Train Dreams is the kind of movie that only makes you more frustrated with Netflix. The film had the smallest of theatrical runs before dropping on the streaming service to no fanfare until some people started noticing it and it gained some awards season traction. But it is the kind of movie in visuals and narrative scale that is made for the theatrical experience -it’s setting and atmosphere would resonate so well in that context, its power of immersion would be stronger. It’s a good movie to watch in any case, but at home it is just clearly the inferior version.
That said I wouldn’t quite compare its natural cinematography by Adolpho Veloso to the work of Terence Malick, as has been stated by some, though the tone of the piece is certainly similar. Directed by Clint Bentley and written by him and Greg Kwedar (the two collaborated previously on Sing Sing -with Kwedar directing from a script by him and Bentley), the storytelling of Train Dreams is fairly minimalist -its protagonist having less to say than Will Patton’s omniscient narrator; Patton also narrated the audiobook of this story, originally a novella by Denis Johnson. And yet a lot is conveyed in spite of the distance created between character and audience through the ordinary but nonetheless interesting lifespan it chronicles of the most unassuming person one might dedicate that scope to.
His name is Robert Granier, played by Joel Edgerton, and his entire life is chronicled to us against the backdrop of the shifting eras of the early twentieth century. An orphan in Idaho through much of his childhood, he eventually marries his love Gladys (Felicity Jones), builds a log cabin for their family, and finds work as first a construction worker for the railway and then more lastingly as a logger, his life intersecting with various curious characters while undergoing setbacks and tragedies and haunted all the time by the memory of a Chinese worker (during the time of the Exclusion Act) being thrown from a train bridge during their labour.
Though the movie spans a great length of time, Robert never ventures far from the rural Idaho wilderness, on just a few occasions making his way into a small town or eventually the comparatively big city of Spokane. Thus the changing tides of the world are conveyed less by technological markers as by the age of Robert and his environment. There is a touch of rustic romanticism in this at times reminiscent of Jeremiah Johnson -only Robert isn't quite a recluse; his bond with his wife and daughter is subdued but deeply tender. It is a contentment that is eventually disrupted.
Patton's narration is quite extensive, and as with Nick Offerman's in The Life of Chuck it might be too much so -expositing on things conveyed better visually. But it doesn't detract from the soulful atmosphere created by Bentley's minimalist direction and the scenic landscape cinematography. The grandiosity of nature is a significant aspect of the film, itself a casualty of the changing times. It is noted at one point the ancient age of some of the trees being cut down by Robert and his fellow loggers for the machine of industrialism, and the weight that that should carry for every labourer. Yet it is still sturdy and strong, this world that Robert has surrounded himself by, and he belongs in its isolation.
Edgerton plays Robert with a curiosity and gruff earnestness that follows him through his life, and an emotional core that is equal parts solemn and passionate. His personality is enriched by the people he meets, but he is not an empty vessel devoid of values of his own, expressed intuitively though they may be. He is not some exceptional figure, his movements not immediately consequential and yet they are still affecting and powerful. Edgerton takes to the rugged aesthetic, the weariness that appears to be there from early on and only grows as Robert ages and the world starts to pass him by. We see him grow out of touch and pace with younger generations, exacerbating depression and isolation.
But one of the interesting devices in the film’s storytelling are the characters who illuminate his perspective at different junctures in his life, and whose influence he carries forward. The Chinese worker who inspires the titular train dreams counts to degree but more substantial is an elder logging foreman played by William H. Macy during the early period of his work, a local shopkeeper friend played by Nathaniel Arcand who commiserates with him after tragedy years later, and a U.S. Forest Service agent played by Kerry Condon who befriends him in his later years and whom he can confide in his superstitions -spirits he comes to believe in after a lifetime. These figures function not too dissimilar to the ghosts of A Christmas Carol, each imparting in their way important lessons for Robert while representing the past, present, and future of the world around him - Condon especially evokes a particular new era as vivid contrast to a man still haunted by the past.
There is indeed a spiritual aspect to the film -in the literal sense Robert does believe in a vision he experiences late that firms up his resolve about home and ties into a signature mystifying loss from earlier. But it is sensible also in the film's atmosphere and nature, which does often possess for people a deific gravity and grace. For as overwrought as some of the narration might be, it lends to this very well and the narrative's parable-like overtones. Bentley emphasizes it in the precision of his choices -his intimate framing of Robert with a more objective attitude to the world around him, taking on occasion the perspective of nature (one noteworthy shot is fixed on a tree as it is being cut down). It sometimes veers into the territory of monotony, though ultimately it is reasonable. The grand and the small are in harmony with one another, on both a technical and narrative level.
In one of the film's final scenes we see Robert witness through a department store television, the first spaceflight -a very extreme hallmark of how much the world has changed since he entered it. Though subtler than most, this movie captures the enormous scale of time -and one man's specific lifetime- with unexpected efficiency and effectiveness. And its final sequence ponders that mortality in a beautiful way. This is what sticks with you at the end of Train Dreams, which for its lofty precepts and visual attractiveness can feel dry at times. It certainly is worth it by the end. Bentley and Kwedar have an earnest touch that is respectable and endearing through these last two movies. I hope to see it again -and in a theatre next time.
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