Taxi Driver (1976): So
here’s my thing about Scorsese. I like his films. And I’ve seen many of them.
But no matter how many I’ve seen—or how often I’ve seen them—the violence
always startles me. Not only did I know what was coming at the end of Taxi
Driver because I’d seen it before, but I knew what was coming even the
first time I saw it because there is a palpable sense of foreboding coursing
through the film, beginning right away in the opening frames, as a cab emerges
ominously from a cloud of steam, and then building (with an appropriately tense
and crescendo-ing soundtrack) towards the big, bloody conclusion.
But still—when the inevitable violence actually unfolds—it feels abrupt, jarring. And for me, that’s part of the film’s power. It’s visceral. I actually did the throwing-my-hands-up-in-front-of-the-screen-to-block-my-own-view bit a few times.
De Niro’s turn as Travis Bickle is pretty fantastic, too. At first he seems like a nice guy (if a little odd). But he gets progressively creepier. Something’s definitely off about this guy; he has an odd and difficult-to-discern moral code. And his insecurities (which represent those of many white men in the seventies—and even today) spawn misogyny and racism. His letters home are heartfelt, sad, striking, but I wonder if his parents are actually even still alive. Are the letters (which serve as a voice-over for the film) more of a journal for Travis? Or does he actually send them to someone?
And what’s most interesting about the film is the violent act Bickle ultimately “chooses” in the end. The film seems to suggest it might not be his first choice. Is he first contemplating shooting up a campaign event and killing dozens of innocent people (or at least the candidate) before settling on rescuing Iris (a young Jodi Foster) from her “life on the street”? Travis ultimately comes out a hero in the end, when throughout the rest of the film, he’s—at best—an anti-hero. At worst, he’s a sociopath. Or possibly, he’s neither—he’s just a guy suffering from insomnia and (probably) PTSD, who feels isolated and powerless in a decaying urban jungle. When it comes to violence, just how fine is the line between the good guy and the bad guy?
From Here to Eternity (1953): This one was both worse and better than I remember. Worse because much of the film, while moderately entertaining, feels mostly like a middling melodrama. Better because of two elements that elevate it above a large crop of other WWII films. First, the acting is good, from everyone involved. Sinatra even won an Oscar. But mostly, it’s the final twelve minutes or so that have given this film its 60+ year life. The attack on Pearl Harbor is captured in an exciting way, but more importantly, it adds gravitas to what was otherwise mostly melodrama. Knowing the time-period and setting, the audience is aware of the impending attack. The characters, however, are not. This dramatic irony serves as a ticking time bomb, intensifying all of the interpersonal and emotional drama the characters face throughout the film. And it all comes perfectly to a head in the climactic bombing sequence and the film’s sad (if oddly satisfying) conclusion.
It Happened One Night (1934): Before I get into the “good” stuff, I have to say this film provides another example of how antiquated sensibilities can be distracting in an otherwise fun diversion. Right away, in the opening scene, Colbert’s character is treated like a child. Her father has kidnapped her and is holding her captive on his yacht because she’s married someone he doesn’t like. Almost all men in the film treat her unkindly. They’re condescending, bossy, and cruel. Even Gable, with whom she eventually falls in love, refers to her as a “brat.” And I realize that most of this is likely meant to emphasize she’s spoiled, out-of-touch, and lazy, and her character certainly does make some poor decisions. Plus it’s all meant to play for laughs. But it felt like too much. And I know I’m ragging on some of these films a lot, but if I’m going to do this thing right, I’m going to give you my honest observations!
Now, all that said—the movie is still fairly enjoyable. The banter between Colbert and Gable is solid. The movie rolls along at a quick pace. The road trip element provides a nice framework (for both a beginning and end point to the film as well as a means of introducing new settings and situations). It's generally entertaining.
Chinatown (1974): This film holds up very well. Still feels relevant, modern. Definitely one of (if not the) best detective noirs produced outside of the 1940’s and 50’s. The story is twisty. The acting is phenomenal. The photography looks great. And the backstory is richly detailed. Plus it’s an excellent period piece. It manages to capture both the place and period in which it’s set—L.A. in the late 1930’s—and the period in which it’s made—the 1970’s. And the juxtaposition of such a dark story (corruption, rape, incest, murder) unfolding in bright, warm, and beautiful southern California is powerful; the film captures this L.A. contradiction better than most. And the abrupt and tragic ending, and Gittes’ (Nicholson’s) reaction to it, is about the only (and perfect) way to conclude the film. This one makes my top-five for the AFI list so far.
