A Finnish archaeology student boards a train in Russia to Murmansk, where she intends to study ancient carvings in the local rocks. She is forced to share a sleeping compartment all the way there with a boorish Russian man and at first considers leaving the train, but then puts up with the duress when he shows signs of calming down.
Having set up the scenario from hell, that is the situation of being a solo western female traveller in barely post-Soviet Russia, surrounded by stone-faced officials and raging alcoholics in the middle of winter, this can go only one of two ways: to serve as a cautionary tale for anyone ever contemplating doing the same, or the less likely route, which is to show how love will find a way, no matter what it has to overcome.
One might guess after a while which option wins out. It can be seen as a Before Sunrise, but with all the picturesque scenery and sugar-coating taken out, and in some way this makes the denouement more rewarding.
It was made just before the war in Ukraine started in earnest, and this is fortuitous, both for logistical reasons and because, given the current emergency, it serves as yet another reminder of both the individual humanity and national nihilism on the other side of the border. There isn't a causal link between these and the fact that Compartment No.6 shared the Grand Prix at Cannes with Farhadi's A Hero, and nor should we try to see one. It simply stands on its own merits.
7/10
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