Director: Michelangelo Antonioni
Writers: Mark Peploe, Enrico Sannia, Michelangelo Antonioni, Miguel de Echarri, Peter Wollen
Photography: Luciano Tovoli
Editors: Michelangelo Antonioni, Franco Arcalli
Cast: Jack Nicholson, Charles Mulvehill, Maria Schneider, Jenny Runacre, Ian Hendry, Steven Berkoff
There may be an argument that director, cowriter, and coeditor Michelangelo Antonioni (all 10 syllables of him) invented or contributed to the spy thriller movie aesthetic way back in 1960 with his elusive and allusive existential drama L’Avventura, which meanders to its points with long shots and museum-perfect mise en scene. From James Bond to The Man From U.N.C.L.E. and beyond these pictures throw random, seemingly unassorted data points in our face, thrusting us into the stories in medias res and not always giving us much help to keep up. I guess this occurred to me because looking at The Passenger recently I was struck by how well it works as a thriller, and remembered that Blow-Up, another mystery thriller (or “mystery thriller”), probably counts as my favorite Antonioni.
Jack Nicholson no doubt has something to do with it. Coming off Chinatown, he positively radiates crime thriller. But the story this time really explicitly involves spy thriller types of stuff. David Locke (Nicholson) is an international investigative reporter who is in Africa at the start of the picture covering a rebel guerrilla war. He meets and befriends a dissolute international playboy, Robertson, who seems to be a rich guy with a mysterious disease and no particular purpose. Robertson says with a grin that he’s not supposed to drink, offering Locke another drink and helping himself to one too. And by the evidence he really shouldn’t—he turns up dead the next time Locke sees him.
There may be an argument that director, cowriter, and coeditor Michelangelo Antonioni (all 10 syllables of him) invented or contributed to the spy thriller movie aesthetic way back in 1960 with his elusive and allusive existential drama L’Avventura, which meanders to its points with long shots and museum-perfect mise en scene. From James Bond to The Man From U.N.C.L.E. and beyond these pictures throw random, seemingly unassorted data points in our face, thrusting us into the stories in medias res and not always giving us much help to keep up. I guess this occurred to me because looking at The Passenger recently I was struck by how well it works as a thriller, and remembered that Blow-Up, another mystery thriller (or “mystery thriller”), probably counts as my favorite Antonioni.
Jack Nicholson no doubt has something to do with it. Coming off Chinatown, he positively radiates crime thriller. But the story this time really explicitly involves spy thriller types of stuff. David Locke (Nicholson) is an international investigative reporter who is in Africa at the start of the picture covering a rebel guerrilla war. He meets and befriends a dissolute international playboy, Robertson, who seems to be a rich guy with a mysterious disease and no particular purpose. Robertson says with a grin that he’s not supposed to drink, offering Locke another drink and helping himself to one too. And by the evidence he really shouldn’t—he turns up dead the next time Locke sees him.
This is the key turning point of The Passenger, as Locke decides at that point for some reason unclear to exchange identities with him and disappear into Robertson’s life. Locke leaves behind a career that we get some intimations may be starting to fail, perhaps because he is losing interest and needs something more intense to rile up adrenaline. Or perhaps he is burning out. He also leaves behind a wife and friends, which represent more mysteries of his decision.
It's hard to tell why he’s done it. It might be for the kicks, but something else about him suggests exhaustion. He just wants to run away from his life. His first step is to start traveling abroad and—insanely, I think it’s fair to say—keeping the appointments in Robertson’s calendar. Maybe he’s not done with adrenaline after all. Then comes the knowledge, swiftly arriving and too late for Locke to do anything about it, that Robertson was actually an international illicit arms dealer. Locke finds himself in a deadlier game than he’s ever played before. And he doesn’t seem to be very thrilled about it. More he liked traveling to London, traveling to Munich, trying out and inspecting Robertson’s life, which I think he assumed was easy and rich.
The Passenger is far more cosmopolitan and traveled than I remembered from first seeing it many years ago—I recalled it as mostly taking place in Africa, but it skips about merrily from one lovely European location to another. Except for a brief look at her in London, Maria Schneider as “The Girl” (annoying designation) is not in the picture at all until Barcelona, in the second half of it.
