“Isolated” doesn't begin to describe the community in post-Soviet Armenia this film depicts. And in the end, it doesn't describe it at all. In a village of disparate homes, Kurds and Armenians together are snowed in by the three blessings of capitalism: poverty, joblessness, utility bills. And, of course, by snow. It dusts Hamo's grizzled beard and covers his wife's image on the grave he visits daily. It hangs from the eponymous roadside stand where widow Nina sells the occasional bottle. It chills the flutes played hauntingly by toothless old men. Hamo, Nina, and their grown children are at the center of a comedy of astonishing deadpan beauty that draws in the lonely like a satellite dish. Director Saleem, a painter, has an eye for visual metaphor, and here reinvigorates the familiar tropes of East European cinema with humor and humanity: man carrying wardrobe (Sisyphus turned slapstick straight man); lone horse wandering meaningfully (this one gallops by faster than we can know who, why, or whereto); sheep acting as mute ciphers for human absurdity (see for yourself). Or, perhaps, people really do sit on chairs in the snow, back to back, silent, willing warmth where there is no sun, and no hope, to be had.