Train Dreams is the story about a small life that is as grand and poetic as any epic. Its closest relatives are the quiet melancholy of The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, and the timeless beauty of A River Runs Through it.
All three share the same longing of something grander than the past. They yearn to undersand the nature of the world and the elusiveness of time. We are on this planet for too short a moment to grasp anything but a sliver, and by the time we do that, it's already too late.
Joel Edgerton plays Robert Grainier, a lumberjack who works the thick, seemingly endless forests of the country at the turn of the century. He meets and falls in love with Gladys (Felicity Jones), they wed, build a home, and have a daughter.
Early in the film, Grainier is unable to stop an act of senseless violence, and the specter of it haunts him for decades to come. Edgerton communicates his grief and anger with long, silent stares into the vastness of this world. He's the kind of actor who can say everything with small gesture. By the end, we can sense when he's happy, sad, or simply bemused by the wonders and astonishments in this life.
The episodic nature of the story unfolds at an unhurried, lyrical pace. There are barely any indicators to how much time has passed between events, and we don't need to them, either. This is a film about islands in time, not the currents leading up to them.
At one point, Grainier meets with Arn Peeples (William H. Macy), a talkative explosives expert, who seems to have a story about every rock and twig he comes across. Macy is on screen for maybe 20 minutes, yet he delivers a career-best performance. We know this intricate man inside out before long, even though he barely lets us in.
In one of the finest scenes of a grand picture, Peeples and Grainier watch as their handiwork leaves the face of nature changed. Grainier hopes it will grow back. Peeples is less certain. "This world is intricately stitched together," he sighs, and we understand he's speaking of more than just the trees.
As Grainier faces immeasurable tragedy, warmth, and love, he is pushed along by an omniscient narrator (Will Patton), who we never meet. Is it the voice of God or nature itself? Does it matter? He is always there, as if proud of this soul in particular, who can't help but be astonished by all creation, even when he's uncertain of how he fits into it.
Halfway through the film, I found myself crying. Silently, at first, then with an outpouring of emotion I hadn't realized I was holding onto. By the end, I was spent. I slept for hours and woke as if from a dream, wondering if this movie really existed.
I know I'll see it again when it finally releases on Netflix this November. It won't be the same revelatory experience as in cinemas. This is a movie that needs to be appreciated on the large canvas and in a darkened room, where you can be alone with your thoughts and soul. But it will still resonate and move anyone who sees it, even on a TV screen.
This is only the second film from director Clint Bentley. At 41, he's just four years my senior. I cannot fathom where he found this from within. It feels like the work of an older filmmaker. Someone nearing twilight, who has already experienced multiple lives. Yet Bentley communicates ageless truths and timeless wisdom with grace and eloquence effortlessly.
This is one of the great films of the year. In time, it will become one of the best in a decade, then one of the movies that people speak of when asked what inspired them in their life. It is a masterpiece.
