The only good thing about director Dave Meyers’ The Hitcher is that it suffers no pretensions of being a good movie. From the opening shot of an oh-so-cute rabbit becoming road kill on a Southwestern highway, the message is clear: This is a schlock-shock horror flick, so be a good audience and gasp. Jim Halsey (Zachary Knighton) and Grace Andrews (Sophia Bush) think they’re embarking on a weekend excursion but don’t make it far before a hitchhiking stranger (Sean Bean) pulls a knife on them. Every time they escape from him, he manages to pop out of the shadows again to say “boo.” No, there’s not much more to the plot, nor is there any character development to speak of, so why care when someone is shot? Or stabbed? Or torn in half? Nor are there any delusions of originality, as The Hitcher merely continues the shameless tradition of repackaging the horror flicks of yesteryear, never mind that the original wasn’t worth shooting once, much less twice. Consider the following: attractive young couple in the middle of nowhere, motiveless white male serial killer, nocturnal rainstorms, flooded engines that won’t turn over, projectile blood spurts, bumbling police officers--sound familiar? Clearly not familiar enough, because we keep paying to see them.