The Passenger (1975)

As a rule, I've been trying to avoid talking about first viewings on the ol' blog here, but I can't resist babbling about Antonioni film The Passenger (Professione: reporter), which makes its DVD debut this week. Or last week, whatever.

I always seem to manage blogging about Antonioni. He's one of my personal favorite directors; he's kind of my underdog. I'd call him misunderstood, but that's not the correct way of putting it. I think those who give him a chance (which is fewer than you'd think) do understand what he's trying to say, but become completely frustrated by the way he expresses it cinematically. It's not a case of elitism, it's just a matter of taste.

In some ways, The Passenger is typical Antonioni, in other ways, it's vastly different. But, at it's heart, it's still Antonioni, which means the 'plot' moves at a glacier's pace and it will bore most of the people who see it. ;) The different; it has a big American star in Jack Nicholson, a globe-trotting yarn, and a semi-intriguing plot. But, like I said, the bulk of the film is pure Michelangelo; exploration of alienation in modern society, obsession with architecture (and its psychological implications), long, fluid camera moves, and beautiful, yet desolate, landscapes.

One of the ideas that the film explores, from what I could tell, is the idea of identity. Locke (Nicholson's character, for real) assumes Richardson's identity. This is fairly normal in most spy/thriller-style cinema, but it takes a long time for us to understand why he even does it in the first place. It's really a mystery at its heart, since who Locke really is, what kind of a life he led, and his motivations aren't all known early on; the things that should be revealed in the beginning of the film are kept from the viewer until about halfway in. But, there's a moment shortly after Locke assumes Richardson's identity, when the hotel manager is asking him (Locke) about Richardson(whom he thinks is actually Locke)'s life. He asks him if Locke would have wanted a religious burial. For a moment, you can see Nicholson looking bewildered, searching for the answer. He knows what Locke (himself) would have wanted, but what would Richardson would have wanted; and would it blow his own cover? Although, it's entirely possible that I interpreted this gesture as such because it's what I was thinking. Maybe Antonioni and Nicholson had something else in mind, or maybe they didn't even notice. But, for a film that makes the viewer an active participant, what the viewer perceives is important, even if it's not essentially "true".

I'll admit, the film isn't exciting. In fact, there were parts when even I was bored. Me, the Grand Antonioni Apologist! But, no film is perfect, and I think the Passenger more than makes up for its boring stretches with the emotional and intellectual content it does contain. The camerawork, as expected, is wonderful. There are a few great moments where Antonioni plays with the ideas of time and space. After he discovers Richardson's body, Locke plays back an audio recording he made of the two of them conversing. While listening to the tape, the camera pans across the room, and eventually arrives at a window. We see Richardson come into view outside, speaking, and Locke walks into frame as well. The conversation continues, the camera pans back, and we see Locke again, listening to the tape in the present tense. It's been done many times, it's a very easy effect to achieve, but here it's used very well, to create an ambiance, to disorient, and to explore the idea of identity.

Of course, where Locke stops the tape is important. We learn some minor details about he and Richardson, but it amounts to nothing more than small talk, and he stops the tape. Later on, Locke's wife starts the tape from where he left off. In the film's span, this is over an hour later. We hear Locke on the tape, talking about how he wishes he could just leave his own life behind. It's only now, more than halfway in, that we really find out WHY he did it, even though it was only a few seconds more into the tape. I'm sure it means something, but I can't tell what.

There are a couple great moments, which are assumed to be footage that Locke shot for the documentary he was working on at the film's outset. One, I learned later, was an actual execution filmed by the crew on location. I had a suspicion that it was actual footage, because it has that kind of gruesome, understated authenticity, much like the animal sacrifice in Apocalypse Now. Also, another scene, which harkens back to the theme of identity; Locke is interviewing a witch doctor, who tells him that he can't answer his questions. Instead, he turns the camera onto Locke himself, and says only then can he speak. Of course, in his professional career, Locke is used to being behind the camera; we've seen a moment like this in many a film, it duplicates the role of a director and his identity, how he expresses himself without being seen.

The final shot is a 6+ minute take. Don't most films start or begin with huge, extended single takes? :P But, the Passenger's is no exception, since it is Antonioni, and it's breathtaking. The camera shows Locke in bed in the hotel, people in the courtyard outside, through the window. The camera very slowly tracks forward until Locke is out of frame, eventually moving through the bars on the window itself (a la Citizen Kane) and follows the authorities and Locke's wife as they arrive. The camera pans to show them all entering the hotel, then tracks back along the same path, arriving outside of Locke's hotel room, where he is lying dead on the bed. Apparently, there is a gunshot to be heard somewhere during this scene, but I've only read about it after the fact, and didn't notice it when I saw the film. More than just a pretty show, we have to assume that this shot itself has a strong significance. The camera, which is to say, the viewer, has gone from inside the hotel room, looking out, through the window, only to peer back inside the room, from the outside. We started from the inside, but ended up on the outside, looking in, separated and locked out. The significance, I really can't make heads or tails of, but I have gotten a start. Besides, what good would a film be if it revealed all its deepest secrets in the first viewing?

One last thing I wanted to touch upon is a strange thing; faith in cinema. It's not what you think. You see, as an audience, we trust a film. It may begin in a strange place. We don't understand where we are? Who is that guy, and what is he doing? Why is he hiding? What clue did the killer leave behind? What's is in the pivotal envelope? We do not mind when a film presents such mysteries, because we have faith that the film itself will fill in the empty spaces before it is over. Some filmmakers, like Kubrick, Lynch and Antonioni take such a delight in these moments, which can infuriate some viewers and appetize others. Sometimes, when watching a film, we don't even notice these things, because we assume that once the scene is over, we won't have to think of it again until we are reminded of it when it is explained later on. But, how easy it is to 'abuse' this faith. Although I rarely notice, there are plenty of such occurrences in the films I see. We can all blame our attention spans, or our faith in the cinematic form itself. But, it seems like it'd be so easy to pick apart a film like the Passenger scene by scene and find traces of this; things that are touched upon, but never explained or explored. You could probably do it for most films that have a tinge of ambition within them, but I lack the patience to try and find out.