Train Dreams: The Rehearsed Death

There’s a scene in Train Dreams where a man walks into a clearing and shoots someone dead. It happens in a single wide shot. No dramatic camera push, no close-up on the gun, no slow-motion. I’ve been thinking about the scene a lot (and the film as a whole, plenty to immerse yourself in); it taught me something about storytelling structure I want to unpack.

Train Dreams is a film on Netflix, adapted from Denis Johnson’s novella, starring Joel Edgerton as Robert Grainier, a railroader struggling to find his place as America chugs into the modern era. It’s filled with beautiful cinematography and bittersweet melancholy, but it’s this particular scene (pages 24-26 of the script) that’s stuck with me.

We’ve just met Apostle Frank. “A faller who spoke about God and the Bible with such familiarity as to suggest he had been there when it was all written down.” He’s affable. Chatty. Warm. Then a stranger arrives in the clearing. He’s looking for someone called Sam Loving. There’s a pause. Apostle Frank jumps up and makes a run for it. The stranger shoots him dead. He explains, calmly, that Apostle Frank, real name Sam Loving, killed his brother because of the colour of his skin. He asks if any of the gang has a problem with what he’s just done. No-one does. The stranger goes on his way.

What I love directorially is that wide shot. The camera doesn’t flinch, doesn’t intervene. Previously in the story, we know Robert is haunted by a death he could have prevented. But here, he doesn't do anything. It feels more like justice has been done. The simplicity of the staging makes it land harder than any flashy editing would. (But hey, maybe they were running out of time and could only do it in a wide shot - that’s filmmaking for you!)

Here’s the thing that really got me. The very next scene after Apostle Frank’s death introduces William H Macy’s character, Arn Peeples. And Arn is similar to Apostle Frank. Affable. Chatty. The kind of presence that makes you feel comfortable. Except now, because of what just happened, you carry something into this new friendship that you didn’t have before: dread.

The film has essentially rehearsed a death. It’s shown you how quickly warmth can be extinguished, so when a similar warmth appears, you’re already bracing for loss. And when Arn’s own unfortunate demise eventually arrives, it hits with the emotional weight of two deaths, not one.

It’s a deceptively simple storytelling technique. Introduce a character type, take them away abruptly, then reintroduce someone similar so the audience does your emotional heavy lifting for you. The viewer doesn’t need to be told to care about Arn Peeples. They already know what’s at stake because they’ve seen the rehearsal. Effective storytelling, beautifully crafted.