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Cult Review
Senior Film Conservator
Honestly, only if you’re into weird, claustrophobic relics from the early talkie era. If you need pacing, clear motivations, or characters who don’t act like they’ve just downed ten espressos, stay away. People who love stuff like The Hound of the Baskervilles might find the atmosphere somewhat familiar, but it’s a totally different beast. It is essentially a high-tension waiting room with tracks.
The whole thing takes place on this train. It’s cramped. You can almost smell the stale cigarette smoke and the desperation on the actors' faces. The crook who lures them there—I honestly forgot his name five minutes after it ended—is just this slimy, oily presence in the corner. He’s the catalyst, but he feels more like a prop.
The way the passengers spiral into madness? It happens fast. Maybe too fast. One minute they’re sitting there in their stiff suits, and the next, they’re practically climbing the walls. It’s unnerving in a way that feels unintentional. Like the director just told everyone to act 'panicked' and then went to lunch.
I found myself staring at the background extras more than the main cast. Some of them are just sitting there, barely reacting, which makes the whole situation feel even more surreal. It’s like they were accidentally trapped on the set and were too scared to ask for a break.
When the doors finally open, I felt more relieved than the characters did. It wasn’t because the climax was so intense, but because I finally got to see something other than the same three wooden benches. It’s a strange, disjointed experience that makes me think of When Dawn Came—just less coherent and way more obsessed with misery.
It’s not a film that invites you in. It demands you sit in the dark and feel awkward for an hour. Sometimes that’s enough. Other times, you just want to get off the train.