Professional Documents
Culture Documents
Knight 3 May 1995
Taxi Driver as Radicalized Film Noir
In his film Taxi Driver, Martin Scorcese presents a world where characters are subsumed in the
urban landscape, vertical planes obscure the horizon, and hazy lights reflect off streets perpet
ually slick with rain. Scorcese combines realistic settings with expressionist cinematography to
construct a stylized vision of meaninglessness, in which a psychopathic protagonist moves from
street to street without direction, finding no release for the nameless anxiety he feels for the city.
Taxi Driver, with its unconventional (anti)hero, Travis Bickle, lack of substantive plot, and mix
of documentary and abstract photography, defies traditional efforts to place it in a specific genre.
It is a sort of detective film without a detective; a gangster film with only secondrate, rarely
seen mafia figures; a socialproblem film with society itself as the problem. The themes of Taxi
diagetically and in the realworld, they expand beyond the barriers of a single genre. Scorcese
makes few attempts to particularize these themes to Travis’s surroundings, instead requiring the
audience to harbor the same vague sense of general filth that plagues his protagonist. Despite its
apparent rejection of generic convention, Taxi Driver is not without stylistic and thematic
precedent. Film noir, a style of film dominant roughly from the earlyforties to latefifties, also
protagonists making their way through dark and corrupt cities. Generally, these films’ heroes
were rough, “hardboiled” detectives/investigators torn from the pages of dime novels. As the
style of film noir evolved, “Hollywood lighting grew darker, characters more corrupts, themes
worlds they inhabited grew increasingly chaotic, until the characters, settings, and themes
ceased to be identifiable as film noir. Films, like Chinatown (Polanski 1974) revived many of the
themes of films noir, but stopped short of seriously employing the stylistic trends of the earlier
films. According to John Cawelti (1979), Chinatown is a genericallytransformed film noir,
consciously adapting certain elements from an preceding style or genre, and recasting them with
a degree of selfconsciousness, or even parody. In much the same way that Chinatown pastiches
the plots and thematics of many films noir, Taxi Driver borrows many of films’ stylistic features,
changes their stories to fit a contemporary society, and even turns to those artistic movements
which anticipated and influenced the initial development of film noir. Taxi Driver, then, is a
radicalized film noir, a work of noirlike cinematography which masks the lingering traces of
order, stability, or meaning left over from the noirworlds of the late 1950s. The film seeks out
the limits of characteristically noir subjects like corruption and lossofidentity, and finding
none, continues what 1950snoir began, expressing the limitlessness of these subjects through
style and theme.
Paul Schrader, who wrote Taxi Driver’s screenplay, outlines his view of film noir in his
essay “Notes on Film Noir” (1972). Combining Schrader’s notes with Cawelti’s theory of generic
transformation, we see that Taxi Driver can be understood as a film in the tradition that began
fortyyearold tradition of noir, but also was immersed in the cultural context of the 1970s, an era
not entirely different from that which produced the firstround of noir films. Schrader argues
that World War II helped to generate the kind of cynicism which figures prominently in those
films. Likewise, Schrader wrote and Scorcese directed Taxi Driver in the period immediately
following the Vietnam War which, along with Watergate, did much to inspire a national mood
of pessimism, cynicism, or—as Carter put it—malaise. “The forties may be to the seventies what
the thirties were to the sixties,” Schrader contends (1972), indicating that the same downbeat
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given the shared mood between the two decades, the earlier acts as a source of artistic
inspiration for the later.
In his essay, Schrader points out the four major influences on noir, each of which seems
also to have influenced, in one form or another, his and Scorcese’s work on Taxi Driver. The first
of these forces Schrader discusses is war and postwar disillusionment. Considering World War
II, Schrader outlines the way in which America, recognizing man’s capacity for inhumanity to
man, prepared itself to see this reality represented in art as well as in the news. The notion of
disillusionment connotes the growing lack of faith in conventional images of American man and
society as capable of doing only good; disillusionment meant an upsurge in moral ambiguity or
relativism, the sense that what a person feels is “good” or “evil” is subject to change, depending
on context. In mid and postwar Hollywood, the heroes began to skirt the edge of corruption,
eventually rooting out the villains, but perhaps using questionable methods to do so. But these
willing to take on a realist perspective in looking at America. “Audiences and artists were now
eager to take a less optimistic view of things,” Schrader suggests (1972), a view that reflected the
realities of the war, one that made allowances for ostensibly immoral acts in times of need.
