| 85; 4 stars; A- | dir. Martin Scorsese | English | 113 min | M18 |
Travis Bickle, a mentally unstable war veteran, further loses his grip on reality as he reintegrates into society.
‘Taxi Driver’, winner of the Palme d’Or and one of Scorsese’s most acclaimed works, eluded me on first viewing. It begins at night, with a shot of Travis in his cab, cruising the rainy streets of New York. The music alternates jarringly – angry drums blare, followed by sensual saxophones – ever oscillating between the two.
We do not know much about our protagonist, except that he had served in Vietnam, possibly. He has no family, no friends, existing in a state of perpetual alienation. He is embittered, racist, frequenting porn theatres while harbouring deep contempt for prostitutes. One day he spots Betsy, a young woman working for a senator’s campaign – he falls in love with her and views her as the beacon of innocence amidst a city of scum and filth.
To say more about its plot would necessitate a much lengthier analysis; ‘Taxi Driver’ defies the polite sensibilities of Hollywood by being impenetrable and unsympathetic. We understand Travis’ distorted and hateful worldview, built on false dichotomies, and at the same time appreciate his chivalry. Yet, he is an unreliable narrator, often too lost in a land of loneliness to come to terms with reality. He has no political beliefs of his own, no tangible impression to guide him. He imitates, parodies, desperate for some sort of significance.
It is an alienating and bleak film, as real a portrayal of crushing self-doubt as it can get. One scene, in a hallway, stands out the most. Travis calls Betsy at a payphone, asking her about some flowers he sent. The camera pans away to a corridor and stays there, unwilling to linger on. We are, at that moment, Travis, consumed by all that shame and delusion.