Taxi Driver Film Review :
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“Taxi Driver” shouldn’t be taken as a New York film; it’s not about a city but about the weathers of a man’s soul, and out of all New York he selects just those elements that feed and reinforce his obsessions. The man is Travis Bickle, ex-Marine, veteran of Vietnam, composer of dutiful anniversary notes to his parents, taxi driver, killer. The movie rarely strays very far from the personal, highly subjective way in which he sees the city and lets it wound him.
It’s a place, first of all, populated with women he cannot have: Unobtainable blondwomen who might find him attractive for a moment, who might join him for a cup of coffee, but who eventually will have to shake their heads and sigh, “Oh, Travis!” because they find him … well, he’s going crazy, but the word they use is “strange.”
And then, even more cruelly, the city seems filled with men who can have these women — men ranging from cloddish political hacks to street-corner pimps who, nevertheless, have in common the mysterious ability to approach a woman without getting everything wrong.
A mentally unstable Vietnam War veteran works as a night-time taxi driver in New York City where the perceived decadence and sleaze feeds his urge for violent action, attempting to save a preadolescent prostitute in the process.
Martin Scorsese’s 1976 neon-lit ordeal shocker Taxi Driver is back once again to deliver another punch to the solar plexus, with screenplay by Paul Schrader, superlative jazz score by Bernard Herrmann, cinematography by Michael Chapman – revived in UK cinemas as part of the Scorsese retrospective at London’s BFI … TAXI DRIVER. By Vincent Canby. Published: February 8, 1976. The steam billowing up around the manhole cover in the street is a dead giveaway.