Recognizing that capacity for immorality in themselves, and seeing themselves a component
servicemen returning home after the war to find unfaithful lovers, cheating business partners, or
—in a mode more explicitly critical—“the whole society something less than worth fighting for”
(Schrader 1972). The disillusionment manifested stylistically after American audiences sought a
grittier, grimier reality than that featured in the studiobased productions of the thirties.
Filmmakers understood that “the public’s desire for a more honest and harsh view of America
would not be satisfied by the same studio sets they had been watching for a dozen years”
(Schrader 1972). As a response, they turned to realistic, location settings. A film that took place
in New York would be shot, at least partially, in New York. The notion that America perhaps
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was not worth the effort lurks beneath the surface of many films noir, but this disillusionment
comes to the fore in Taxi Driver, both thematically and stylistically.
The America that served as the backdrop for Taxi Driver suspected not only that
America’s struggle in Vietnam was not worth the trouble, but also that those who fought there
were not worthy of respect. The film’s protagonist returns from Vietnam and apparently is in
capable of finding steady work, until he lands at a cab service. Travis rapidly becomes as angry
with America as America is at him. He does, after all, attempt to assassinate Senator Palantine,
who comes to represent all of America with his evocation of Whitman and his presidential
campaign slogan, “We are the people” (Scorcese 1976). In his move to kill Palantine, Travis tries
to erase everything Palantine stands for, all that the American way represents. He is the epitome
of the disillusioned soldier, the man who returns from war, angry and looking for answers to
questions he cannot even frame. When Palantine asks Travis what he would change about
drives and lives in, New York, condemning it as “an open sewer, full of filth and scum.”
Somebody, he says, “should really clean up the whole mess…flush it right down the fucking
toilet.” For Schrader, this is an instance of early noir’s postwar selfhatred. “The war continues,
but now the antagonism turns with a new viciousness toward American society itself” (Schrader
1972). Travis’s are the words of man who feels he needs to destroy a city to save it, a man who
wants to reinstate values that may never have existed and are nowhere to be found. When
Palantine responds that “it won’t be easy” to make the adjustments, and that “radical changes”
Although at first, Palantine and Travis seem to differ only by degree in their desire for change,
Travis later reads Palantine, a populist, as part of the problem, representative of all the problem
confronting America, from the streets of New York to the White House. Palantine’s remark that
he has learned more about America “from riding in taxi cabs than in all the limousines in the
country” speaks to his understanding the underside of the American character, at once
condemned and represented by Travis. The “radical changes” Palantine supports are necessary
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in this radicalized society where the moral depravity of the earlynoir city is so encompassing, it
envelops even those who purport to liberate it from corruption. The hero, whether a figure like
Travis or Palantine, is immersed in the same filth.
Whereas in earlier noir, “only the individual of integrity who exists on the margins of
society can solve the crime and bring about true justice” (Cawelti 1979), later incarnations of the
noir protagonist lack integrity, in both the moral and psychological senses of the term, and as
figures on the edge of society, are equally trapped in the corruption which makes no distinctions
between inner and outersociety. Like those reallife wouldbe assassins who preceded and suc
ceeded him, Travis is a textbook paranoid schizophrenic, a man whose sense of self is falling
apart and who tries endlessly to thwart a conspiracy that either does not exist or is too large to
defeat. Travis’s schizophrenia is the extreme manifestation of a phenomenon Schrader sees in
forces of personal disintegration are reflected in these films” (Schrader 1972). Cawelti notes that
as Chinatown ends, “instead of bringing justice to a corrupt society, the detective’s actions leave
Taxi Driver takes this notion to an even further extreme. Travis, unlike Jake Gittes, is already
overwhelmed by corruption. For Schrader, in the chaotic noir city, “there is nothing the
protagonists can do; the city will outlast and negate even their best efforts” (Schrader 1972). The
massacre which ends the film succeeds only in wiping out three smalltime lowlifes, who are
blownup into a virtual devil. Sport, the pimp, is the surrogate Palantine, who represents the
moral hell of America after Palantine proves too hard to vanquish. His language to Iris regard
ing Sport echoes his earlier words to Palantine about the city: “Somebody’s got to do something
to him. He’s the scum of the earth. He’s the worst sucking scum I’ve ever seen.” By killing Sport
and the other men, not only does Travis leave “the basic source” untouched, he deludes himself
into thinking he has been successful. If, with Pauline Kael (1976) we understand Travis’s story as
a progression from mounting tension to catharsis in the form of violence, we see that for Travis,
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the catharsis worked. After waking up from his coma, he goes back to work, smiling and polite,
apparently content with life in the Big City. Furthermore, the corrupt society buys into Travis’s
catharsis, making him a “Taxi Driver Hero” in the media. The media in the film, voicebox for
society in general, accepts Travis’s skewed morality as its own. Taxi Driver’s society, from its cab
drivers to its senators, from its runaway girls to its senators and media elite, is corrupt.
