"The days go on and on... they don't end. All my life needed was a sense of someplace to go. I don't believe that one should devote his life to morbid self-attention, I believe that one should become a person like other people."Travis Bickle is a man cut off, shut out so systematically, so repeatedly by others that he's become an individual on the edge--in more ways than one. An ex-GI in New York City, he drives a taxi as both a means to make money and to remedy his chronic insomnia,"I ride around most nights--subways, buses--but you know, if I'm gonna do that, I might as well get paid for it". Even as an outcast Travis is immersed in the world around him, existing on the periphery of that "other" world to which he can never belong yet which he finds alluring nonetheless. His job introduces him to broad cross section of the detestably vulgar society he inhabits: sleazy businessmen nightly copulating with prostitutes in the backseat, preoccupied politicians with their scheming agendas, haughty, unobtainably beautiful women and enraged husbands plotting revenge against their cheating wives. It's a culture he's both repulsed by and awkwardly drawn to, his own social alienation and sexual frustration routinely outlet through frequent visits to adult bookstores and porno theatres where hard-core films offer a voyeuristic glimpse of the deviant world operating around him. But as his thoughts and habits grow more obsessive and the veracity of his isolation is laid out before him ("Loneliness has followed me my whole life. Everywhere. In bars, in cars, sidewalks, stores, everywhere. There's no escape. I'm God's lonely man . . ."), Travis' mental stability falters as insanity creeps in replacing his rationality with a radical vision for an ultimate resolution.
In Scorcese's timeless film adapted from Paul Schrader's inimitable screenplay, Travis Bickle really is "God's lonely man", if merely because he's everyman's "lonely man". Everyone can empathize with the emotional status of Travis' situation and most know the feeling resulting from limited social interaction or an inability to connect. Most deal with it better than Travis does. Taxi Driver is a brilliant nightmare*, and, like most real nightmares, little to nothing is gathered as to the particulars of unfolding events. The audience never learns about Travis background, where he's
from or why he lives in New York; only that he was once a marine and that likely he served in Vietnam, and even that's barely hinted at. The film relies heavily (considerably more so than most other American movies) on suggestive characterization, barely establishing the framework for a story, subtly insinuating mood and offering ambiguous at best inferences for the motives and subsequent action. Symbolism and allegory are heavily involved: the taxi cab acting as Travis' portal to the world, his vessel (and insulation) on the road of life; long, panning shots seen from the cab's point of view mirroring the exterior world's separate, unattached livelihood; intimate, close-ups during the film's most violent sequences as opposed to the more distant, retreating shots observed during Travis' conversations with others emphasizing personal rejection having greater weight than a destructive mindset, etc. Perhaps more than any other Scorcese film, Taxi Driver warrants the conscious involvement of the viewer, demanding attention at an interpretive level and requiring evaluation, analysis and judgement through individualized perceptions, a likely reason it continues as a classic in American cinema. (DVD TAXI)*Roger Ebert, Chicago Sun-Times
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