The Road Less Traveled: Why 'Passenger' Stalls in the Horror Lane
Horror movies often promise a journey into the unknown, but Passenger feels more like a detour into the mundane. Directed by André Øvredal, whose previous works like The Autopsy of Jane Doe and Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark showcased a knack for atmospheric tension, this film falls flat despite its intriguing premise. Personally, I think what makes this particularly fascinating is how a director with such a strong track record could deliver something so underwhelming. It’s a reminder that even the most talented creators can stumble when the material doesn’t hold up.
The Vanlife Trap: A Setting That Never Shifts
The film centers on Maddie (Lou Llobell) and Tyler (Jacob Scipio), a couple who’ve traded their New York apartment for the nomadic vanlife. On paper, this setting should be ripe with tension—a confined space, isolation, and the unknown dangers of the road. But here’s the problem: Maddie and Tyler are about as interesting as a rest stop bathroom. Their dynamic is flat, their motivations vague, and their chemistry nonexistent. From my perspective, this is where Passenger loses its grip. Horror thrives on empathy, on making us care about who’s in danger. But I couldn’t muster any concern for these two, which left me detached from the very stakes the film was trying to build.
What many people don’t realize is that the vanlife trend itself is a cultural phenomenon, a reaction to the pressures of modern life. It’s about freedom, minimalism, and reclaiming control. But Passenger fails to tap into any of these themes. Instead, it reduces the lifestyle to a backdrop, a gimmick that never pays off. If you take a step back and think about it, the film had the potential to explore deeper anxieties—fear of commitment, the illusion of freedom, or the darkness lurking beneath idyllic Instagram feeds. But it doesn’t. And that’s a missed opportunity.
The Monster in the Mirror: A Villain Without a Purpose
Then there’s The Passenger, the film’s central antagonist. Played by Joseph Lopez, he’s a ghostly figure who looks like Iggy Pop’s long-lost cousin. His modus operandi? Standing still for a bit, then screaming directly into the camera. It’s less scary and more… awkward. What this really suggests is that the filmmakers didn’t quite know what to do with their own creation.
The mythology surrounding The Passenger is equally confusing. There’s talk of St. Christopher, the Hobo Code, and some vague references to immortality. But none of it coheres. Why is an ancient demon using a 20th-century drifter’s code? What’s the point of his warnings? Personally, I think horror works best when the rules are clear, even if they’re bizarre. Here, the rules feel like they were made up on the spot, which undermines any sense of dread.
One thing that immediately stands out is how the film leans on jump scares as a crutch. Don’t get me wrong—I’m not anti-jump scare. When done well, they can be effective. But Passenger relies on them so heavily that they lose all impact. It’s like being poked repeatedly—annoying, not frightening. What this really suggests is a lack of confidence in the story itself. If the characters, setting, and mythology aren’t compelling, cranking up the volume won’t save the day.
The Bigger Picture: What Passenger Gets Wrong About Horror
Horror is a genre that thrives on subtext. The best films use monsters and mayhem to explore deeper truths about humanity. Think The Exorcist and its commentary on faith, or Get Out and its dissection of racial tension. Passenger, unfortunately, doesn’t have much to say. It’s content to stay on the surface, delivering scares without substance.
A detail that I find especially interesting is the film’s attempt to inject style into its dullness. There’s a scene where the camera rotates around Maddie in a parking lot, and another where the van drives through a field of corpses. These moments are visually striking, but they feel disconnected from the story. It’s like the filmmakers were trying to compensate for the weak script with flashy cinematography. In my opinion, style without substance is just empty spectacle.
The Road Ahead: Where Horror Should Go From Here
Passenger isn’t a total disaster, but it’s far from memorable. Its 94-minute runtime feels twice as long, and its attempts at scares fall flat. What makes this particularly fascinating, though, is what it tells us about the state of horror. In a genre that’s seen a resurgence in recent years, with films like Hereditary and The Babadook pushing boundaries, Passenger feels like a step backward.
If you take a step back and think about it, the film’s failure isn’t just its own. It’s a symptom of a larger trend—the rush to capitalize on horror’s popularity without investing in strong storytelling. Horror fans deserve better than recycled jump scares and half-baked mythology. We deserve films that challenge us, that linger in our minds long after the credits roll.
In the end, Passenger is a road trip not worth taking. But its shortcomings offer a valuable lesson: horror isn’t about loud noises or ghoulish faces. It’s about fear, tension, and the human condition. And that’s something this film never quite grasps.
