The state of Washington has always been one of the most beautiful, if tragically underutilized, places in the world to shoot a film, but rarely has it looked quite as movingly magnificent as it does in “Train Dreams.” A Western epic of breathtaking visual splendor and formidable lyrical cinematic poetry, it’s a work containing all the wondrous, devastating layers of an entire life, which it explores with a gentle grace without hiding from the agony that comes with it.
It’s not just the best thing director Clint Bentley, who previously directed 2021’s engaging “Jockey,” has done thus far, but it also sees star Joel Edgerton operating on a whole other level as he gives one of his most understated yet spectacular performances in a career never lacking for them.
“Train Dreams” is a patient, profound, and painful experience, bringing all the visual power of a Terrence Malick film to its corner of the Pacific Northwest as cinematographer Adolpho Veloso creates one captivating composition after another. It follows the gruff yet caring Robert (Edgerton) as he builds a loving relationship and joyous life with Gladys, played by a fantastic Felicity Jones, while also working as a laborer doing everything from cutting down towering trees to building the railroad. This is a film where the beauty of the images doesn’t sand over the anguish lurking underneath.
As we hear in the gravelly tones of narrator Will Patton, who also did the audiobook for the novella by the late Denis Johnson on which the film is based, life is often cruel not just for Robert but for the people scrapping to survive. Just as the natural world takes the breath away, several early scenes make explicit that the humans inhabiting it are prone not just to hate, but to casual violence that is baked into the country’s foundation.
Premiering Sunday at Sundance, the film has an impact that comes from not just the images, but also the delicate way it is written. In a script that Bently co-wrote with Greg Kwedar, who also directed last year’s shatteringly compassionate “Sing Sing,” we come to know both Robert and Gladys so completely that you feel like you’re getting to glimpse in on the lives of two strangers going about their days. Their connection is not just physical, which both actors sell in their performances; it feels almost spiritual.
The film takes its time doing things like laying with Robert and Gladys by the water near their home — a great shot you only wish could linger longer as you take in its beauty and the intimacy that it creates. Bentley’s film settles into a precise rhythm that takes hold of you and doesn’t let go for nearly two hours.
This is felt in the extended scenes where Robert goes out to work at his dangerous, often lonely jobs. This is shot, staged, and cut to make it feel as if we’re seeing paintings in motion, completely immersing us in the setting. At times, the quiet tranquility of the natural world is interrupted by the thunderous falling of trees — and “Train Dreams” ponders whether this is bad for the soul in a fireside monologue by a wonderful William H. Macy, who comes in and steals the film in every scene he gets.
The moments of destruction land like blows, punching you in the gut and, later in the film, turning the terror of a raging fire into an agonizing, primal scream. The life and loss on display does not just belong to Robert, who remains haunted by ghosts that are captured in strikingly evocative nightmares. No, this film is about the big picture of existence itself and finding our place in it.
Though the film does contain tragedy, “Train Dreams” becomes about connection and healing on a grand scale. Similar to the boots nailed to the trees that the laborers leave to mark where their colleagues have died on the job, the film is about the small moments of life that accumulate into the immensity of all we are. Sometimes, all you can do is leave a mark.