Stylistically, the postwar disillusionment in the 1940s translated into realism across
settings. “Realistic exteriors,” says Schrader, “remained a permanent fixture of film noir”
(Schrader, 1972). This holds true for Taxi Driver, and for many of the same reasons. The televised
coverage of the Vietnam War, it has been said, brought the war into our living rooms. America
was able to witness war as it happened, where it happened. Audiences soldiers squatting in the
jungle, walking through city streets, flying overhead in jets and helicopters. The media’s
treatment of Vietnam set a standard in the average viewer’s mind about what something had to
look like to be convincing. The nearcliché that “TV is more real than reality” is born of this era
when events had to be broadcast on television to seem real. The viewers’ thirst for reality on the
screen continued after the war and carried into movie theaters. Scorcese’s work often—though
not always—attempts to satisfy that thirst. In the forties, realism worked to distinguish film noir
from conventional melodrama. It tried to take film noir out of the studio and place it “where it
belonged: in the streets with everyday people” (Schrader 1972). Scorcese also plays on
Schrader’s theme of populism and takes his camera into the streets. It is appropriate, therefore,
that Travis, who is almost always in effect our narrator, is a taxi driver, cruising New York’s
glitziest and seediest sections at all hours. Through him, we are mixed in with everyday people.
Travis does not, until he shaves his hair into a Mohawk, stand out in a crowd. In several slow
motion crowd scenes, it is difficult to spot Travis in his conservative maroon coat and tie
strolling among a hundred other New Yorkers. He blends into street corners, brick walls, his
own taxi cab. People disappear into building exteriors; sleazy hotel managers are
indistinguishable from their sleazy hotels. Even Scorcese melts into the concrete as Betsy, the
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angel in white, walks by him outside Palantine’s campaign headquarters. For Schrader, this is
characteristic of noir, in which “actors and setting are given equal lighting emphasis. An actor is
often hidden in the realistic tableau of the city at night.” In Taxi Driver, actors are hidden in the
daytime. Schrader maintains that such lighting creates “a fatalistic, hopeless mood.” (Schrader
1972)
behind the wheel, are merely expressive shots of realworld places in New York. They do
nothing to build character, further plot, or even (after a while) establish setting. If anything, they
serve to establish only the realism of the setting, without providing information relevant to
understanding the story of the film. They do, however, add to our comprehension of the film’s
style. The montages screen like raw footage, often seemingly edited together without tension or
rhythm in mind. The tension in the shots is usually between their realist and expressionist
components, a tension reminiscent of earlier noir. We see classy hotels, porno theaters,
sometimes nothing but unremarkable stretches of road glistening, maybe sweating, in the
evening rain. Eventually, through the sheer volume of shots of New York, we become, like
Travis, unable to distinguish between the glamorous and shady sites. One is as corrupt as the
other. While some critics contend that in response to all these scenes “our nerves our meant to
well” (Phillips 1976), it seems more likely that Scorcese is appealing to our inability to divide be
tween the two faces of the city. With the montages, Scorcese does not try to jangle our nerves; he
wants to lull them. In early noir, location shooting carried a subtextual message of “This is real.
This could really happen here. To think otherwise in an illusion.” Scorcese, on the other hand,
does not need to convince anyone that psychopaths live in New York. The illusion he dissipates
with his location shooting is that there is a real distinction between New York’s high and low
cultures.
