Passenger features André Øvredal in a role that reflects a restless, almost mischievous energy, illustrating a film that continually shifts its direction even when uncertain of its destination. Lou Llobell provides a grounding presence, offering a calm and steadying influence amid the chaos, and her scenes where she struggles to keep the van, the storyline, and her own sanity intact are particularly impactful. The film’s tone oscillates between a tense, roadside dread and a playful, almost rebellious spirit, with Øvredal clearly aiming to show that supernatural horror can be bold and unapologetically cheeky.
The opening stretch introduces the van-life fantasy, but it’s disrupted by a demon who stubbornly refuses to respect boundaries. Øvredal builds the tension effectively, yet he also gently undercuts it with playful detours that seem designed to challenge both the Passenger and the audience. The film’s most compelling quality is its refusal to remain overly serious. It frequently slips in jokes, and this lightheartedness adds a sharper, more empathetic edge to the scares.
Lou Llobell’s Maddie is portrayed with more contradictions than clarity, but she transforms these contradictions into a form of resilience. Her reactions to the Passenger’s intrusions are raw and straightforward, which adds a genuine depth to the film. Jacob Scipio’s Tyler, meanwhile, is a man who clings to the idea that a projector and Gregory Peck can resolve profound, existential questions. Øvredal approaches this belief with a touch of humor and critique, making the film richer and more thought-provoking.
The Roman Holiday interlude stands out as the film’s most confident and heartfelt moment. Øvredal and cinematographer Federico Verardi transform the woods into a tender, makeshift cinema, where the projected faces softly drift across the trees, creating a delicate, jittery beauty. It’s a moment when the film bravely embraces spectacle over coherence, inviting viewers into a shared, stirring experience. The Passenger’s intrusion is inevitable, but it feels like a natural part of this honest, emotional flow.
The script by Zachary Donohue and T.W. Burgess feels a bit tangled and at times awkward, with detours into horror‑movie tropes that don’t always hit the mark. Yet, there’s a resilient energy in the writing that prevents the film from falling into clichés. The references to Jeepers Creepers and highway folklore are clear, but Øvredal uses them more as flavor than the backbone of the story. The movie seems like a roadside myth told by someone who’s struggling to find their way, capturing a sense of wandering and uncertainty that many can relate to.
Melissa Leo appears briefly and is quickly underutilized, which is unfortunate. However, her scenes bring a subtle, grounded menace that the film could have benefited from more of. The van‑life community subplot is quite limited, but it helps to highlight the reality that nomads face challenges far beyond what Instagram portrays. Øvredal seems to view this culture with genuine amusement and mild sympathy, creating a nuanced and relatable perspective.
Passenger is a creature rooted in rules, symbols, and relentless persistence. Øvredal masterfully avoids overexplaining it, which adds to its mystery. The attacks are executed with careful precision, and the recurring claw marks serve as a dark, humorous motif of doom. The film’s playful tone prevents the demon from feeling overwhelmed by lore, emphasizing that it’s primarily a problem that stubbornly persists, deserving understanding rather than fear.
The final act descends into chaos with a raw intensity. Tires burst, identities become indistinct, and the van transforms into a multifaceted symbol—both a protector and a threat. Øvredal guides this tumultuous climax, emphasizing its messy, kinetic energy without tying up every thread, yet it offers a powerful convergence of bodies, symbols, and human resilience. Llobell’s portrayal of the ending reflects a fierce, soulful perseverance, adding emotional depth to the story.
Passenger offers a mostly gentle and occasionally whimsical ride: it’s uneven at times, with moments that are a bit goofy, but also intermittently thrilling, never failing to engage. Øvredal’s playful approach keeps the film lively, even when the script stumbles. Llobell and Scipio anchor the story, the demon adds tension, and the van endures more than any vehicle should. It’s a supernatural road movie that refuses to conform, and that rebellious spirit is what makes it memorable.
Letter Grade: B+. Paramount Plus.
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