Originally Posted by psycho d
Taxi Driver (1976). The majesty of the opening scene, where kaleidoscopic colors intermingle with the score's bipolar sounds, serve as a harbinger of the enigmatic Travis Bickle. Maybe Cybill Shephard's character described him best as a walking contradiction. His is a character that defies comprehension, a character that we want to root for but cannot even find a place to start.
The sense of loneliness and isolation emanates from each character, from the lowly cab driver to the campaign worker to the candidate she is promoting, a man literally separated from the people by way of the secret service. But Travis is further isolated through his awkward capacity in relating to other humans. Though he lives on this planet, his thoughts and dialog belong elsewhere. At the most mundane of moments he seems thoroughly lost in a thought, as if the contemplation of the door handle might just unlock the secrets of the universe. Ironically, it is the so-called scum of the earth, the hooker and the pimp, that exhibit the only sense of human connection as seen through a disturbingly gentle slow dance scene.
The story is a wonderfully slow descent into an unavoidable hell. But this is a contrived hell, complete with a physical training program, a fresh new hairdo, and apparently a contingency plan. This story is in no rush, but rather rallies in its attention to detail, highlighting the mundane repetitions of life. But when things do get heated up, time seems to take on a life of its own until boom! we are left on our own to sift through the madness.
Little more needs to be said of De Niro and crew. From the spectacular lead performance to the peripherals, every scene is replete with talent.
Martin Scorsese's brilliance is found in capturing the prosaic and transforming it into art. The first person narration, really a blather of irreverence, works to enhance the magic in the dull evidence of life. Working with an incredible script, Scorsese whips up a world of alienation and loneliness that cannot help but to drive those on the margins to crack. The distortion of speed and the disconnection of sound from "the event" serves to infuse the viewer with the madness of the moment. We can almost feel Travis' expression of hell through the disheveled artistry of camera and microphone.
In the end, the audience is not only left to fend for itself in regards to what has just occurred, that onscreen blasphemy of insanity, but we are likewise left in the dark, cold, outside world, where fantasy and reality refuse to cooperate and offer the audience some resolve, or should I say closure, as to what we are to think, for we too are left with a feeling of alienation. Merci.
d
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