Main Title (From “Taxi Driver”) by Bernard Herrmann
I was a guest on a podcast this morning to discuss some films written and/or directed by Paul Schrader: First Reformed, American Gigolo, Hardcore, Light Sleeper, Taxi Driver, and Raging Bull. We also discussed Schrader’s influences, primarily Robert Bresson’s Pickpocket, how it dictated Schrader's style, how it was one of the first movies that introduced the idea of capturing a protagonist’s internality and quietude. For the most part, I had no idea what I was talking about on the podcast, but it was good fun to be paid attention to. When I write, I don’t have any face-to-face interaction with my readers, all of my ideas and theories are shot into the dark. I rarely get any responses. This was a little bit more immediate and gratifying; I still prefer writing. There’s also the problem of articulation. My ‘off-the-cuff’ form of speech is much poorer and more primitive than my written dialect. I undoubtedly come off as a pretentious, unintelligible moron. At least when I write, I can make a better attempt at fooling the audience, I’m not just some wanker who thinks his ideas are brilliant—unless I am, and my self-awareness is substandard.
It’s impossible to talk about Schrader without talking about religion, specifically Protestantism. We discussed how, similar to the Protestant reformation that began in the 16th century against the perceived errors and abuses of the Catholic Church, Schrader’s characters are reactionaries to a society they believe to be immoral and impure, lost and misguided. We discussed how Schrader’s protagonists are consistently able to spiritually transcend on a personal level, but also, because of that, unable to abandon their isolation. The tension comes from the fact that these individuals can't simultaneously find truth in spirituality and a sense of bliss in the collective; it’s often one or the other. On the podcast, we posed the question, is spiritual transcendence, especially within the world of consumer capitalism, possible on a collective level? Probably not.
Martin Scorsese and Paul Schrader dedicated Taxi Driver to the memory of Bernard Herrmann—he composed and finished the brilliant score just hours before his death. Scorsese thought that the score was what pulled the movie together, that it provided a psychological basis for Travis Bickle’s dark and complex internality. At its core, Taxi Driver is a study of the confusing, misplaced form of hate that comes from a traumatized war veteran’s sense of alienation and depression. Scorsese says that with the film’s score, Herrmann wanted to bring into fruition 'the idea of something strong, like metal, the unstoppable quality of Travis Bickle, the unstoppable quality of tragedy itself.' Herrmann left a mark. In an interview, Scorsese recalled how he once had a young man in Beijing follow him around a cocktail party, talking repeatedly about the loneliness that the music and the film evoked, and the man asked Scorsese: How do you deal with all that loneliness? With shivers and chills, Scorsese proceeded to leave the party immediately.
In my opinion, Herrmann’s score is a beautiful composition in and of itself and can be enjoyed separately from the context of Taxi Driver. I don’t find it to be particularly isolating, and neither does it induce in me feelings of horror or brutality. It’s simply a melancholic, arresting piece of music that can be accurately applied to all sorts of stories that explore the human condition. In that sense, I find it, like the effect of all the best music, to be a unifying experience, an experience that, like the ambitious goal of all religions, can be both communal and spiritually transcendent.