What if the most epic story you could tell was about a man who never tried to be epic at all? No grand speeches, no heroic poses, just a quiet life unfolding somewhere between falling trees, passing trains, and deep moments of love and grief. Clint Bentley’s Train Dreams, now streaming on Netflix, dares to ask whether an ordinary existence might hold more mystery, beauty, and emotional depth than the loudest blockbuster.
Based on Denis Johnson’s beloved novella – a book that quietly captured readers’ hearts roughly fifteen years ago – the film is a period drama, a psychological portrait, and, at times, a spiritual meditation on the pain, beauty and inevitability of change. It follows Robert Grainier (Joel Edgerton), a logger and railroad worker navigating the rapidly shifting landscape of early 20th-century America, a world caught between the fading frontier and the arrival of robust technological progress.
Bentley, whose debut Jockey made waves at Sundance, co-wrote the screenplay with longtime creative partner Greg Kwedar (Sing Sing). Their adaptation feels less like a traditional narrative and more like a series of lived memories- fragments of a life stitched together with patience but also much dynamism. Not a word feels useless from a plot perspective.
A Story Built in Glimpses
Robert is not a man of many words. And that’s precisely what makes him so compelling. Edgerton delivers a deeply internal performance, built on microexpressions and restrained gestures rather than monologues. Watching him feels like observing someone thinking and being fully focused and present rather than acting, the rare and quietly hypnotic quality of great actors.
The story unfolds in chapters rather than a straight line. We watch Robert fall in love with Gladys (Felicity Jones), whose gentle strength and independence give the film its emotional anchor. Their relationship is surprisingly modern in tone: Gladys makes the first moves, hunts, fishes, and raises their child during Robert’s long absences working on dangerous railroad projects. She is not a passive figure waiting at home knitting jumpers, she is a fully realized character navigating her own resilience. It is easy to forget that the era placed equally demanding expectations on so-called “stay-at-home” mothers too. Watching her, I couldn’t help but wonder how some of today’s tradwives would cope.
Later, another compelling female character enters the story: Claire (Kerry Condon – who at times could pass for Rebecca Ferguson’s twin), a scientist and former wartime nurse who served in Europe and is now tasked with studying the surrounding forests. Like Gladys, she carries a quiet, grounded independence. Bentley’s world is filled with women who endure, adapt, and steadily move both their own microcosm, and the wider world, forward.
Meanwhile, Robert’s life among fellow workers introduces moments of humor, camaraderie and danger. William H. Macy’s warm and eccentric Arn Peeples is both mentor and comic relief, the kind of oddball-wise figure every community cherishes. These scenes, set among kerosene lamp-lit tents, marvelous trees, and the looming threat of injury, highlight the physical toll of labor during an era when machinery slowly began replacing human hands – a transformation that feels eerily relevant today.
Light, Landscape, and the Malick Echo
Visually, Train Dreams is stunning. Cinematographer Adolpho Veloso, coming from a documentary background, leans heavily on natural light: fire, sunlight, shadow. He creates images that feel alive rather than composed. The film’s warm palette, lyrical depth and paccing evoke Terrence Malick’s work, from Days of Heaven to his later, more metaphysical explorations. Yet Bentley never slips into imitation; instead, he finds a gentle balance between grounded storytelling and transcendental reflection.
The result is a film that feels both intimate and expansive. Bryce Dessner’s delicate score glides beneath the images like a quiet companion, while editor Parker Laramie shapes the story with remarkable fluidity. The pacing is immersive, and watching the film feels like slowly turning the pages of an old book.
Train Dreams. (Featured) Director Clint Bentley and Joel Edgerton as Robert Grainier in Train Dreams. Cr. Daniel Schaefer/BBP Train Dreams. LLC. © 2025.
The Weight of Change
At its core, Train Dreams is about transformation. Not just personal change, but societal evolution. Through Robert’s life, we witness the shift from manpower to machinery, from wilderness to industry, from isolation to a more interconnected – and complicated – world. Trees that have stood for centuries fall in seconds, airplanes begin to cross skies once ruled by silence.
The film touches on themes of environmental responsibility and technological progress with a light hand. Loggers reflect on forests disappearing, their personal responsibility and wonder what future generations will inherit. These moments never feel preachy though, instead, they arrive like passing thoughts – quiet reminders of how closely human life is tied to nature.
Grief also runs quietly through the story. Bentley does not overly dramatize life or loss, instead, he approaches both with restraint and grace, allowing Edgerton to deliver a naturalistic, inward performance. Let’s face it: people in real pain rarely run through the streets yelling, howling, and announcing to everyone that someone is gone – and the film understands that. Loss is not framed as a single explosive turning point but as a lingering presence, something Robert carries with fluctuating intensity until, over time, it gently becomes part of who he is. The film suggests that grief is simply love without a place to land, a theme handled with sensitivity and quiet dignity – unlike in Chloé Zhao’s contrived and sentimentally manipulative Hamnet.
A Life That Seems Ordinary, Until It Doesn’t
Perhaps the film’s greatest achievement is how it elevates the seemingly mundane. Robert’s life is filled with routine: work, travel, small conversations, fleeting joys. Yet each moment gains significance through Bentley’s patient gaze. It is a great reminder that no life is truly ordinary when viewed with enough attention.
And yes, the film has humor too: subtle, understated moments that emerge naturally from small interactions rather than punchlines. That balance between warmth and melancholy gives Train Dreams its distinct emotional rhythm.
Joel Edgerton reportedly pursued the rights to Johnson’s novella himself before Bentley was brought on by the producers, and his commitment shows in every frame. His portrayal is restrained yet deeply expressive, proving yet again that less is more.
In an era obsessed with speed, spectacle, and constant noise, Train Dreams feels almost radical in its quietness. It invites us to slow down, to sit with images, to consider how lives unfold across decades rather than headlines. The film also reflects on the cost of progress: how technological advancement reshapes communities and our fate, sometimes leaving individuals behind.
It is a soulful, fluid work that blends historical storytelling with modern sensibilities. Bentley doesn’t romanticize the past, but he finds beauty in its details. The result is a cinematic experience that feels personal and meditative. And if you allow yourself to settle into its rhythm, it offers something rare: a gentle reminder that meaning often hides in the smallest gestures.
Train Dreams is now streaming on Netflix.
~ by Dora Endre ~
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