In 1976, Evening News reported a film had been released that was ‘as gory as A Clockwork Orange and Straw Dogs’. Critic Leonard Maltin states that it is a ‘gory, cold-blooded story of a sick man’s lurid descent into violence’ and slammed the film as ‘ugly and unredeeming’. Yet, in 1976, it won the Palme d’Or – the highest achievement presented at the Cannes Film Festival. The film was Taxi Driver, and an iconic piece of cinema was born from the rundown alleyways and sleazy cinemas of New York City.
Martin Scorsese’s 1976 psychological thriller is a film that is not only intense, but oddly hypnotic. It certainly runs at its own pace but it never feels slow or fast, only that everything on screen falls into its own place exactly where it should. Taxi Driver follows Travis Bickle – played by Robert De Niro – an out-of-touch Vietnam War veteran that struggles to fit in with the American way of life after experiencing war and the subsequent mental breakdown that entails. He is an insomniac which explains why he works night shifts as a taxi driver – this means he experiences the darkest and most disturbing aspects of life in the poorer parts of New York City at the most dangerous hours.
When Travis falls for, and is rejected by Betsy (Cybill Shepherd), a campaigner for local politician Charles Palantine, he slips into a depression, resulting in an assassination attempt on Palantine to try to impress Betsy. Attempting to move past his rejection, Travis then befriends teenage prostitute Iris (12-year old Jodie Foster) and seeks to protect her from the abusive pimps that control her life and sell her body. The events that surround his life, including his deteriorating mental state – and this aspect cannot be overlooked – build up to a shootout in the final scenes between Travis and a gang of pimps, resulting in an ambiguous ending over whether he has survived the shootout, being hailed as a hero of vigilante justice, or whether it is just a fantastical dream inside his mind as he slowly dies.
For me, Taxi Driver is about the manifestation of loneliness. Loneliness is a universal emotion, one shared by every being on the planet and Travis is not exempt from this. The difference with Travis, however, is his mental state. To me, his past in the Vietnam War is such an important aspect of the film. The fact that he continues to wear an army jacket with his military badge – the King Kong Company one – and his obsession with how in-shape he was in the army, are proof of the impact that military service had on him. De Niro becomes Travis Bickle and gives a new life to such a common emotion such as loneliness, creating a character so distant, and yet so relatable, to ourselves. This loneliness is made worse by Betsy’s rejection and Travis’ insomnia, and paired with his potential post-traumatic stress disorder, turns him into the anti-hero he ultimately becomes as he falls into insanity. Travis’ loneliness is epitomised in the infamous ‘You talking to me?’ scene and really portrays his isolation as he lives out his murderous fantasies to himself in the mirror.
Like any Robert De Niro film, whether that be Raging Bull or The Deer Hunter, it is impossible to ignore his performance. In an odd way, the only comparison that I can draw is to Christian Bale’s performance in American Psycho, in that De Niro plays the part of a damaged individual with an almost morbid, comfortable normality (like he’s played the part of a maniac hundreds of times before), giving Travis the space to be an exceptional character – but also allowing the completely unique and disturbed individual to remain believable. Travis Bickle is the sort of guy you could bump into in a bar and not bat an eyelid, and De Niro’s performance lends the mystery to the character. His normality is the most disturbing quality – the audience knowing he plans to assassinate a politician yet talking openly with one of his bodyguards who suspects nothing at all, for example. This is down to Robert De Niro’s unique and captivating method of acting; using subtlety to his advantage and sheer savagery when necessary, giving Bickle the time and reason to slowly descend into insanity.
Jodie Foster plays, and it is hard not to cringe when writing this, the part of a prostitute with an odd realism, which is strange considering she was only twelve at the time. She plays the part believably and it is all the more disturbing when you come to realise that there were girls her age in real life that did her job. It is another of the reasons that Taxi Driver is so incredibly powerful and thought-provoking. It makes Travis’ defence of her the only logical option for him and, despite Travis’ negative characteristics, makes him a more likeable person.
Another important aspect of the film is the depiction of New York City as a sleazy, crime-infested nightmare. Whilst Scorsese’s use of lighting works to create a feeling of darkness and the unknown, it is the parallels between the night scenes and the daytime scenes that give the viewer the biggest sense of the gloominess of New York City at midnight. As the day ends, the shops close and the pimps come out; the gangs roam the streets and people are attacked in dark alleyways. It gives Travis the setting to become the anti-hero that he does, given that he thinks that the criminals are ‘animals’. Bernard Herrmann’s fantastic score – which sounds like the most depressing jazz album ever produced – is what I think of when somebody mentions New York City. It takes the mind to smoke-filled jazz clubs and hustlers working pool tables and really helps to add to the general atmosphere of the film.
In honesty, I have only ever seen Taxi Driver once. It was the perfect moment to see it. Like Travis, I couldn’t sleep and chanced to put the film on. It hit me hard and I realised that I needed to be in the right mindset to watch it – it just came together perfectly and I truly understood Travis Bickle. I haven’t watched it since for fear of ruining that feeling of weightiness when I finished. That one viewing made Taxi Driver my favourite film – it is disturbing, captivating and gloomy, but it’s an icon.
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