with Predator and Die Hard, Nomads is a horror film that somehow manages to be scarier in its premise than in its execution. And by “execution,” I mean the audience begging for one just to make the movie end.
Plot: Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Ghost Punks
Our story begins with Pierce Brosnan playing Jean-Charles Pommier, a French anthropologist who insists on speaking actual French in a movie that assumes its audience speaks none. Instead of subtitling his dialogue, the filmmakers rely on Brosnan’s commitment to making angry Gallic noises until he drops dead in a hospital. This is not a spoiler. It happens in the first ten minutes.
Dr. Eileen Flax (Lesley-Anne Down) treats Pommier, only to inherit his memories like a cursed USB drive. Suddenly, she’s living through his flashbacks, which mostly involve him spying on a group of punks who live in a black van, never seem to age, and may or may not be demonic Inuit trickster spirits. Yes, you read that correctly. Someone adapted a Chelsea Quinn Yarbro novel and decided the best villains for a modern horror movie were “undead Eskimo pranksters who cosplay as urban bikers.”
From there, we watch Pommier unravel as he follows the punks, photographs them (they don’t show up in the pictures, because ghosts are notoriously camera-shy), and realizes they’re spiritual parasites feeding on death and chaos. The spirits respond by tormenting him, trashing his home, and eventually inducting him into their gang of undead club kids. Meanwhile, Dr. Flax just stumbles through all this like she’s trapped in a bad acid trip.
The finale: the punk spirits surround the house, torment the women, and then let them leave. On their way out of town, they see Pommier on a motorcycle, looking less like James Bond and more like a roadie who lost his tour bus. The title card might as well read: Nomads: coming soon to confuse a drunk guy at Blockbuster.
Pierce Brosnan: 007 Out of 10
Brosnan plays Pommier with all the gravitas of a man auditioning for James Bond at a séance. He scowls. He mumbles French like he’s allergic to consonants. He occasionally beats ghosts with a metal rod. Watching him is like watching a perfume commercial that got stretched into two hours.
Lesley-Anne Down as Dr. Flax doesn’t fare much better. Her job is to faint, hallucinate, and run in terror while wearing shoulder pads that could double as hang gliders. Her “possession” by Brosnan’s memories is supposed to be terrifying but plays like a low-budget body-swap comedy where no one gets the joke.
Mary Woronov as Dancing Mary, however, deserves an award for committing to this mess. She struts around like Grace Jones possessed by Beetlejuice, scaring people just by existing. Adam Ant also shows up, though it’s unclear if he’s acting or just wandered onto set after a long night.
The Nomads Themselves: Spirits, Punks, or Performance Artists?
The titular “Nomads” are supposed to be terrifying, supernatural beings. In practice, they look like a touring company of Mad Max: The Musical. Each one is dressed in leather, chains, and eyeliner, looking less like demons and more like extras cut from a Billy Idol video.
These are ancient trickster spirits, beings of chaos and death. And what do they do? Spray-paint houses, hang out in parking lots, and glare at people. At one point they kill a man, but mostly they just act like a mildly disruptive flash mob. If the apocalypse is coming in the form of mall goths with switchblades, humanity can probably handle it.
Their weakness? None, really. They just like messing with people until those people either die or join their undead motorcycle gang. They’re less “villains” and more “bad roommates who never pay rent.”
The Horror That Wasn’t
For a horror film, Nomads has almost no scares. The atmosphere is moody, sure, but so is a lava lamp. Every time the punks show up, the movie builds tension—only to immediately deflate it by showing them standing around looking like they’re waiting for the bathroom at a dive bar.
The movie relies heavily on jump cuts, disjointed flashbacks, and endless shots of Brosnan brooding. After the third sequence of him sneaking around alleys photographing punks who don’t show up on film, you’ll be rooting for the ghosts just to liven things up.
The gore is minimal, the suspense nonexistent, and the ending manages to be both predictable and nonsensical. The scariest part of the whole experience is realizing this was McTiernan’s first film, and he almost didn’t get to make Die Hard because of it.
Production: The Aesthetic of a Cigarette Burn
The film looks grimy, which I’ll admit kind of works. Los Angeles is shot as a decaying wasteland of alleys, abandoned buildings, and graffiti, which was either a stylistic choice or just L.A. in 1986.
But the editing is chaotic. Scenes jump back and forth between timelines with no rhythm, like the movie itself is possessed by an impatient toddler. The soundtrack is equal parts atmospheric synth and awkward silence, which makes the Nomads’ leather-punk aesthetic even more hilarious. Imagine a group of evil spirits emerging from the shadows to the sound of a Casio keyboard demo track. Terrifying.
Themes: Anthropology, or How to Waste Your PhD
Pommier is an anthropologist obsessed with nomadic cultures. He finally finds some “nomads” in L.A.—only they’re undead punks who commit petty vandalism. The movie seems to want to say something about rootless youth, urban decay, or the dangers of not assimilating. Instead, it says: “Pierce Brosnan is hot, and punks are scary.” That’s it.
If you’re looking for deep meaning, you’ll find more cultural commentary in a Hot Topic clearance rack.
The Ending: Ghost Rider, But French
By the time Pommier becomes one of the punks, the audience has already checked out. He joins their ranks, rides a motorcycle, and presumably goes off to haunt parking garages forever. Dr. Flax and Pommier’s wife flee town, traumatized but otherwise alive.
The implication: once you notice the Nomads, they claim you. Which makes them less like demons and more like Jehovah’s Witnesses.
Final Thoughts: From Punks to Predators
Nomads is a slog. It’s moody, sure, but it mistakes mood for plot. It’s got Pierce Brosnan, but wastes him on a character whose main talent is frowning in French. Its villains are supposed to be terrifying, but they look like the opening act for The Cure circa 1985.
To McTiernan’s credit, he clearly learned from this mess. He went on to direct Predator, which also features a foreigner being stalked by a supernatural hunter in the jungle—but this time with muscles, explosions, and actual tension.
As for Nomads? It remains the cinematic equivalent of being haunted by a gang of chain-smoking mimes. Not terrifying. Just annoying.
