We are in the world of arthouse here.
The pace is slow, the dialogue sparing and the plot is minimal.
It's metaphor is about self, identity, loneliness and belonging which are all interesting points which make it a film to admire but not one to love.
Nicholson is wasted, Schneider is wooden, the sets/locations keep up the interest and the 'oner' ending is a triumph.
Review of The Passenger
