From Dallas’ Clint Bentley, A Gorgeous American Epic Arrives in Train Dreams

“There are passageways to the old world — strange trails, hidden paths. You turn a corner and suddenly find yourself face-to-face with the great mystery, the foundation of all things.”

This sentiment, spoken by narrator Will Patton, opens Dallas-based filmmaker Clint Bentley’s staggering new film, Train Dreams. It’s a thesis statement for a story that is at once a quiet portrait of a solitary man and a sweeping, poetic epic about the soul of America.

The film, which Bentley co-wrote with his Fort Worth-born creative partner Greg Kwedar, is a profound meditation on a life lived, brimming with love, loss and the quiet beauty of a world in constant, churning change. It’s a serious awards contender, and it has roots right here in North Texas.

Based on Denis Johnson’s beloved 2011 novella, Train Dreams chronicles the life of Robert Grainier (a career-best from lead actor Joel Edgerton), a logger and railroad worker in the Pacific Northwest during the early 20th century.

Grainier, an orphan of unknown origin, is a man of quiet observation and hard labor. He finds love with Gladys (Felicity Jones), and together they build a cabin and a life by the Moyie River with their young daughter, Kate. But his work as an itinerant laborer, felling ancient trees and building bridges, pulls him away for long stretches, making him a visitor in his own home. When a devastating tragedy strikes, his world is fractured, leaving him to navigate the ensuing decades in a state of profound solitude, haunted by memories and searching for meaning in the remnants of his life.

The story of a simple man might seem an unlikely subject for a film of such lyrical depth, but in Bentley’s hands, it becomes a universal examination of existence. It’s a film that feels like a Terrence Malick poem, with the longitudinal scope of Richard Linklater’s Boyhood and the heart-wrenching intimacy of Like Crazy (which also starred Felicity Jones).

Bentley, who moved to Texas in his 20s, sees a direct line from the landscapes of his adopted home to the visual poetry of Train Dreams.

“The sky feels so close to you in Texas,” Bentley tells the Observer. “It feels like you could reach up and touch the clouds. There’s something about that.”

This sense of proximity to the heavens is palpable throughout the film. In one breathtaking shot, Grainier stands on the roof of his newly-built home, and the clouds behind him are so painterly that you feel as if you could walk right into them.

“You couldn’t plan for something like that,” Bentley remarks. “They were just gorgeous that day.”

This philosophy of capturing found moments is central to the filmmaking of Bentley and Kwedar, the duo behind acclaimed films Jockey and last year’s Sing Sing. For Train Dreams, they took this approach to a new level, working with cinematographer Adolpho Veloso to create a visual language that mirrors Grainier’s internal state. They frequently use long lenses and slow zooms, pulling the viewer into the character’s emotional space with a sense of gentle absorption.

“We were just trying to find a way to always serve the moment and serve the character,” Bentley explains. He says he wanted to create something that was “striking to look at and eye candy for an audience,” but never in excess and always in service of the story.

This balance is masterfully achieved. The moments of domestic bliss between Robert and Gladys are bathed in a soft, golden light as the camera lingers on their tender interactions — feeding chickens at sunset, sharing a quiet meal. Perhaps most impressively, though, is that the moments of devastation are just as beautiful. Moments like when Robert sits in a pile of ash where his home once stood, the sky behind him stark and unforgiving.

“It is also beautiful in its own way, even though it’s very, very different and terrible,” Bentley says. “We were trying to think about that with each scene.”

The film is punctuated by surreal, dream-like sequences that visualize Grainier’s subconscious. To create the effect of a passing train light in the dead of night, Bentley’s crew used drones with large lights attached, flying them overhead.

“I always knew that those would be little snippets and dream sequences,” the director says. “It really tests you as a filmmaker. Whether a shot is half a second or a three-minute [unbroken shot in a film], you put the same amount of effort into that shot either way. You’re like, ‘Oh my God, I don’t know if this is worth what I’m putting the crew through to get this shot that’s just going to be a piece of a dream sequence.’ But it ends up being worth it in the end.”

Nature itself is a central character in the film. The towering trees of the Pacific Northwest are both a source of livelihood and a symbol of a primordial world being dismantled. William H. Macy, in a brilliant supporting turn as a philosophical old logger named Arn Peeples, captures this tension perfectly. “We just cut down trees that have been here for 500 years,” the character muses to his fellow workers in the movie. “That’s a man’s soul, whether you recognize it or not.”

One of the film’s most poignant themes is the interconnectedness of all things. This idea is articulated beautifully by the character Claire (a luminous Kerry Condon), a fire lookout who befriends Grainier in his later years. “In the forest, every last thing is important,” she tells him. “It’s all threaded together, so you can’t tell where one thing ends and another begins. A dead tree is as important as a living one.”

For Bentley, these themes are not just philosophical musings but deeply personal. He recounts a line from the film that resonates with his own experience of loss: “It felt like no human had ever died before.” He remembers feeling that exact sentiment when he lost someone close to him.

“I feel like the world is ending, and yet we’ve been dying and losing people for, you know, at least 50,000 years that we’ve been conscious of,” he says.

This profound sense of shared human experience is what makes Train Dreams so resonant. It’s a story about the paradox of living a mundane, dirt-scrabbling life while simultaneously feeling a pull toward something larger. Bentley sees this as a timeless human struggle.

“We’ve always been, and we still are, kind of dealing with this feeling, trying to justify this paradox between living in a mundane world and also feeling drawn to something bigger,” he says. “We’re always looking around for some bigger narrative.”

The film is filled with bigger narratives, weaving elements of myth and folklore into Grainier’s personal story. A great comet appears in the sky, signaling the end of days for some. Claire speaks of ancient flood stories that echo across cultures, explaining, “It’s just the same story, different slants.” These mythic layers elevate Grainier’s simple existence into an epic tale, suggesting that every life, no matter how ordinary, is part of a grand, cosmic design.

Ultimately, Train Dreams is a film that lingers, its images and ideas seeping into your consciousness long after the credits roll. It’s a story about the marks we leave behind, the love we carry and the quiet dignity of a life. As Patton narrates near the end of the film, Grainier “felt that he was only just beginning to have some faint understanding of his life, even though it was now slipping away from him,” toward the end of his days.

It’s a film that demands to be seen on the big screen, where its lush visuals and immersive sound design can be fully appreciated. The film’s 3:2 aspect ratio and rich cinematography make theatrical presentation the definitive way to experience this masterpiece.

As Bentley’s filmmaking career continues to ascend, Dallas can proudly claim him as one of its own. Train Dreams is an experience, a lyrical tale that captures the beauty and sorrow of the human condition with a grace and wisdom that is all too rare. It’s a testament to the power of a quiet life and a reminder that, in the end, we are all connected to it all.

Train Dreams is now playing in local theaters, including the Landmark’s Inwood Theatre and the Texas Theatre, which is presenting the film in 35mm. The film will be available to stream on Netflix starting Nov. 21.