Defying the gravitational pull of January’s typically lackluster film offerings, I.S.S. propels audiences 250 miles above Earth to the International Space Station. Here, six astronauts — split evenly between Americans and Russians — find themselves in a perilous predicament. As nuclear war ravages the world below, both crews receive orders to seize the craft by any means necessary, setting the stage for a tense showdown in the cosmos.

I.S.S. is set in orbital confines where a few inches of metal stand between life and a deadly black void. Within this setting, director Gabriela Cowperthwaite (of Blackfish fame) skillfully conjures an intense atmosphere of claustrophobia and suspense for much of the movie’s runtime. The tense drama is brought to life with authenticity by Oscar winner Ariana DeBose (West Side Story), Denmark’s Pilou Asbæk (Game of Thrones), and a solid supporting ensemble.

The film’s most compelling moments are laden with strained dialogue and distrustful glances among the crew after each side has received conflicting directives. Tight camera work, an understated score, and the use of onboard security-style footage amplify the intensity, plunging viewers into an atmosphere thick with paranoia and uncertainty.

Unfortunately, the film later deviates from the best practices of the nuclear-war-thriller subgenre. The departure occurs during a spacewalk sequence where we see that, following initial detonations, Earth is now engulfed in a sea of orange flames — a haunting, apocalyptic vision that persists throughout the rest of the film. While the striking visuals do not confirm mankind’s demise, the implication alone lowers the stakes: If humanity has endured such catastrophic losses, does it really matter what happens to the astronauts?

The movie attempts to answer this question by introducing a plot twist: A crew member must return to Earth. Yet the effectiveness of this story device hinges on the viewer’s willingness to suspend disbelief while the surface of the planet resembles a Flamin’ Hot Cheeto. The characters’ lack of rich backstories further reduces the movie’s emotional depth, a notable issue in the context of a global nuclear war.

This narrative quandary in I.S.S. underscores the importance of information management in the realm of thriller filmmaking. Tony Scott’s Crimson Tide offers a master class in the craft. In the taut submarine drama, a cryptic order to launch a nuclear warhead sparks a fierce power struggle among the ship’s commanding officers. Part of the film’s brilliance lies in Scott’s and screenwriter Michael Schiffer’s understanding that the movie’s tension is underpinned by the audience’s lingering hope for humanity’s prospects. Had Crimson Tide suggested that the sailors aboard the USS Alabama were among mankind’s few remaining survivors (as I.S.S. implies about its crew), the film’s impact would have been considerably diminished, even when led by heavyweights like Denzel Washington and Gene Hackman.

I.S.S. would have packed a more potent punch had it pursued a similar strategy. For instance, the filmmakers could have confined the nuclear catastrophe to a specific region or placed it beyond the astronauts’ line of sight. Integrating the International Space Station’s actual 90-minute orbital cycle could have also introduced a riveting High Noon–esque sense of urgency to the picture.

Despite its missteps, I.S.S. still engages audiences with its intriguing premise and strong casting, offering an incisive view of human nature where not even scientists are immune to tribalism. Its immersive quality is further enhanced by a hyper-realistic set design that convincingly simulates the sensation of floating in space. The meticulous attention to detail augments the actors’ performances, enriching the cinematic experience. For those willing to look past its plot hiccups, I.S.S. delivers a respectable 95 minutes of suspense — a commendable feat during Hollywood’s winter hibernation.