{"id":1141,"date":"2025-02-01T17:31:00","date_gmt":"2025-02-01T22:31:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/50for50tony.me\/?p=1141"},"modified":"2025-02-01T17:31:00","modified_gmt":"2025-02-01T22:31:00","slug":"taxi-driver","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.tonypanariello.com\/blog\/wordpress\/index.php\/2025\/02\/01\/taxi-driver\/","title":{"rendered":"Taxi Driver"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Ever had insomnia so bad you decided to become a taxi driver and slowly descend into violent psychosis? Meet Travis Bickle (Robert De Niro), a Vietnam vet whose idea of a self-improvement program makes Fight Club look like a mindfulness retreat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Travis takes a job driving a taxi on New York’s night shift, which in 1976 was about as relaxing as being a rodeo clown with vertigo. He cruises through a Times Square that makes modern-day Times Square look like Disneyland, carrying passengers that would make an Uber driver’s one-star reviews seem quaint. His journal entries reveal a man who sees the city as a cesspool that needs cleaning, though his idea of urban renewal involves significantly more ammunition than most city planners would recommend.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Our sleep-deprived protagonist becomes fixated on two women: Betsy (Cybill Shepherd), a campaign worker for presidential candidate Charles Palantine, and Iris (Jodie Foster), a 12-year-old prostitute. Because nothing says “I’m totally stable” like taking your first date to a Swedish porn film, Travis manages to spectacularly bomb his chances with Betsy faster than you can say “poor choice of venue.” Pro tip: X-rated movies are generally not considered first-date material, unless you’re dating a film critic with very specific interests.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Meanwhile, Travis’s mental state deteriorates faster than a sandwich left in a hot cab. He starts working out, buying illegal guns from sketchy salesmen (played by Steven Prince, who probably didn’t have to act much), and practicing quick-draws in front of his mirror while delivering the now-iconic “You talkin’ to me?” monologue \u2013 which, by the way, is the worst self-help affirmation ever.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His apartment turns into what would happen if an army surplus store had a baby with a pharmacy’s worth of uppers. He straps a gun to his arm using a homemade sliding mechanism that would make Q Branch jealous, shaves his hair into a mohawk that would give any barber PTSD, and generally transforms himself into a one-man army whose recruiting officer really should have checked references.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The plot accelerates when Travis fixates on “saving” Iris from her pimp, Sport (Harvey Keitel, rocking a wardrobe that makes most disco outfits look understated). He also decides that presidential candidate Palantine needs to be assassinated, because nothing says “I’m helping” like attempting to shoot a politician. When that plan fails \u2013 turns out Secret Service agents don’t appreciate mohawked guys reaching for their pockets \u2013 Travis redirects his violent salvation complex toward Sport and Iris’s other exploiters.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The finale explodes into one of cinema’s most notorious bloodbaths, as Travis storms the brothel in a scene that makes The Shining look like a real estate walkthrough. He eliminates Sport, the hotel manager, and Iris’s client in a sequence that’s both horrifying and weirdly balletic, if your idea of ballet involves multiple gunshot wounds. Travis himself is shot several times but keeps going, demonstrating that crazy beats bullets every time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The film’s coda is a masterpiece of irony: Travis survives and is hailed as a hero by the media for saving Iris. We see him back at work, now famous among his fellow cabbies, even getting a fare from Betsy who seems impressed by his newfound notoriety. But that final look in his rearview mirror suggests that New York’s most unstable cabbie hasn’t exactly found inner peace.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Verdict<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

What I Love:<\/p>\n\n\n\n