There was a brief period in the 1970s when cutting-edge European filmmakers, having succeeded in shaking things up in world cinema, were sought out by major Hollywood actors. That explains the presence of Jack Nicholson in a 1975 film by Michelangelo Antonioni, The Passenger . It received generally favorable reviews, and did fairly well at the box office, but then disappeared from view, apparently withdrawn from circulation by its star, who owned the rights. Now it has finally been re-released on a limited run for its 30th anniversary. After the fiasco that was Zabriskie Point (1970), I half expected another Antonioni misfire, but this film turns out to be a powerful piece of work.

Nicholson plays a reporter named David Locke, who is trying to do a story about a guerilla war in North Africa . He's not getting anywhere, and he's clearly frustrated and sick of his job and his life. He's staying in a tiny run-down hotel in the middle of the desert, where he meets a globetrotting loner, a British businessman named Robertson. One day Locke finds Robertson dead in his room from a heart attack, and he promptly decides to switch identities with him, pasting the dead man's photo into his passport and exchanging possessions. After a hasty cremation, Locke's wife and boss believe along with the rest of the world that he's dead, and he travels off into an unknown new existence, first in Germany , then in Spain . Unfortunately, however, the dead man had a shady past, and Locke's attempt to escape his life only leads to more trouble.

Nicholson's performance, in contrast to the persona with which he's now identified, is wary and contained. Locke is someone who doesn't really know himself--once he abandons his past and his name he finds, instead of renewal, a nagging emptiness. Maria Schneider plays a mysterious young woman who helps him out and ends up going along for the ride. She plays one of those enigmatic free spirits that was common in 1970s films, underwritten and hard to believe in, but the performance is fresh and spontaneous. The film has a great visual style, with long shots emphasizing the smallness of the characters against the story's seductive landscapes. No matter how far these two loners travel, they find themselves in a place of loneliness in the middle of nowhere. Another narrative strands features Locke's wife (Jenny Runacre) in search of the mysterious "Robinson" who is the only person that give her information on her husband's death. The story actually quite intriguing, and the editing moves things along without the customary Antonioni longeurs, but the spooky feeling of dislocation remains, lending the film a deeper impact than the identity-switch plot would warrant on its own.

The Passenger offers a glimpse into our secret fears. It's a deeply pessimistic vision of a man trying to live without anything to believe in. But it also has a troubling political dimension, hard to put one's finger on, but there in any case, like part of the atmosphere. The shadowy menace of Third World bloodletting looms over the main character, reflecting the tensions that were prominent in people's minds at the time the film was made. As above, so below. Instead of simply fleeing into some new life, Locke follows the destiny of Robertson as if transfixed, his dread eventually succumbing to a kind of fatalism. The final extended shot out the window of a seedy hotel, held in agonizing stillness, turns into a slow, full circle tracking shot that is quietly stunning in its emotional power. The Passenger ends with questions unanswered, yet with haunting finality.