It took almost two million years for humans to make the journey from the discovery of fire to the invention of the light bulb. From there, it only took a few decades for superconductors. The Wright brothers flew the world’s first airplane in 1903. By 1969, Neil Armstrong was walking on the moon. Even today, at this very moment, AI-generated videos are becoming more and more lifelike, with only a few more years until they’re fully able to pass the eye test.

All of these exponential growths in technology are enough to make a person feel small, a drop in an ocean that is progressively washing away. Robert Grainier (Joel Edgerton) is one of those small people, a lumberjack who lived and died in the Pacific Northwest throughout the early to mid-20th century. He doesn’t pay much attention to that fact, humbly accepting the notion that the world is passing him by year after year. He goes out into the forest for a few months at a time, cutting down trees to be used for railroad timber. He’ll then come back to his wife, Gladys (Felicity Jones), and daughter at their modest, isolated house. The cycle repeats over the years, a tranquil existence that goes by in the blink of an eye.

Director Clint Bentley, co-adapting the 2011 Denis Johnson novella of the same name with his usual writing partner Greg Kwedar, doesn’t see Robert as just a small man. He’s a symbol of the millions in America, and billions worldwide, who lived full lives that weren’t fully defined by the increased monetization of the modern world. They had nothing of worth to their names, leaving little materialistic signifiers of their existence. But they shared memories with loved ones, some smiles and sorrows with fellow travelers, and made an impact in ways that aren’t easily identified.

Impressionistically swaying between the past, present, and future, Bentley captures the span of Robert’s life with breathtaking beauty. Robert is often framed small and at the forefront of the frame, the American landscape enveloping him from corner to corner. Cinematographer Adolpho Veloso imbues each image with a rich texture, lulling us into the melodic rhythms of life with its sights and sounds. Will Patton narrates passages from the novella, and Bryce Dessner’s score lushly moves things along.

Based on the projects that he’s written, directed, or starred in, Edgerton has always been an artist interested in the small-scale, rather than the blockbuster. Similar to how Terrence Malick was able to use A-listers to build characters who were both of this earth and larger-than-life, so does Bentley with Edgerton, trusting him to carry the entire emotional scope of the film through somber gestures and weighty presence. Words aren’t necessary when the feelings have already been communicated so effectively through sight. William H. Macy uses words to his advantage, passing on some old-timer wisdom through some wonderful speeches about the interconnectedness of nature and the human soul.

Like life itself, Train Dreams is a film that often sneaks up on you in its profundity. It may take days or weeks for you to realize just how much one image or piece of sound has stuck with you, offering a new outlook on the existence we carve out for ourselves.