The third influence Schrader cites as important to the development of film noir is the
high number of German expatriates working in Hollywood who brought with them their
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German expressionist styles. At first glance, it would appear that German expressionism would
collide with the new attention to realism but, as Schrader points out, “it is the unique quality of
film noir that it was able to weld seemingly contradictory elements into a uniform style”
(Schrader 1972). Scorcese, while not influenced by a host of German émigrés in the 1970s, does
seem to have adopted expressionist techniques in Taxi Driver. The opening montage, for exam
ple, establishes the dark, uncertain mood that pervades the remainder of the film. As the
Bernard Herrmann’s percussionandhorn music begins, a cloud of white steam/smoke fills the
frame and seconds later the front end of a yellow cab breaks through. An extreme closeup of
Travis’s spying eyes follows, his face alternately lit bright red or stark white, which gives way to
a POV shot through a cab’s windshield, of blurred city lights. Slowmotion scenes of walking
crowds are intercut with more extreme closeups of Travis’s eyes shifting back and forth. The
white steam reappears, then gives way to a graphic match of white smoke that Travis himself
walks through on his way to the taxi company’s manager. These opening shots express building
pressure, paranoia, urban anonymity, and uncertain perception, all of which emerge as stylistic
motifs and narrative themes. Later driving montages suggest Travis’s isolation from the rest of
the city: he just cannot connect. Views of the city shot from various points on the taxi’s exterior
divide the frame between an unchanging, brightyellow car part (fender, sideview mirror, gas
tank lid) and a hazy, dark portion of the city with eerie red passing by, out of focus. In such
shots, it is impossible to find one’s bearings independent of the cab. One street is
indistinguishable from the next. The cab, for Travis, is an rowboat; the city is an ocean. When
Travis goes to a pornographic film, we see what he sees, hear what he hears: a splotchy red
screen that shows only poorlydefined red and black blobs moving up and down, back and
forth, with indiscriminate female moaning on the soundtrack. The shot expresses that the movie
is devoid of sexual value for Travis. He sees the same film every tie he watches anything. Red
and black forms, no matter whether he sees them on the screen or through his windshield.
The expressionist photography conveys theme through style, just as it had with earlier
noir. Oblique and vertical lines, able to disorientate any viewer and confine any character,
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“adhere to the choreography of the city” according to Schrader. Scorcese uses his realistic set
tings towards expressionist ends, perhaps the perfect synthesis of tension inherent in noir pho
tography. Vertical and diagonal lines dominate the landscape in Taxi Driver. They dwarf
characters, isolate them, frame their perspective, and trap them. When Travis first meets Betsy in
Palantine’s campaign office, they chat in the foreground while Betsy’s coworker, Tom, twice
comes between them in the background, at first centered beneath an enormous banner that reads
“PALANTINE,” the second time peering out from behind a thick orange pillar framed between
the two. The shots speak to Tom’s trying to separate Betsy and Travis on an emotional level, but
also to Travis’s inability to connect with other people. In the immediately following scene, Travis
and Betsy sit in a coffee shop, at opposite corners of a square table. A vertical steel divider on the
window behind them falls exactly between them, and dissects the table, corner to corner. When
Travis drives around in his cab at night, and we see New York through his eyes, our vision is
inevitably bordered by the stark diagonal and vertical lines that comprise the car’s window
frames. Frequently, the structure of the car fills more of the frame than whatever it is Travis is
looking at. The first look at Sport and second at Iris are heavily obscured by the car’s frame. If
the lines of his car do not obscure what he looks at, the water on the windshield does. The water,
whether from rainfall or hydrant, obfuscates all planes of vision, leaving only a malleable lens
through which Travis watches the filth. Although Travis drives around all night, staring through
his windows, he cannot see anything clearly.
Both times Palantine addresses assembled New Yorkers, Scorcese films on location, but
chooses very carefully his camera angles and lens lengths, so as to add an skewed perspective on
the transpiring events. One particularly evocative shot is of a bullhorn type loudspeaker sus
pended on a pole, between two highrise buildings. The buildings seem to shoot endlessly
straight into the sky, but the loudspeaker, blaring some political aphorism, dominates the frame,
its wide mouth obscuring the lower portions of the skyscrapers. Later, for Palantine’s second
address, Scorcese places Palantine beneath a statue of an angel with outspread arms, standing
atop an enormous pedestal. Shots from behind the angel portray the widespread stone arms of
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the figure matching a barely visible Palantine, whose arms extend in precisely the same manner.
