Perfect (perhaps), but minor

Rating: 5/10 (15 December 2002)

Spoilers follow...
I don't get the ending. And I'm not alone. Some find it so disjointed that they doubt it's even really part of the story; perhaps it's just Travis's fantasy, or a literal representation of the kind of "redemption" Travis really wants (and does not get because he in fact dies shortly after the shoot-out), or some such.
Roger Ebert rightly dismisses such worries, but in the wrong way. "Whether Travis gains [what he wants] in reality or only in his mind is not the point; throughout the film, his mental state has shaped his reality, and at last, in some way, it has brought him a kind of peace." Forget that Ebert doesn't realise that the ending is a miserable one however we take it: is he really, seriously saying that it doesn't matter whether this is a story about a man who really does by some fluke come to be accepted and loved and admired, or a story about a man who merely fantasises about being accepted and loved and admired when he isn't really? How could this crucial question not matter?
I'm not sure, but I think the ending ISN'T real; whether it's a dream Travis actually experiences as he dies, or a screen depiction (made by Scorsese, for our benefit) of the kind of outcome Travis had been hoping for, is something I'm even less sure about. That I don't know is not surprising, given how few hints Scorsese is willing to drop. But why don't I even care? Why do I feel that Ebert has a point, and that none of this DOES matter?
The trouble with this exceptionally well-made film is that it's every bit as narcissistic as Travis is. To the narcissist, nothing in the external world is quite real; to the film, and us watching the film, all of New York  feels as though it has no existence apart from Travis's highly coloured impressions of it. Is the place REALLY full of "scum"? Are things really as bad as they appear to Travis? Who knows? The film, as I said, is exceptionally well made. The editing is arresting; the music and cinematography are flawless. But there's little point, and no soul. The world into which we're drawn consists of the subjective impressions of one very limited person; nothing else. Director (Scorsese), writer (Schrader) and actor (De Niro), all three at the height of their powers, concentrate their efforts on drawing us into the world of a man who concentrates HIS energy on pushing people away  us included.
That "Taxi Driver" is the best possible example of the very kind of film its creators intended it to be does NOT make it the great film so many people think it is. I'm not saying a word against it. I can find no positive fault. The film is not flawed; it merely lacks those virtues that true masterpieces have. It's not that it's more poorly made than (to take the film that *I* think is the finest made in the 1970s) "Barry Lyndon"; it's just that "Barry Lyndon" is a nobler kind of thing altogether.