By that point, Locke is fully caught up in Robertson’s gunrunning lifestyle. He really doesn’t seem to know what he’s doing, except he knows he’s in over his head and there’s no good way out. The Passenger is full of mysterious spy technology which Antonioni seems to love—tape recordings, raw documentary footage, forged passports, exchanges via airport lockers. It’s always tremendously picturesque, ranging all across Europe and parts of Africa. And it has a big showy long-take windup, watching various comings and goings from the hotel room where Locke is attempting to hide and take a nap.
I actually found The Passenger far more absorbing and interesting than I expected, as I am generally impatient with Antonioni’s work, particularly the films most embraced by his partisans, the so-called “trilogy on modernity and its discontents,” L’Avventura, La Notte, and L’Eclisse. I guess I just like the thriller notes, even though the same bleak views pervade the action here as such. To be clear, there’s really no action here as such, just the anxiety first of uncertainty and then of certainty. But Nicholson carries this slow load well and I was always curious about what was going to happen next.
I just learned this time around that the original title for the picture in Italian is Professione: reporter, which is obviously quite different from The Passenger. Most of the translations follow the original idea of something to do with the work of a journalist, but in all English-speaking markets and for worldwide marketing at large it’s known as The Passenger, which I think is intriguing. I recall the promotion strongly implied the passenger in this movie is “The Girl,” Maria Schneider reduced to sexy movie glamour puss for art cinema once again as it appears. In fact, as we learn, the passenger is Locke in Robertson’s life, a tourist with a fleeting illusion of no ties. But there are no illusions and no one, not even the wealthiest among us, can be a passenger for long, or so we and this movie would like to believe. Rupert Murdoch suggests otherwise, but nonetheless this is pretty good movie entertainment, if you can take the slow pace.
It's hard to tell why he’s done it. It might be for the kicks, but something else about him suggests exhaustion. He just wants to run away from his life. His first step is to start traveling abroad and—insanely, I think it’s fair to say—keeping the appointments in Robertson’s calendar. Maybe he’s not done with adrenaline after all. Then comes the knowledge, swiftly arriving and too late for Locke to do anything about it, that Robertson was actually an international illicit arms dealer. Locke finds himself in a deadlier game than he’s ever played before. And he doesn’t seem to be very thrilled about it. More he liked traveling to London, traveling to Munich, trying out and inspecting Robertson’s life, which I think he assumed was easy and rich.
The Passenger is far more cosmopolitan and traveled than I remembered from first seeing it many years ago—I recalled it as mostly taking place in Africa, but it skips about merrily from one lovely European location to another. Except for a brief look at her in London, Maria Schneider as “The Girl” (annoying designation) is not in the picture at all until Barcelona, in the second half of it.
By that point, Locke is fully caught up in Robertson’s gunrunning lifestyle. He really doesn’t seem to know what he’s doing, except he knows he’s in over his head and there’s no good way out. The Passenger is full of mysterious spy technology which Antonioni seems to love—tape recordings, raw documentary footage, forged passports, exchanges via airport lockers. It’s always tremendously picturesque, ranging all across Europe and parts of Africa. And it has a big showy long-take windup, watching various comings and goings from the hotel room where Locke is attempting to hide and take a nap.
I actually found The Passenger far more absorbing and interesting than I expected, as I am generally impatient with Antonioni’s work, particularly the films most embraced by his partisans, the so-called “trilogy on modernity and its discontents,” L’Avventura, La Notte, and L’Eclisse. I guess I just like the thriller notes, even though the same bleak views pervade the action here as such. To be clear, there’s really no action here as such, just the anxiety first of uncertainty and then of certainty. But Nicholson carries this slow load well and I was always curious about what was going to happen next.
I just learned this time around that the original title for the picture in Italian is Professione: reporter, which is obviously quite different from The Passenger. Most of the translations follow the original idea of something to do with the work of a journalist, but in all English-speaking markets and for worldwide marketing at large it’s known as The Passenger, which I think is intriguing. I recall the promotion strongly implied the passenger in this movie is “The Girl,” Maria Schneider reduced to sexy movie glamour puss for art cinema once again as it appears. In fact, as we learn, the passenger is Locke in Robertson’s life, a tourist with a fleeting illusion of no ties. But there are no illusions and no one, not even the wealthiest among us, can be a passenger for long, or so we and this movie would like to believe. Rupert Murdoch suggests otherwise, but nonetheless this is pretty good movie entertainment, if you can take the slow pace.
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