Creepy visuals and tactile flair aside, André Øvredal’s Passenger is ultimately a jump-scare-heavy retread on wheels. But, that isn’t to say that there aren’t fun frights to be had. There absolutely are - but the film rarely escapes the familiar tracks it lays down early on. So yes, while it isn’t reinventing the (ahem) wheel by any means, it does a solid job of staging effective, well-timed jolts. There are also a few visually inventive flourishes sprinkled throughout. One standout moment involves the unique use of an outdoor projector repurposed as a makeshift flashlight in a pitch-black forest. In moments like these, the film is absolutely watchable and even a little inspired. The issue is that the script never quite rises to match the craft on display. Character decisions often feel inexplicable, motivations are eyerolling, and the backstory surrounding the film’s antagonist - known as “the Passenger” - leans into preposterous territory, not quite earning its mythology. There’s ambition in the idea, but it’s undercooked in execution. Tonally, the film also commits fully to its premise, playing everything with straight-faced sincerity. There’s no wink at the camera, no self-aware cushioning of its stranger ideas. That approach kinda works, but repeated references to things like “the Hobo Code” start to feel more laughable than immersive. Still, Jacob Scipio as Tyler and Lou Llobell as Maddie bring enough grounded chemistry to keep things anchored. They make for an easy pair to root for, even when the script sends them into decisions that prompt more shouting at the screen. And, perhaps most surprisingly, there is something on the film’s mind beneath the surface. The narrative brushes up against themes of psychological dread and the vulnerability inherent in life on the open road - particularly the precarious reality faced by nomadic travellers and those living out of vehicles. There’s a real attempt to tap into that life and the unease of constant motion and uncertain safety. But, by the time it reaches its finale (at just over an hour and a half) the experience doesn’t so much resolve as it simply runs out of road. What lingers isn’t a rich aftertaste, but something closer to a stale rest-stop muffin.