In the best horror movies, the most effective scares come from the familiar, twisted just enough to feel dangerous. That’s exactly what makes Passenger, the latest from director André Øvredal (Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark, The Last Voyage of the Demeter), so unnerving. It takes something as routine and even romanticized as a road trip and slowly poisons it, turning open highways and quiet rest stops into spaces of pure dread. By the time the credits roll, you may find yourself thinking twice before driving alone at night.
What Øvredal understands, and what the film leans into with impressive confidence, is that driving is inherently vulnerable. There’s something quietly terrifying about being on a dark, empty road at night, surrounded by miles of nothing. No help nearby, no witnesses, just you and the unknown stretching endlessly ahead. Passenger weaponizes that feeling. It taps into those intrusive thoughts: What if your tire goes flat in the middle of nowhere? What if your gas runs out? What if something — or someone — is out there waiting?
The film’s strongest asset is its atmosphere, which is cultivated through deliberate pacing and striking visual language. Øvredal employs fluid camera movements, often favoring long takes where the camera slowly circles the characters or drifts through space. These sequences are hypnotic and deeply unsettling. You’re constantly scanning the frame, waiting for something to emerge from the darkness, unsure if or when the scare will arrive. That uncertainty breeds paranoia, and the film exploits it masterfully.
One standout sequence exemplifies this approach perfectly. Maddie (Lou Llobell), alone, walks toward her van in a nearly empty parking lot late at night. It’s a mundane scenario — something most people have experienced countless times — but here, it becomes agonizing. The camera lingers, glides, and subtly shifts perspective, forcing you to question every shadow and movement. You don’t know what’s out there, but you’re convinced something is. It’s the kind of scene that sticks with you, the kind that rewires your brain so that the next time you’re alone in a parking lot, your pulse quickens just a little bit more.
While Passenger is primarily driven by its tension and scares, it doesn’t neglect its characters. Maddie and Tyler (Jacob Scipio) feel like a real couple, and the film wisely spends enough time establishing their dynamic before plunging them into chaos. They have an easy chemistry, a sense that they genuinely enjoy each other’s company. But halfway through the film, there’s a grounded, dialogue-heavy scene that adds a layer of emotional complexity. It hints that, beneath the surface, they may want different things out of life. It’s not an overly deep exploration, but it’s effective. It gives the audience just enough to latch onto, making their increasingly desperate situation feel more personal and urgent.
The horror itself is a blend of slow-burning dread and well-timed jump scares. The film doesn’t rely excessively on gore, but when it does go there, it makes an impact. The practical effects and makeup work are particularly strong as they are visceral without being gratuitous, and detailed enough to make you squirm. It’s a reminder of how effective physical effects can be when used sparingly and thoughtfully.
What truly elevates the horror, though, is the central antagonist. There’s a compelling idea at the core of this entity: it feels inescapable, less like a traditional villain and more like a force of nature. No matter how fast the couple drives, no matter where they go, it’s always there. That inevitability creates a suffocating sense of doom. The film even finds clever ways to build suspense out of small, seemingly insignificant details, like a blinking tail light that becomes a source of mounting tension. It’s these little touches that keep the audience on edge.
That said, Passenger isn’t without its flaws. The design of the antagonist, while effective, feels somewhat familiar, drawing from well-worn horror iconography. And as the film approaches its climax, there’s a slight shift in how the entity is portrayed. It begins to feel a bit more human, a bit more tangible, which undercuts some of the otherworldly terror that defined it earlier. For much of the runtime, it operates as an unknowable presence, and grounding it too much risks diminishing that mystique.
Even so, the film largely sticks the landing. It may not reinvent the genre, but it doesn’t need to. What it does, it does well: it creates an experience that is consistently eerie, deeply unsettling, and occasionally bone-chilling. It understands the power of suggestion, the effectiveness of restraint, and the importance of atmosphere. Ultimately, Passenger succeeds because it lingers. It’s the kind of movie that follows you out of the theater, creeping into your thoughts the next time you find yourself on a long drive, especially at night. You might glance in your rearview mirror a little more often. You might hesitate before stepping out of your car in an empty lot. In that sense, it achieves something special.
The best horror films don’t just scare you in the moment; they change how you see the world afterward. Passenger may not be groundbreaking, but it’s effective where it counts. It takes the open road, something associated with freedom and adventure, and turns it into a place of fear. Once that fear takes hold, it’s not so easy to outrun.
SCORE: 7/10
As ComingSoon’s review policy explains, a score of 7 equates to “Good.” A successful piece of entertainment that is worth checking out, but it may not appeal to everyone.
Disclosure: ComingSoon attended a press screening for our Passenger review.