There’s a special kind of sleaze that came oozing out of the late ’80s—a weird hybrid of American teen angst, Italian horror sensibilities, and the kind of softcore plot that might make even Skinemax blush. Enter Hitcher in the Dark, a film that stumbles out of the gate, forgets where it’s going, and then spends 90 minutes driving around in circles while a deeply unthreatening serial killer mopes about his mommy.
Directed by Umberto Lenzi—yes, that Lenzi, the same man who brought you cannibal gut-munchers and the occasional giallo—this one tries to go psychological. Tries. What it really ends up being is a swampy, slow-motion attempt at Psychowith zero suspense, a laughable villain, and enough awkward nudity to make you question the artistic integrity of shower scenes forever.
A Killer with the Face of a Mathlete
Let’s talk about the killer first. Mark (played by Joe Balogh) is a mama’s boy with a Winnebago and a face that screams, “I’ll fix your printer but don’t make eye contact.” He is, without exaggeration, one of the least intimidating antagonists in horror history. Picture a young insurance adjuster with mommy issues and the sex appeal of cold oatmeal. That’s your killer.
He drives around Florida—because of course this takes place in Florida—picking up hitchhiking girls, drugging them, and then dressing them in his dead mother’s nightgowns while calling them “Mommy.” He also listens to opera in his RV, because that’s the international film language for “unhinged psychopath,” but honestly, this guy just looks like he’s stressed about an overdue term paper.
There’s no menace, no edge, no real tension. Watching Mark abduct girls is like watching someone try to kidnap people using interpretive dance. He’s about as scary as a Jell-O mold and twice as wobbly.
Josie Bissett Deserved Better
Enter Josie Bissett, the only thing in this movie that doesn’t feel like it was scraped off a VHS rental shelf behind the curtain at the video store. This is pre-Melrose Place Bissett, fresh-faced and surprisingly decent, considering she’s trapped in a script that keeps requiring her to shower and scream on cue.
She plays Daniela, a young woman who gets picked up by Mark and held hostage in his RV while he gaslights her into being a better version of his dead mom. Daniela is supposed to be feisty and resourceful, and Bissett gives it her best, but she’s stuck in a cinematic swamp of poor dialogue, sluggish pacing, and scenes that go nowhere for so long you begin to question the passage of time.
Still, Bissett’s got charm. She’s cute, she’s got screen presence, and she doesn’t phone it in, even when everything around her is collapsing like a dollar store camping tent. She spends most of the film in a haze of soap suds, lace nighties, and facial expressions that say, “What the hell is happening?”—a sentiment shared by the audience.
Florida Has Never Looked So Murky
There’s a kind of sticky, wet humidity to this movie that almost becomes its own character. The RV scenes are shot like someone smeared Vaseline on the lens and then forgot to focus. Florida looks less like a setting and more like a fever dream in a motel ice machine. Beaches are gray, skies are dull, and even the sunlight feels exhausted.
You can almost smell the mildew and bug spray through the screen. This is the kind of place where you don’t hitchhike because you’re adventurous—you do it because you’ve given up. Everyone in this movie looks like they need a shower and a tetanus shot.
The Plot, or Lack Thereof
The movie fancies itself a psychological thriller, which is cute. It throws in half-hearted flashbacks, symbolic dream sequences that would’ve been rejected from a first-year film school project, and random scenes of people wandering aimlessly while the soundtrack blares suspense cues that don’t match anything on screen.
Mark is obsessed with his dead mother, yes, but the movie does absolutely nothing with that theme except have him whisper “Mommy” in a way that makes you want to file a restraining order on behalf of the concept of motherly love.
Characters come and go with no arc. There’s a boyfriend subplot that fizzles into nothing. The cops are useless. The climax—if you can call it that—involves an attempted escape, some uninspired choking, and a finale that’s less “edge of your seat” and more “are we done yet?”
Boobs and Blood (But Mostly Just Boobs)
Let’s not pretend Hitcher in the Dark doesn’t know what it is. This is pure late-night cable bait. It serves up just enough nudity to qualify for the “erotic thriller” label in the TV Guide, but not enough to feel titillating. It’s clinical and awkward, like your neighbor trying to explain foreplay using a spreadsheet.
Gore? Almost nonexistent. For a director like Lenzi, this is practically a Disney movie. No entrails, no eye-gouging, no inventive kills. Just some chloroform, a lot of tied wrists, and a ton of emotional manipulation that plays like a bad therapy session. It wants to be steamy and disturbing but ends up dry and dopey.
The Dialogue Is… Something
Here’s a gem of a line: “You’re just like my mother… she hated me too.” Delivered with the trembling sincerity of a soap opera extra. The script feels like it was cobbled together from discarded Dr. Phil transcripts and translated into English by a typewriter possessed by the ghost of Ed Wood.
The conversations range from awkwardly philosophical to flat-out bizarre. Characters speak like aliens trying to pass for human, and any attempt at romantic chemistry lands with the force of a damp tissue.
Final Verdict: Skip the Ride
Hitcher in the Dark is a misfire from every angle. It’s too slow to be scary, too sleazy to be classy, and too toothless to be effective. It mistakes operatic music for atmosphere and low lighting for suspense. The killer looks like a substitute teacher with boundary issues, and the plot is thinner than a Florida tourist brochure.
If not for Josie Bissett giving it a sincere effort and looking good doing it, this movie would be entirely unwatchable. But even her presence can’t rescue this one from the cinematic swamp it crawled out of.
This hitcher isn’t dark—he’s just dull. And so is everything else in the RV.
