Modern Masterpiece: Taxi Driver
The Only one here
Monday Mornin’ Coffee Bloggin’
It’s hard to ignore the transformational impact that Bernard Herrmann had on film music and the fundamentals of film scoring in general. Herrmann, kind of like the Hans Zimmer of the mid-20th Century, composed for some of the greatest movies ever made, adorning them with the finest scores ever recorded. If you don’t know his name, you will certainly know his music.
If it’s the instantly recognisable screeching strings in Psycho (1960), the live broadcast Orson Welles’ War of the Worlds in (1938), projects like Citizen Kane (1941), dragging the neglected theremin to the mainstream in ‘The Day the Earth Stood Still’ (1951), his first foray into electronic music or The Twilight Zone (1959). Ultimately, Taxi Driver (1976) stands as his final testament to the film scoring world. So much so, he died just hours after the final recording of the score, leading to the completed film being dedicated to him.
He was an infamously determined and self-reverential man, alas with a short temper. He demanded that he had the final say over the score in his projects; should he not have been granted this level of moderation, he would simply not work on the film. As Herrmann aptly put it, ‘it’s just impossible to work that way’.
In his 60’s, and then working with a young Martin Scorsese, the two met at a creative crossroads. Blending the ever growing, outdated orchestral score with the newer pop/jazz of the mid-20th century in a polymerised blend - a coagulation of the old and new.
Taxi Driver is soaked in a moody, neo-noir soundscape. The audience are guided down a intentionally deceptive road. A dreamy, romantic song to New York City, warm swelling brass suggests an ode to a life, a love for a city that can’t be let go of. The unresolved quality of the music is very much the product of a Bernard Herrmann score, particularly reminiscent of his scores for Hitchcock.
It reflects the growing pains of Travis Bickle as he spirals into becoming a loathing misanthrope, struggling in a new post-war, PTSD riddled life. Much like the poison and scum of the city that Travis frequently refers to, he himself becomes victim to the poison that he was so repulsed by himself. The dreary horns swamp the dreamy sax, a jarring juxtaposition representing the loss of his idyllic attempts of love - the last remnant of vulnerability left. The trumpet punctuates Travis’ milestones of instability and snare drums echo his time in the war.
He succumbs to predetermination, despite trying to wrestle control over his own destiny. This adds to the idea that Travis is out of the control of his actions, believing that he is gods ‘lonely man’. By the latter half of Taxi Driver, Travis has already given up on himself and his flawed direction is revealed.
As we arrive at the climax, blaring trumpets mimic screams watching on as Travis’ decent is complete. Piercing the silence, they cut through the calm in Travis’ head. Finally, the two become one and the trumpet-saxophone coupling births a new mangled theme. Sluggish and intentionally played to cause rhythmical dissonance, finally the camera pans out the room like a terrified observer.