This shot is intercut with tracking shots of the audience’s midriffs, arms, and legs. The camera
tracks onto the dais from which Palantine speaks, and moves right past his waist, as though he
were an inconsequential entity in the scene. Shortly after, the camera tracks past the lower part
of his face, but neglects to center him in the frame, or even capture his entire head at once. When
the camera reaches Travis, standing in the rear of the crowd, alone, it begins at his midlevel, then
tracks up famously to reveal his warrior haircut. The soundspace also is altered to emphasize
Travis’s presence. When the audience applauds, we hear a somewhat muted patting of hands,
but when Travis claps, the sound rings out in the aural foreground, tinny, piercing, loud, and
hollow.
The fourth and final influence Schrader notes is that of the hardboiled tradition in
fiction writing in the 1920s to 1940s. Writers like Mickey Spillane, Dashiel Hammett, Ross
MacDonald, and Raymond Chandler introduced a new character, perhaps derived from earlier
heroes of dime westerns. This new hero, the “tough” was a kind of urban cowboy, who had the
same outsidethelaw sense of justice, and the power to bring his justice to bear, but in moving to
the city, the cowboy traded in some of his absolute righteousness for a touch a moral ambiguity.
According to Schrader, hardboiled protagonists embodied “a cynical way of acting and think
ing that separated one from the world of everyday emotions” (Schrader 173). If Sam Spade was
emotionally separated just enough to resist Brigid O’Shaugnessy in The Maltese Falcon, then
Travis Bickle is Spade taken to an almost sociopathic extreme. Bickle falls for Betsy and Iris not
because he admires their character traits, but because he thinks they might conform to some plot
of his to liberate them from urban squalor. Travis is so detached from his emotions, he confuses
love of self with love of other. As he moves from obsession with Betsy to obsession with Iris,
Travis adopts a deterministic sense of direction. Like Chinatown’s Gittes, He fits into Cawelti’s
form of the traditional hardboiled detective “who begins as a marginal individual, but
gradually finds himself becoming a moral agent with a mission” (Cawelti 1979). The major
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moral worth. Like Gittes, Spade, and many of the noir protagonists between them, Travis “lives
out narcissistic, defeatist code” (Schrader 1972), a narcissism so extreme, the only reality that
matters to him is the hybrid of paranoia and nostalgia that hides behind his voyeuristic eyes.
“Now I see it clearly,” Travis tells himself as he prepares to assassinate Palantine. “My whole life
is pointed in one direction. There never has been any choice for me” (Scorcese 1976).
In his efforts to trace J. J. Gittes’s spiritual predecessors, Cawelti explores the parameters
of the hardboiled detective a little more deeply than Schrader. He argues that the hardboiled
detective of earlier film noir, as a figure on the “margins of society,” shares certain characteristics
with Gittes. Travis also shares certain features, but he alters them to such a degree, they are
barely recognizable as influences from past noir protagonists. Perhaps the defining trait of the
noir detective/hero is his usual position not only on the edge of society, but on the edge of the
law. He might be a former employee of the police force or district attorney’s office, for example,
and has since taken up private practice. Travis once worked for one of the nation’s largest police
forces: the Marines. The image of honor, courage, and integrity that the Marines tries to present
of itself is totally broken down in Travis, who is mentally unstable and given to political
assassination. Cawelti maintains that the noir hero’s “position on the edge of the law is very
important, because one of the central themes of the hardboiled myth is the ambiguity between
institutionalized law enforcement and true justice” (Cawelti 1979). Like his predecessors, Travis
is fed up with waiting for the usual means of law enforcement to do their job, and he is ready to
take actions for himself, particularly since the usual means (as embodied in Palantine) are part of
the corruption in the system. In their efforts to achieve justice, the detectives go a little to far:
they hurt an innocent person, they employ questionable methods, so their strict integrity, in the
audience’s minds, is open to debate. Other times, as for the genericallytransformed Gittes, they
are strong men who also fail. Cawelti presents the late noir hero as “the paradoxical combination
unable to totally root out the evil in a given society. Travis’s paradoxical identity is made explicit
in his first conversation with Betsy who, a little taken in, is perhaps too complimentary at first.
