Sonhos de Trem

Train Dreams is a film that fully captures an entire life - and an entire era - in a hundred minutes. A quiet, clear narrative built on images that rely less on big plot turns and more on the weight of single moments. The cinematography leans on wide, unwavering shots of nature, filmed almost entirely outdoors, turning both the beauty and the ruthless force of the landscape into a character of its own. The camera observes instead of explaining. It shows what fades, what remains, and what gets lost in between.

The storytelling is poetic without ever slipping into sentimentality. The film largely avoids explanatory dialogue - understanding comes through the narrative itself: through music, through silence, through glances, through the landscape that wraps around the characters. In that sense, Train Dreams recalls Terrence Malick - not through imitation, but through the same deep belief in image, rhythm, and atmosphere as carriers of emotion.

The soundtrack and sound design work closely with these visuals. Music and ambient sound hold the inner lives of the characters, especially that of Robert Grainier, whose plain humanity and quiet dignity form the film's center. His performance is restrained, almost rough - and all the more powerful for it. This man lives a life marked by hardship but also by small moments of beauty; a life full of loss, time, and change; trauma, but also silent acceptance. His loneliness is never staged melodramatically, but as something observed, sometimes even poetic.

As the railroad cuts through forests and progress pushes into untamed land, the old world disappears. The film doesn't turn this into a grand thesis - it simply lets it happen: an era dies, and Grainier witnesses it in silence. The railroad becomes a symbol of humanity's intrusion into nature, the engine of a transformation no one can stop. Within all of this lies a deep sense of melancholy - an elegy for the American West dissolving inevitably into modernity.

Visually, the film rests on clear, vivid, almost crystalline compositions that are allowed to linger. Each shot feels like a memory etched into the land itself: sometimes harsh, sometimes tender, always full of atmospheric force. Nature is not just a backdrop but both mirror and counterworld - a place of beauty and of danger, of freedom and of indifference.

Emotionally, Train Dreams is unexpectedly warm. The sadness is present, but it carries dignity. The narrative is full of quiet shocks that unfold slowly. What remains in the end is a feeling that's hard to name but easy to sense: a soft, overwhelming awareness of how fragile a life is, and yet how meaningful even the smallest moments can be.

Train Dreams is less a traditional film than a poetic space of memory - a work defined not by plot but by atmosphere, time, and humanity. Its strength lies not in what happens, but in how it is shown. In details, in glances, in silence. And in that, it finds its true power.

The calmness we deserve in today's pacing cinema. Loved it. We should have more of these. It's a whisper when everything else is shouting. A deep, soulful meditation on simple survival, memory, and the vast, quiet beauty of passing time. This one stays with you. It lingers, a quiet, profound ache of humanity.

The award-nominated writers of SING SING, Greg Kwedar and Clint Bentley, have now upped their game even more with TRAIN DREAMS, this time with Bentley directing. It has a similar theme of the beauty and unpredictability of humanity and the world itself. Based on a novella by Denis Johnson, this is a character study of Robert Grainier (Joel Edgerton), a logger working on a railroad in 1917. He's stoic, a hard-working man with a wife (Felicity Jones) and daughter to take care of. He's a man of few words, but he's thoughtful, looking for purpose in life. Usually, having a narrator could be seen as a crutch, but it's done so well here, voiced by a smooth but powerful Will Patton. He gives us more insight into Robert and the world around him. The movie touches on discrimination during the "Great War", but its main focus is Robert and how the world changes around him. The process of building a railroad represents both destruction and progress. Chopping down trees, then making the world smaller by building railroads. It also focuses on Robert's workmates, one played by William H. Macy. His role is very small, but this might be the best he's ever been. Speaking of "best he's ever been", freakin Joel Edgerton. This man does so much, with little dialogue. It's an award-worthy performance on top of an already awesome career. Humanity's complicated relationship with nature is another theme here. Overall, this is a poetic meditation of America, about the ups and downs of one life among many. I had the privilege of seeing TRAIN DREAMS in a sold-out theatre, and I can't wait for you to see it when it comes to Netflix on November 21. I know this review is early, I just had to put something out there about it. Put it on a list, make a reminder, don't pass this one by when it finally releases!

Robert's live is gently lived and not without deep tragedy. The film evokes our own memories, little joys and sadnesses, discoveries, losses, and hopes to bring grace to our self reflection. The film is heartbreakingly beautiful. Acting, editing, direction are just right. Looking forward to more performances from Edgerton.

Train Dreams is one of those films that, at first glance, seem to lean toward easy melancholy and empty contemplation. The premise, centered on the lonely life of a lumberjack in the early 20th century, could suggest a drama that is too slow, stuck in long landscapes and silent emotions. But what Clint Bentley delivers here is something much deeper. In his second feature film, he confirms the sensitivity he had already demonstrated in writing Sing Sing (2024), constructing a delicate experience about memory, loss, the passage of time, and the weight we carry when remembering what will never return.

Above all, the film is about how we deal with life when everything we once were is now behind us. It is about time passing without asking permission and about the people who come in and out of our lives, leaving only memories behind. Bentley and Kwedar transform this theme into something universal: anyone who has ever lost someone, who has seen the world change too quickly, or who has found themselves revisiting memories without knowing why, will find something here that resonates deeply. In the end, the film offers no answers, but leaves us with a powerful reflection: memories are what accompany us to the end, and it is up to us to choose how we want to live them. Time waits for no one, people come and go, but what we hold on to, even what we only realize later, is what shapes who we are. Train Dreams may be slow and contemplative, but it is precisely in this rhythm that it finds depth.

In the end, the film offers no answers, but leaves us with a powerful reflection: memories are what accompany us until the end, and it is up to us to choose how we want to live them. Time waits for no one, people come and go, but what we hold on to, even what we only realize later, is what shapes who we are. Dreams of a Train may be slow and contemplative, but it is precisely in this rhythm that it finds depth. It is one of the most sensitive and impactful films of the year, and certainly one of Netflix's strongest bets to win over audiences and critics. If life is made up of passages, so is cinema, and this is one of those films that remains.