Director: Clint Bentley
Stars: Joel Edgerton, Nathaniel Arcand, Felicity Jones
Movies about grief are ten-a-penny these days, but few in recent memory have approached the subject with as much quiet dignity and affecting sadness as Clint Bentley’s Train Dreams; a compact epic of life on the fringes of America as it goes through monumental change in the early part of the 20th century. Based on the novel by Denis Johnson, the seismic evolution of the country happens around the edges or in the far distance. In the foreground is lowly logging man Robert Grainer (Clint Bentley), a stoic soul who comes to find himself regarded as a hermit in later years, and takes to the notion with only mild surprise.
Clipped of pace, handsomely shot in natural light and boxed in at a 1.43:1, Bentley’s film seems to stretch outside of its relatively trim 102 minutes (that’s including credits). In part this is a testament to the spritely, instinctive editing patterns of Parker Laramie that also help the film feel somewhat indebted to the work of Terrence Malick (a filmmaker usually flanked by an entire squadron of editors). That Malickian feels evidences in other ways. The film’s deeply-felt themes of the sanctity of nature in contrast to the violence of man, for instance. But Bentley’s film feels equally indebted to the frosty poetry of Kelly Reichardt or the sly ambition of David Lowery (who is thanked here).
Robert is a nominal resident of the town of Bonners Ferry, Idaho, but his work as a logger takes him all over the northern states, frequently to Washington. He spends whole seasons there among men who have few ties to the world. Instinctive loners, nomads and runaways. But Robert is rooted in Idaho thanks to his beloved wife Gladys (Felicity Jones) and, later, their daughter Katie (various). The film spans decades, cross-stitches them, though it unfolds in a mostly linear fashion. But ghosts haunt Robert, the dead surround him as he carries on, and the sadness of outlasting both loved ones and perfect strangers is communicated keenly.
The loggers have a tradition of nailing the boots of their deceased colleagues to trees; a fittingly humble epitaph with a fragile sense of permanence. Train Dreams presents many of these working men – mere acquaintances to Robert – as thoughtful, spiritual individuals. It has great faith that there is wisdom in everyone, feels charitable in that sense, and generous. One of the most touching kinships in the film is among its briefest, as a kind-hearted merchant, Ignatius Jack (Nathaniel Arcand), shows concern and charity to Robert at a time of intense desperation.
Throughout Train Dreams Robert has a sense of oncoming cataclysm. And while the end of the world is referenced through the appearance of a comet or an eloquent speech on the long ago melting of a great glacier, Robert’s apocalypse is a personal one. His life stalls at a moment of horrifying loss, which he becomes forlornly tethered to for the rest of his days. Train Dreams becomes a profoundly sad film because of this, all the more-so for how insightfully it recognises this human tendency.
For all that, there’s further hope and generosity, particularly in a late friendship that Robert discovers with fellow hermit Claire (Kerry Condon) of the newly-minted US Forest Service. This is one of the more perfectly downplayed connections that the film brings to bear. Condon is a secret weapon in any film or TV show, and that’s true enough here, but this is wholly Edgerton’s show. An actor often at his best when doing the least, Train Dreams feels close to a career best. When Robert first sets about building a cabin for Gladys, memories of his turn in Jeff Nichols’ Loving float to the fore. If that isn’t the actor’s best turn, this is among its closest rivals. He’s truly nailed the interiority of ordinary decent men who are dwarfed by the haphazard accidents and evils of the world around them.
The film’s final moments float a little too close to the corny, but by this point Bentley has gotten enough good will behind him to get away with a little mawkishness. Not only that, but he’s carved out his own sense of authorship on this adapted material; enough to step out from the shadow of his influences and stand as a great new potential in American filmmaking. Train Dreams sees great romance in the building of America and is perhaps also grieved at how this has been squandered since. It depicts a land both incredibly old and born anew by the great forces of industry, for better and for worse, and the ways in which the turning of history can make the simplest of lives both insignificant and quietly, tenderly monumental. Good work.
The Lost Highway Hotel 