In The Passenger, David Locke (Jack Nicholson) is a burnt-out journalist who decides to leave his life behind after a chance encounter in an African hotel. When a man resembling Locke dies of a heart attack, Locke seizes the opportunity to assume his identity. However, the man was involved in illegal arms dealing, and Locke soon finds himself caught up in dangerous affairs he doesn’t fully understand. He’s joined by a young woman (Maria Schneider), intrigued by his journey, and together they travel across Europe, attempting to evade those who are after him.
Directed by Michelangelo Antonioni, The Passenger tackles existential themes of identity, freedom, and disconnection, but it does so in a way that feels distant and sluggish. Locke’s personal crisis—a man tired of merely observing life—should be compelling, yet the film never quite capitalizes on the dramatic potential of its premise. While Nicholson gives a restrained performance, portraying Locke’s gradual unraveling, the character remains passive for much of the movie. Rather than actively engaging with the new identity he’s taken on, Locke drifts through situations, reacting to events without much agency. It’s a fascinating concept on paper, but in practice, it feels underdeveloped.
Antonioni’s signature slow pacing is evident throughout. The film moves at a crawl, often lingering on scenes that do little to advance the plot or deepen character development. There are moments of insight in the conversations between Locke and “The Girl”, particularly when they touch on Locke’s weariness and search for meaning. However, these flashes of depth are spread too thin across the nearly two-hour runtime. A bit more urgency, suspense, or focus on Locke’s emotional conflict would have gone a long way in making the film more engaging.
On the technical side, The Passenger fares better. The cinematography is stunning, with Antonioni and cinematographer Luciano Tovoli capturing the stark landscapes of Africa and the rich architecture of Spain, giving the film a distinct sense of place. The camera work, especially in the film’s famous 7-minute final shot, is meticulously executed and showcases Antonioni’s skill in creating visual tension. However, while this long take is often praised for its technical brilliance, it may leave viewers feeling as emotionally distant as the rest of the film. The climactic moment, intended to provoke deep reflection, ultimately feels anticlimactic.
Despite its visual strengths, The Passenger often feels hollow. Locke’s transition from an uninvolved observer to someone trying to escape his own existence never quite hits the emotional notes it strives for. The film promises a deeper examination of identity and purpose but often leaves viewers detached, much like its wandering protagonist. The pacing, which might be intended to mirror Locke’s existential drift, instead results in a meandering experience that can feel tedious.