Joe's alone, too, and clings to the silent, brooding Fin as if he were a refrigerator magnet. When the grieving artist Olivia (Patricia Clarkson) literally barrels into the picture -- she nearly runs over Fin with her car -- The Station Agent takes on a deeper, more tantalizing shape. Clarkson has been delivering meaty, juicy plums to movies for several years; she's become the Barry Bonds of low-budget film.
Olivia is flushed with pain, and embarrassed by it. The power in Clarkson's performance comes from Olivia's recognizing parts of herself that she's been suppressing.
These three loners slowly melt into one another, but the relationship doesn't come easily to any of them. Their unspoken anguish says plenty, as does Fin's ability to provoke conversation from those who insert themselves into his circle. He clearly doesn't seek them out, except one. He does show some tenderness to a young visitor to his depot, a little girl, Cleo, played with unapologetic curiosity by Raven Goodwin. She's the one person Fin will deal with directly, and his patience tickles her; it compels her to spray him with questions.
This exception aside, McCarthy proves himself so crafty at making the unvoiced sentiments the heart of the film that the movie becomes shocking in moments when Fin vents his fury. If he weren't allowed the opportunity, however, you'd worry that The Station Agent might implode, folding in on itself in pent-up emotion.
McCarthy does allow the movie bigger scenes, providing a burst of contentment for the withdrawn Fin. In one, Joe drives next to a train, while Fin, a quiet smile on his face, catches the locomotive with his video camera. After that, it's a return to the depot, which is such a welcoming, ramshackle oasis that you think the producers might offer it on eBay one day. I'd buy it.
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