But still—when the inevitable violence actually unfolds—it feels abrupt, jarring. And for me, that’s part of the film’s power. It’s visceral. I actually did the throwing-my-hands-up-in-front-of-the-screen-to-block-my-own-view bit a few times.
De Niro’s turn as Travis Bickle is pretty fantastic, too. At first he seems like a nice guy (if a little odd). But he gets progressively creepier. Something’s definitely off about this guy; he has an odd and difficult-to-discern moral code. And his insecurities (which represent those of many white men in the seventies—and even today) spawn misogyny and racism. His letters home are heartfelt, sad, striking, but I wonder if his parents are actually even still alive. Are the letters (which serve as a voice-over for the film) more of a journal for Travis? Or does he actually send them to someone?
And what’s most interesting about the film is the violent act Bickle ultimately “chooses” in the end. The film seems to suggest it might not be his first choice. Is he first contemplating shooting up a campaign event and killing dozens of innocent people (or at least the candidate) before settling on rescuing Iris (a young Jodi Foster) from her “life on the street”? Travis ultimately comes out a hero in the end, when throughout the rest of the film, he’s—at best—an anti-hero. At worst, he’s a sociopath. Or possibly, he’s neither—he’s just a guy suffering from insomnia and (probably) PTSD, who feels isolated and powerless in a decaying urban jungle. When it comes to violence, just how fine is the line between the good guy and the bad guy?
From Here to Eternity (1953): This one was both worse and better than I remember. Worse because much of the film, while moderately entertaining, feels mostly like a middling melodrama. Better because of two elements that elevate it above a large crop of other WWII films. First, the acting is good, from everyone involved. Sinatra even won an Oscar. But mostly, it’s the final twelve minutes or so that have given this film its 60+ year life. The attack on Pearl Harbor is captured in an exciting way, but more importantly, it adds gravitas to what was otherwise mostly melodrama. Knowing the time-period and setting, the audience is aware of the impending attack. The characters, however, are not. This dramatic irony serves as a ticking time bomb, intensifying all of the interpersonal and emotional drama the characters face throughout the film. And it all comes perfectly to a head in the climactic bombing sequence and the film’s sad (if oddly satisfying) conclusion.
It Happened One Night (1934): Before I get into the “good” stuff, I have to say this film provides another example of how antiquated sensibilities can be distracting in an otherwise fun diversion. Right away, in the opening scene, Colbert’s character is treated like a child. Her father has kidnapped her and is holding her captive on his yacht because she’s married someone he doesn’t like. Almost all men in the film treat her unkindly. They’re condescending, bossy, and cruel. Even Gable, with whom she eventually falls in love, refers to her as a “brat.” And I realize that most of this is likely meant to emphasize she’s spoiled, out-of-touch, and lazy, and her character certainly does make some poor decisions. Plus it’s all meant to play for laughs. But it felt like too much. And I know I’m ragging on some of these films a lot, but if I’m going to do this thing right, I’m going to give you my honest observations!
Now, all that said—the movie is still fairly enjoyable. The banter between Colbert and Gable is solid. The movie rolls along at a quick pace. The road trip element provides a nice framework (for both a beginning and end point to the film as well as a means of introducing new settings and situations). It's generally entertaining.
Chinatown (1974): This film holds up very well. Still feels relevant, modern. Definitely one of (if not the) best detective noirs produced outside of the 1940’s and 50’s. The story is twisty. The acting is phenomenal. The photography looks great. And the backstory is richly detailed. Plus it’s an excellent period piece. It manages to capture both the place and period in which it’s set—L.A. in the late 1930’s—and the period in which it’s made—the 1970’s. And the juxtaposition of such a dark story (corruption, rape, incest, murder) unfolding in bright, warm, and beautiful southern California is powerful; the film captures this L.A. contradiction better than most. And the abrupt and tragic ending, and Gittes’ (Nicholson’s) reaction to it, is about the only (and perfect) way to conclude the film. This one makes my top-five for the AFI list so far.
Your thoughts?