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Telling him that he reminds her of “That song by…Kris Kristofferson” she recalls the lyrics:
“He’s a prophet and a pusher, partly truth partly fiction. A walking contradiction” (Scorcese
1976).
Travis is indeed a walking contradiction, a polite, gentlemanly cab driver whose bright
smile wins the initial affection of Betsy, and whose twisty smile crosses his face after murdering
three men. He is a prophet in the sense that he advocates a new age of moral cleanliness, a return
to older, vaguelydefined values; but he’s a pusher because he reveals himself to be little more
than the common streetscum he puts to death. The partfiction of Travis’s character affects him
in the same way it does Jake Gittes. Both try to live up to the mythical standard of their
predecessors, but the generic/thematic worlds in which they struggle have changed so radically,
victory in unattainable. Cawelti argues that this struggle is represented by the “Chinatown”
motif in that film: “Gittes’s confrontation with a depth of depravity beyond the capacity of
individualistic justice is…the essential significance of…Chinatown” (Cawelti 1979). Travis faces
an even deeper depravity, one that (as in Chinatown) touches people from the highest to lowest
brokers and henchmen. Chinatown hints at this in its use of water, once a symbol of purity, as a
source of corruption, but it stops short of the allencompassing depravity we find in Taxi Driver’s
evolved version of the older noir/detective hero. “The true thrust of the [hardboiled] myth…
is…essentially toward the marginal hero becoming righteous judge and executioner, culture
hero for a society that has profoundly ambiguous conflicts in choosing between its commitment
to legality and its belief that only individual actions are ultimately moral and trust” (Cawelti
1979). Travis’s actions—judging and executing a selection of smalltime criminals—are indeed
construed as heroic by the media, as the scene immediately following the massacre reveals. In
his treatment of Travis, Scorcese captures the essence of the myth” but removes the ambiguity
that Cawelti maintains society should feel. In Taxi Driver’s world, Travis is resolutely a hero, as
though his actions were heroic on some existential level, just because he, unlike everyone else in
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the city, actually appeared to do something, to take some action. “Here is,” he tells himself, “a
man who stood up” (Scorcese 1976).
Elements of Schrader’s cursory inventory of noir stylistics, which follows his discussion
of the four major influences, is also manifest in Taxi Driver. As we have seen, Expressionist in
fluences deeply affected both the early phases of noir and later films, like Taxi Driver. With such
styles, “compositional tension is preferred to physical action. A typical film noir would rather
move the scene cinematographically around the actor than have the actor control the scene by
physical action” (Schrader 1972). Scorcese takes this technique to heart with his editing in
general and montages in particular, both of which occasionally create tension through the
juxtaposition of images. When Travis first meets Betsy, for example, the camera cuts on di
alogue, each time tracking closer to whichever one is speaking. The tracking in from “both
sides” closes the space between the two without their having to move. As the conversation
closes, the camera tracks back with each shot, expanding the space before Travis has moved. A
more complicated sequence of montage editing occurs when Travis and Betsy have their first
date at the porno theater. The frame is filled with a shot from the movie they are watching: a
ovary’s microscopic workings seems outrageously juxtaposed to its predecessor. The next shot is
of Betsy reacted with distaste, followed by one of an orgy on screen. We see Betsy get up to
leave. It seems that Swedish Sex Manual and Taxi Driver conflate their editing for a few moments
to create a scene of impersonal sex and revulsion. In the porn film’s formulation, “talking about
sex” plus “sexual biology” loosely equals “orgy.” At the same time, the combination of
lished in this scene is heightened near its end after Betsy leaves the theater, and as she argues
with Travis, stands next to a tall, blond prostitute, a figure apparently meant as a moral and
graphic counterbalance for Betsy.
