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By a coincidence of timing, it will be playing concurrent with Paul Mazursky’s latest, “Next Stop, Greenwich Village.” Two excellent films – same city, same underlying human natures, but what a difference a generation has made in social values. Scorsese and crew have an excellent film here which has a real gut appeal to both discriminating audiences as well as the popcorn trade. In a rare tribute, the final credit card conveys “our gratitude and respect.” Among his themes is a haunting urban blues-type refrain, featuring the mellow sax of Ronnie Lang, whose name was furnished on inquiry. (Maybe the public is right: The actors improvise everything.)īut one credit leaves no doubt – Herrmann’s glorious music score, on which he finished work the night before his death last Dec. Credits prostitution has run amok, and if the film industry doesn’t begin cleaning up this mess, nobody is going to deserve any mention. The screen credits are as much of a maze as the plot, what with “visual consultant,” “creative consultant” and “special photography” billings piled atop the more conventional credlts listed above. Director Scorsese has a slightly overripe cameo as a deranged husband who takes De Niro’s cab to where his wife is living with another man, and his talk of guns turns on De Niro. Every other player fits perfectly into this psychotic puzzle. But for how long, we don’t know.ĭe Niro gives the role the precise blend of awkwardness, naivete and latent violence which makes Travis a character who is compelling even when he is at his most revolting. It’s a brutal, horrendous and cinematically brilliant sequence, capped by the irony that he becomes a media hero for a day, and, passions subdued, resumes his average-Joe life among us.
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In a climactic sequence, desaturated in Metrocolor printing as one way of avoiding an X rating for the film, the madman exorcises himself. Alert Secret Service Agent Richard Higgs aborts an assassination try on Senator Harris, but there’s always Keitel, Moston and Foster’s clients. So, with the help of gun-runner Steven Prince (no ideologue he: guns, dope, pllls – something for everyone), Travis suits up to make his personal statement to the world.
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What prods Travis are a series of rejections: By Cybill Shepherd, adroitly cast as the teleblurb hairspray heroine lookalike working for the presidential campaign of Senator Leonard Harris by Jodie Foster, teenage prostitute working the streets for her lover-pimp, Harvey Keitel, and his assistant Murray Moston even by his pal Boyle, whose advice to keep cool (though valid in itself it’s the way most of us avoid freaking out) just doesn’t take.
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Why not lash out violently at the perceived wrongs in the world? And what better way than with guns and knives – the sex organs of pornographic violence?Ī guy like that just needs a little push towards a starring spot on tonight’s tv news. An introverted loner life makes the complex frustrations more vivid, and the urge to “do something” more strong.
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He’s been (like most all of us), deceived by false advertising, phony movie and tv dramaturgy, vote-hungry politicians, simplistic and pat morality. streets until dawn, stopping occasionally for coffee with Peter Boyle and some others, kllling off-duty time in porno theatres. Take a young veteran like Travis Bickle, Schrader’s focal character. We can’t spot them in advance, but they’re there, and depending on the catalytic situation, they are us. But out on the street walk the next Arthur Bremers, the unindicted My Lai butchers, this year’s freeway snipers. We leave a theatre after a conventional horror film, comfortable in the delusion that the unseen goblins and ghosts which briefiy terrified the screen players are safely locked up in the film can. Paul Schrader’s original screenplay is in fact a sociological horror story. item, which has class and mass audience appeal. Michael and Julia Phillips produced this hot b.o. The intricate production planning gives the Columbia release a quasi-documentary look, and the late Bernard Herrmann’s final score is superb. It’s a powerful film, an excellent credit for Scorsese, and a terrific showcase for the versatility of star Robert De Niro. “ Taxi Driver” is Martin Scorsese’s frighteningly plausible case history of such a person. Assassins, mass murderers and other freakish criminals more often than not turn out to be the quiet kid down the street, and not the “nuts” and “radicals” that society views with regular alarm.