How's it hangin', Travis? I mean Trevor.

Rating: 2/10 (19 December 2004)

This is an intriguing yet ultimately unsatisfying film that seems to have been made by a copycat movie fan rather than a real filmmaker. It all seems oddly familiar -- from the disturbed, sleep-deprived young man staring into his coffee cup ("Taxi Driver") to the Bernard Hermann-style score ("Taxi Driver") ("Psycho").
Many of the scenes -- even the shots themselves -- seem to have been stolen from other, better, films ("Taxi Driver) ("Psycho") ("The Tenant"). Locker room reprises cafeteria ("Taxi Driver"). Strange solitary guy crossing parking lot to car recalls strange young guy crossing train tracks to apartment ("Eraserhead"). And check out the closeup of a hand grabbing a shower curtain ("Psycho")!
But far worse than any of the plagiarized visuals is the plagiarized main character. Trevor Reznik -- a quiet loner who can't sleep and lives in a crappy apartment (sound familiar?) -- is such a carbon copy of Travis Bickle ("Taxi Driver") I wondered as I watched it whether Paul Schrader or Martin Scorsese were considering legal action. The name "Trevor Reznik" even has the same number of letters as "Travis Bickle." Wait, don't tell me -- it's an "homage," right? (anything by Tarantino).
The bleach bypass look ("Minority Report") ("21 Grams") makes for some interesting cinematography, and Christian Bale is worth checking out in almost any film. But ultimately nothing can save this dreary, convoluted mess for one simple reason: the main character is not sympathetic, and finally not worth our time or emotional investment.
Even though Trevor is stolen from other movies ("Taxi Driver") ("Eraserhead") ("Repulsion"), he's missing some of the most important qualities that made those characters intriguing. We all know it's difficult to get an audience to cheer for a sullen, self-destructive character; we also know there will never be another Robert DeNiro ("Taxi Driver") or Anthony Perkins ("Psycho"). But doing a radical reverse weight-gain ("Raging Bull") just for the sake of shock is not the answer! The ironic result of this Method experiment gone awry is that Trevor is not only unlikable, he's physically repulsive -- and pushes us away rather than drawing us in.
The secret to Travis Bickle was that he was essentially a child; his simplicity made him endearing. By the time he turned psychotic, we still loved him -- the way any parent would still worry about their disturbed son or daughter. Travis was also good-looking, had an interesting philosophy of life, and occasionally smiled.
But Trevor is something else. He's someone we rarely identify with, someone we have little reason to care about (his bantering with the friendly waitress is the only time we come remotely close to warming up to him, but even then, it's all for nothing; unlike Travis, Trevor has no apparent designs on a woman, and therefore no goal or apparent desire -- she makes the first move, making Trevor passive rather than active. Bad story construction, bad character building!)
For these reasons, the audience is never really given an entry point into the character. We may pity him, but we don't really care about him (the director obviously didn't understand this, and emphasizes the physical grotesqueness rather than trimming it down -- which is what a real filmmaker -- as opposed to an amateur trying to shock -- would have done in the editing room). Sure, we're horrified by his emaciated appearance, and it's sad and everything, but it's also over ("Night and Fog").
On top of the physical problems, Bale's wild-eyed, Manson-like outbursts are so overblown and psychotic that we eventually side with the hooker who rejects him -- the exact opposite of what Scorsese so skillfully created with Cybill Shepherd's character, Betsy ("Taxi Driver"). And perhaps the only thing worse than being forced to watch physical deformities is being forced to watch limbs being severed by industrial machines. So naturally the director throws this at us, too, and for no apparent reason -- just more shock value (it ends up having nothing to do with the real story).
Oddly enough, Trevor's physical abnormality has very little to do with the story, either -- it's basically just window dressing. It's not like Bale lost 60 pounds to shoot a sequel to "Philadelphia;" it's not like the script was about someone starving to death. And from what I've read, Bale wanted to lose another ten pounds. Thank God someone stopped him! He'd probably be dead by now. And for what?! A third rate independent art house flick that most people won't see anyway?
The unfortunate truth is that this little picture won't even generate a footnote in the film thriller/horror history books. Like a gnat buzzing around the great bodies of work of Hitchcock, Scorsese, Polanski and Lynch, it will quickly vanish into obscurity, receive zero Academy Award nominations this year (despite, or rather because of Bale's 60- pound weight loss), and that will be the end of it ("The Machinist").
Better luck next time, Brad. And Christian -- next time you decide to risk life and limb for your art, maybe you should find a better script -- and a director who's moved beyond first-year film school mentality!