I enjoy movies that invite multiple looks—movies that linger and haunt for days or even years. Taxi Driver does this. Director Martin Scorsese, screenwriter Paul Schrader, score composer Bernard Herrmann, and actor Robert De Niro have created a multi-layered and complex work that can be re-viewed and re-examined numerous times.

Many years ago, when I first saw Taxi Driver, I didn’t understand much of it. I knew it told the story of an alienated and psychotic taxi driver, a Vietnam veteran disgusted with the scum of New York. Our antihero bumbles his way in and out of a relationship with a beautiful campaign worker, befriends a teen hooker, and later blows away her pimp and associates, Sam Peckinpah-style.

The bloodbath at the end is what most of my friends focused on back in 1976 and is the reason they either thought it was cool or thought it the work of the devil. No doubt this choreographed shooting spree stands out and sparked controversy. Taxi Driver was even showed repeatedly during the John Hinckley trial to establish that the media had warped his little mind. But there is so much more to Taxi Driver than the violence, and that is what has caused me to return to see other aspects of this complex film.

We can look at Taxi Driver from various perspectives. Schrader blatantly proclaims Travis Bickle’s loneliness and alienation from the initial Thomas Wolfe quotations, through his projections of loneliness on to Betsy, and finally to his lone wolf campaign to rid the city of its scum. What better metaphor than a taxi driver, who must frequent the sleazy sections of New York City in a daily monotonous routine—continually moving but without any real purpose other than to serve the anonymous people that slide into his back seat? This loneliness/alienation theme is easily traced, but there are other possible layers—much like watching the taxi emerging from the murky steam that spills out from the bowels of New York City.

Religious overtones underlie Scorsese’s film. Considering the director is responsible for Kundun (about the Dalai Lama) and The Last Temptation of Christ, this should come as no surprise. After Bickle describes the filth he sees around 42nd Street in a misty rain, the taxi driver says: "Someday a real rain will come and wipe this scum off the streets." Shortly after this, his taxi receives a thorough dousing, much like a baptism. Travis is on a mission.

He spots a slow-moving vision in white—an angel, who stands out from all the rest. Travis deliberately tells himself Betsy is alone, and "they … can … not … touch … her." He seeks to team up with this angel, but fails. Why does he fail?

On a practical level, we can say that the man is socially clueless. Several scenes point to this—the awkward exchange Travis has with the porn concession worker, the inept conversation with the secret-service man, and especially his inappropriate choice of the Swedish pornographic movie on his first date with Betsy. Travis seems honestly perplexed that he has treated Betsy nicely and offered his friendship, only to have her walk out because she is offended by the kinds of movies he watches.

We can take a cue from the Kristofferson song about Travis being a "walking contradiction" and see a man who attempts to repress his sexuality, as would be required by Catholic priests. When a man continues to repress deep feelings, he can become a walking time bomb. Travis can use this repressed energy for spiritual good, or he could just explode.

In his case, he ends up doing both. He is drawn to a teenage prostitute named Iris, and attempts to save her. First by trying to counsel her, then planning to save money to send her back home, and finally by acting as the avenging angel who wipes out all the people who hold Iris imprisoned as a prostitute. He carries out his final mission only after he is thwarted from killing the senator that Betsy is campaigning for.

It is a mission Travis plans for obsessively, yet also sabotages. Perhaps he feels deep down he is not worthy of redemption. That could explain why he blunders so badly on his first date with Betsy. We only know Travis is disgusted with the sleaze and scum of New York City, that he has trouble sleeping, and that he has "bad ideas in his head." He begins training with a vengeance, complete with a rigid workout regimen, but countered with a diet that includes pouring peach brandy over his corn flakes. Travis must continually practice being a "walking contradiction" so he cannot completely succeed.

The killings themselves have a ritualistic feel. Travis has practiced them numerous times in front of his mirror, and if he can carry out the sacrifice—be it a politician who has corrupted his angel, or Sport and his sleazy prostitution ring, makes no difference. If this should come with his own sacrifice, so be it. In fact, it seems Travis really desires his own death as he mocks shooting himself with his bloodied hand. We can only wonder at the end whether Travis has grown to accept the imperfections of the city, or whether he will once again set out to sacrifice more lives in the path of righteousness. We can imagine there will come a time when he will again be angered enough to take action. As Travis says earlier:

Here is a man who would not take it anymore. A man who stood up against the scum, the cunts, the dogs, the filth, the shit. Here is a man who stood up.

Scorsese completely controls his film environment like no other director since the immortal Alfred Hitchcock. He virtually lives in a visual world and thinks in visual terms. Watch Scorsese and you will find yourself in a continual flow of movement. Sometimes this is done very unconventionally, as in an early shot where the camera does nearly a full 360-degree turn to follow Travis out of the taxi office.

Two memorable camera moments I especially like: The first is right after Travis’ aborted date with Betsy, when he is calling her from a pay phone. As we hear Travis’ side of the conversation (obviously going very badly), the camera pans right and holds the shot on an empty white hallway. This visual image communicates so much about the emptiness of Travis’ life as it travels that lonely corridor.

A second favorite shot: immediately after the bloodbath in the cheap hotel. With numerous victims down and bloodied, the camera moves overhead for a tracking shot that slowly puts the whole scene into perspective. (Scorsese was forced to tone down the colors of the blood in this scene to avoid an X rating.)

Another sign of Scorsese’s attention to camera detail: how he deliberately makes his camera movements, angles, and framing fit the film’s theme and purpose. For example, examine how Travis’ loneliness is accentuated by having him framed alone in nearly every single shot. Not only is Travis telling us how he is alone, the camera is literally showing us his utter isolation.

Scorsese is extremely organized and visionary, yet he does allow for some flexibility when he directs. The humorous scenes with a jealous Albert Brooks peering at Travis and Betsy from a distance would never have occurred had Scorsese not allowed Brooks to create his character. The most well-known scene and quotations from Taxi Driver would never have happened had Scorsese not allowed De Niro to improvise. Imagine this film without:

You talking to me? You talking to me? You talking to me? Then who the hell else you talking to? You talking to me? Well, I’m the only one here.

I enjoy revisiting Taxi Driver, but not for the reasons many friends of mine do. They would just as soon fast-forward to the bloody climax. Taxi Driver remains so powerful that many scenes are replayed inside my head even without the DVD in hand. Scorsese, Schrader, Herrmann, and De Niro collaborated to make a true work of art. This is no ordinary movie to “just flush it down the fucking toilet." It would be cool to do that to some really bad movies, but this one is one of the great ones--a classic that will stand for many generations to come.