A Russian nod to Sally Rooney styling, Juho Kuosmanen’s latest feature revels in the power of the slow burner.
★★★★✰
In societal terms defined by Westernisation, a meet-cute is supposed to look a certain way. Boy meets girl, falls in love, drowning in sappy, romantic moments along the way. In a train compartment travelling across an industrious Russia, Compartment No 6 shirks off its predecessors. Asking the unanswerable question of why people do the things they do, the narrative is deliciously resistant to the idea of beloved chance encounters.
After her girlfriend cancels, Finnish-born Laura (played by Seidi Haarla) undertakes a solo cross-country trip to see a geographic landmark. When assigned her train compartment, she meets Ljoha (Yuriy Borisov), a seemingly unruly and misogynistic drunk. While temporary travellers pass them by, the two try to figure each other out—discovering there may be more than meets the eye.
Kuosmanen’s writing and directorial choices make for a tantalising watch that satisfies the cinephile’s inner psychologist. Starting with a slant on intellectual elitism, the narrative structure deftly guides the character journey through various social standpoints. There are notions towards the wider Russian ideology of homosexuality, exchanging romantic relationships for platonic misgivings. It’s difficult to assess exactly when Laura’s trip takes place—the ambiguity of era adding to the theme of resistance that runs through the narrative core.
At its heart, Compartment No 6 explores the importance of learning someone else’s ‘language’. Initially falling into the social traps of venomous misogyny, Ljoha is worn away to be a guy who’s purely misunderstood. While Laura runs away from social connotations, Ljoha leans into them to make life more bearable. Within their train compartment, all pre-existing stereotypes are left at the door. Forced to find ways to connect by the tedious nothingness on offer, the two fill a part of each other that didn’t previously exist.
Set against a background of industrial Mother Russia, the stark nature of Kuosmanen’s cinematography is an ideal match for the lack of passion in this meet-uncute. Amidst forest-dwelling factories and snow-laden mines, Laura and Ljoha stand still in a time of constant movement. Intercuts of VHS footage allows them to open up, able to express their needs to something, rather than someone.
Compartment No 6’s sparse script is a tale of two halves. Ljoha’s carefully chosen words pack a bite when assuming Laura’s background as a prostitute, yet also lack mansplaining when learning something new. The dialogue between them is an uneasy one, continually dancing around each other. This combination of character, cinematography, and script results in an unsettling vagueness that translates to the nature of the budding relationship.
It’s this ongoing sense of ambiguity that arguably can be too much to bear. There are huge questions being asked under a veneer of seeming simplicity. What exists as purely platonic? Can you truly be isolated when around others? Does anyone truly know the context of what people say? Never fully realising a conclusion, the film’s structure mirrors a repeated cultural standoffishness. Even so, there’s a much-needed spotlight on appreciating bearing your truth, shedding a lifetime of being emotionally stunted.
In parallel to a Disney film, the structure is a needed concoction to take the journey you were always supposed to. There’s a sense of significance in every minor detail, from a jumpscare by a male passenger, references to Titanic and roundhouse kicking a snowball. The action might seem jarring or unnecessary, but stays true to life’s unpredictability.
The Verdict
A quiet force of life’s never-ending questions, Compartment No 6 is the chance encounter for the modern age. Embodying a new sense of train etiquette, the internal juxtaposition to the external life passing them by makes for an impressionable takeaway. In the end, sometimes things are just a promise that doesn’t live up to its image, as Kuosmanen aptly recognises.
Words by Jasmine Valentine
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