My quick rating – 6.9/10. Another Best Picture nominee strolls into the room wearing suspenders, carrying an axe, and speaking in a hushed, poetic voiceover. And that would be Train Dreams. Directed by Clint Bentley and based on Denis Johnson’s beloved novella, this is the kind of film that doesn’t knock on the door, it gently taps once, then waits while you check the peephole for interest.
The story follows Robert Grainier, a logger and railroad worker living through the early 20th century as America slowly trades trees for smokestacks. It’s a portrait of a simple, decent man trying to build a simple, decent life, which of course means cinema law requires tragedy to drop in unannounced like a piano from a third-floor window. The emotional core is intentionally minimalistic – love, family, loss, memory, and the slow erasure of ways of life that once felt permanent.
Joel Edgerton delivers a terrific performance as Robert Grainier, restrained and quietly powerful. He does more with silence and posture than some actors manage with three monologues and a courtroom breakdown. I’m honestly surprised he didn’t land a nomination here. He also recently popped up in The Plague with another strong showing, though with less screen dominance than he commands here. Felicity Jones plays Gladys, the love of his life, bringing warmth and softness to a role that, unfortunately, feels a bit underdeveloped.
And that’s where the film stumbled for me. The central love story, the emotional engine that’s supposed to power the grief, feels too abbreviated. We’re told it’s profound rather than truly showing it becomes profound. When the tragedy hits, it lands more as an idea than a gut punch. It’s the difference between reading a love letter and seeing the relationship unfold. One stings more.
There’s also one moment that genuinely made me tilt my head like a confused dog. When men are dragging away Robert’s Asian co-worker, our concerned hero grabs the guy’s legs in a way that looks less like intervention and more like he’s helping move a couch being thrown off the bridge. It didn’t look like confronting the men for assaulting the coworker – it looked like assisting them in the assault. Maybe I misread the staging, but it stuck out enough to make my notes.
Visually, though, the film is a beauty. The forest landscapes are rich and immersive, the period detail is excellent, and the wildfire sequences are shot with suffocating dread. Bentley directs with a delicate hand. This movie is a whisper while most theaters are busy screaming explosions at you. It’s meditative, patient, and atmospheric, sometimes a bit too much. The pacing is undeniably slow, and while that will absolutely work for some of you, the story never quite builds enough tension or momentum to leave a lasting impression with me.
Still, it’s thoughtful and well-crafted, just a bit too emotionally distant to hit masterpiece status. A good film, a respectable nominee, but not my Best Picture of the year.