Throughout the film, Travis drives down streets wet with rain, a rain he hopes
“someday…will wash away the filth.” He is sprayed by open fire hydrants, hacks through rain
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storms on a seemingly nightly basis, clears his windshield of great sheets of water that obscure
attachment to water” (Schrader 176). Although Schrader seems to refer to noir directors who
make sure all their exteriors glisten with rainfall, Travis himself seems to be carry a peculiar
attachment to water. His repeated insistence that a “real rain” will come and clean up the
corruption, his constant driving through the rain at night, suggest that water is something he
cannot escape, and that its cleansing powers, its ability to wash away the filth, like his own, is
impotent. The water, as in Chinatown, is no longer a means of purification, but rather part of
the dirt, a home for rankness and disease.
Travis also shares with his noir predecessors “a love of romantic narration” (Schrader
176). But Travis the diarist seems more in line with Arthur Bremer (Hatch 1976) than with the
Travis is nervous, paranoid, rambling. He makes up stories about himself, imagines himself as a
grand figure in a giant plot. He frames himself as a character in his own story: “The days move
on and on with regularity…each one as same as the next” and “Loneliness has followed me my
whole life…There’s no escape. I’m God’s lonely man” (Scorcese 1976). At least two critics
compare him to Dostoevski, a character writing from the underground (Kael 1976; Kroll 1976).
Through his voiceovers, Travis evokes some of the film themes (loneliness, senseofself) and
connects himself to a value system that seems to have no place in a world gone awry. Schrader
contends that in noir, “narration creates a mood of…an irretrievable past, a predetermined fate,
and an all enveloping hopelessness” (Schrader 1972). Travis attempts to retrieve that past
through Iris, telling her that “a girl should be at home, going to school,” trying to impose values
either enforced or absent from his own youth. He indicates his predetermined fate in a voice
over that expresses his lack of choice or freewill and his need to fulfill a “mission.” Travis’s
introspective critique as in Lady from Shanghai. Travis’s voiceover merely outlines his hazy,
dissolute identity, as we see Travis move through a plan that makes sense only to him.
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The final stylistic element Schrader points out in film noir is a complicated treatment of
time. Film noir, in a technique perhaps related to its preoccupation with voiceovers and story
telling, employs “a complex chronological order…to reinforce feelings of hopelessness and lost
time” (Schrader 1972). This is achieved particularly through the use of flashbacks, a device that
does not appear in Taxi Driver. Consistent with Travis’s paranoid plotting and journalwriting,
Travis reveals the time and dates of many events through his voiceover, but the dates seem to
lack meaning, to us and to him. The days, as he says, move on with regularity, “a long, unbroken
chain” of time, in which dates lose their relevance to one another and their reference to reality.
nights are transposed, but he still never seems to sleep, driving all night and plotting all day.
The only timeframeofreference that matters is Travis’s, and it matters only to him as he moves
closer to the completion of his mission.
elements and influences, including Expressionism, the hardboiled tradition, and voiceover
narration. With Taxi Driver, Scorcese presents a radicalized view of film noir, one which ex
aggerates the corruption of a culture and society’s willingness to tolerate it. Travis, like so many
other noir heroes struggles against that corruption, but is powerless to eradicate it. His
impotence builds on that of his predecessors who grew increasingly unable to root out the filth
in their noir worlds, and through an inversion of values, becomes a hero through his meaning
less act. This is the ultimate transformation of film noir, since the society in which the protag
onist operates is entirely corrupt, any action is useless, and any hero must be an antihero.
5981 words
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Sources
Primary
Scorcese, Martin (dir.). Taxi Driver. Columbia Pictures, 1976.
Secondary
Cawelti, John. “Chinatown and Generic Transformation in Recent American Films,” from
Film Theory and Criticism, 2d ed., edited by Gerald Mast and Marshall Cohen (New York: Oxford
University Press, 1979), 559–579.
Hatch, Robert. From The Nation 222. (February 28, 1976): 253–4.
Kael, Pauline. “The Current Cinema: Underground Man,” from The New Yorker 51.
(February 9, 1976): 82–4.
Kroll, Jack. “Hackie in Hell,” from Newsweek 87. (March 1, 1976): 82–3.
Phillips, Harvey. “Mythical New York,” from National Review 28 (May 14, 1976): 511–2.
Schrader, Paul. “Notes on Film Noir,” from Film Comment 8, no. 1 (Spring 1972): 8–13.
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