Documentary Review – ‘The Passengers’ – We All Just Like Others Before Have Stories.

There are films that speak to the present moment, and then there are films that echo across time. ‘The Passengers‘, directed by Thomas F. Mazziotti, is one of those rare pieces that manages to do both without reaching for effect.

It’s an interesting documentary that doesn’t impose meaning but rather opens a space for reflection on people, places, and the passage of time.

Unearthed after being tucked away for over thirty years, the footage in ‘The Passengers‘ offers something raw and remarkably unpolished. Shot on 16mm and VHS, the film transports viewers to the streets and subways of 1990s New York City, not through sweeping cityscapes or cultural nostalgia, but through the intimate voices of everyday people navigating their lives in real-time then. What makes this documentary so compelling isn’t just the era it captures, but actually, how unfiltered and emotionally immediate it feels, even decades later.

Rather than structure the film with traditional narration or contextual commentary. Director Thomas F Mazziotti and his editor Jerome Heaven allow the original interviews to take centre stage. This restraint is one of the documentary’s greatest strengths. Each person, whether they’re sharing a childhood memory, a confession, or a philosophical musing, is given space to simply be. There’s a surprising immediacy to their words; you don’t feel like you’re watching history, you feel like you’re sitting across from someone revealing a private truth.

The stories vary and cover a wide range of topics. Some are humorous,s whilst others are heartbreaking. For instance, one young woman opens up about the abuse she has had to deal with. Another man wrestles with the impact of his manipulative behaviour. You can tell that these aren’t performances; they are genuine revelations that each hit differently, especially when framed against the gritty aesthetic of old film stock and dim, shadowy lighting.

Visually, The Passengers leans into its imperfections. Grainy textures and occasional flickers give the footage a tactile quality like finding an old handwritten letter that has been aged by the elements. The choice to keep the film in black and white intensifies the mood, stripping away distractions and pulling the viewer closer to the subjects. The visual simplicity pairs beautifully with the film’s sonic landscape, where sparse piano music is used not to guide emotion, but to accent it. At times, the music feels uneasy, mirroring the tension of a speaker’s words. Other times, it softens the moment, inviting introspection.

Despite its seemingly loose structure, one interview flowing into another without overt connections, the film finds a rhythm of its own. Just when you start to wonder where it’s all going, a monologue or image will gently tie a thread between stories. By the end, there’s a sense of quiet resonance, as if the voices have woven themselves into a larger, unspoken narrative about being human in a restless city.

What stays with you isn’t the style or even the setting, but the people. Their fears, their dreams, their pain, their humour. There’s something deeply comforting and equally unsettling about realising how much of what they express still rings true today. The film may be a time capsule, but its contents are timeless.

‘The Passengers‘ might be appealing to many. But once you give it your attention, you will notice that it is worth it. The challenge is what it asks of you: that you slow down, listen, and remember that every person passing you on the street carries a story you’ll never fully know.

I will rate this documentary film 3 out of 5 stars.