
Train Dreams: A Gentle and Meandering Exploration of American Existentialism
Film Reviews
Sundance Film Review: Train Dreams
Director: Clint Bentley
Black Bear Pictures
Premiere: 01.31
“Ain’t there anywhere in the world where a man can find peace?”
Train Dreams has all the trappings of a classic Western. Taking place primarily in the early years of the 20th century and set against the backdrop of the sweeping American landscape, the setting is almost a character unto itself. The film even emulates the classic doorway shot from The Searchers on multiple occasions. Yet, this is far from a run-of-the-mill Western — it’s also a multilayered allegory.
Robert (Joel Edgerton, The Great Gatsby) is a solitary man, never knowing his family or where he comes from. Residing in Idaho, he finds jobs where he can, helping to build the last vestiges of the railroad before transitioning into logging work. By a stroke of what seems like fate, he meets Gladys (Felicity Jones, The Brutalist) and is instantly smitten. It’s love at first sight, and the two begin to follow their “American Dream” by building their own secluded cabin up in the woods and having a daughter together. But Robert’s life is soon thrown into complete disarray, as he returns from a work trip to find a forest fire has burned his home to cinders while he was gone, with no sign of his wife and daughter. He spends the next few years in an isolated, hermetic lifestyle trying to come to terms with what happened while holding out some sliver of hope that they might return one day. As the years go on, he finds himself more and more isolated, and less and less at peace with his life. His demons seem to reveal themselves in the darkness of solitude.
Train Dreams is a fairly meandering film; there’s little in the way of a strict plot line, but it works in the film’s favor, allowing it to explore tones and emotions without feeling the pressure of rushing through its story. Despite its heavy subject matter, Train Dreams is a surprisingly gentle and contemplative film. In contrast to the gruff exterior of the men on screen, there’s a vulnerable, sensitive core to the film. These emotions are firmly rooted in Edgerton’s stellar lead performance, which never comes across as forced or overblown, thanks in no small part to a quietly brilliant screenplay.
At its core, Train Dreams is a deeply existential film. For years, Robert hoped to find some meaning behind the loss of his family, but such reasoning is nearly impossible to find in grief. Life is full of loss, destruction and entropy, and at times it feels easier to give in to that than fight back against it. In a particularly powerful moment, Robert stares out the window, hoping that he might catch a glimpse of his long-lost family. He lets out a deep sigh, and the film jump cuts, showing a far older, more greyed-out Robert. Decades disappear in a single breath, and yet nothing has changed for him.
This existential dread applies not only to people but to the entire world. Much of Train Dreams’ themes revolve around man’s relationship with nature, yet another reason it could be classified as a Western. But this is quite clearly a revisionist Western, one that doesn’t revel in or celebrate the myths of “The Wild West.” The “taming” of the West was actually the destruction of the West, and every human achievement comes with a certain price — often a violent one.
This is best displayed through Robert’s friend Arn (William H. Macy), a pensive older man who still finds himself stuck in the tremendously dangerous profession of logging. Macy is perfectly suited for the role, and it’s exciting to see him playing a broken but sympathetic man again because he’s just so good at it. There’s one particular scene where Arn opens up to his coworkers about his dissatisfaction with the destructive nature of his work. As he puts it, “It upsets a man’s soul to kill so many trees.”
So amidst all this destruction and loss, what does one find worth living for? I suppose this can be said of any human throughout any time in history. Do our lives inherently have meaning, or do we assign it ourselves? Do things truly “happen for a reason?” Or is that what hurt people tell themselves to make the pain dissipate?
As for Robert, he perhaps never quite finds what he’s looking for in life, too bogged down by the weight of his grief. Such is the case for many, if not most people. But it’s not entirely hopeless. In the deeply moving closing scene, Robert is allowed at least a brief moment of respite from his suffering, and as the film says in its final line, “At last, he felt connected to it all.” Perhaps instead of answers or meaning, what we all truly seek is connection. —Seth Turek
Read more of SLUG’s coverage of the 2025 Sundance Film Festival.