TAXI DRIVER
by
Paul Schrader
PROPERTY OF:
"The whole conviction of my life now rests upon the belief
that loneliness, far from being a rare and curious
phenomenon, is the central and inevitable fact of human
existence."
--Thomas Wolfe,
"God's Lonely Man"
TRAVIS BICKLE, age 26, lean, hard, the consummate loner. On
the surface he appears good-looking, even handsome; he has a
quiet steady look and a disarming smile which flashes from
nowhere, lighting up his whole face. But behind that smile,
around his dark eyes, in his gaunt cheeks, one can see the
ominous stains caused by a life of private fear, emptiness
and loneliness. He seems to have wandered in from a land
where it is always cold, a country where the inhabitants
seldom speak. The head moves, the expression changes, but
the eyes remain ever-fixed, unblinking, piercing empty space.
Travis is now drifting in and out of the New York City night
life, a dark shadow among darker shadows. Not noticed, no
reason to be noticed, Travis is one with his surroundings.
He wears rider jeans, cowboy boots, a plaid western shirt
and a worn beige Army jacket with a patch reading, "King
Kong Company 1968-70".
He has the smell of sex about him: Sick sex, repressed sex,
lonely sex, but sex nonetheless. He is a raw male force,
driving forward; toward what, one cannot tell. Then one
looks closer and sees the evitable. The clock sprig cannot
be wound continually tighter. As the earth moves toward the
sun, Travis Bickle moves toward violence.
FILM OPENS on EXT. of MANHATTAN CAB GARAGE. Weather-beaten
sign above driveway reads, "Taxi Enter Here". Yellow cabs
scuttle in and out. It is WINTER, snow is piled on the
curbs, the wind is howling.
INSIDE GARAGE are parked row upon row of multi-colored taxis.
Echoing SOUNDS of cabs idling, cabbies talking. Steamy
breath and exhaust fill the air.
INT. CORRIDOR of cab company offices. Lettering on ajar door
reads:
PERSONAL OFFICE
Marvis Cab Company
Blue and White Cab Co.
Acme Taxi
Dependable Taxi Services
JRB Cab Company
Speedo Taxi Service
2.
SOUND of office busywork: shuffling, typing, arguing.
PERSONAL OFFICE is a cluttered disarray. Sheets with heading
"Marvis, B&W, Acme" and so forth are tacked to crumbling
plaster wall: It is March. Desk is cluttered with forms,
reports and an old upright Royal typewriter.
Dishelved middle-aged New Yorker looks up from the desk. We
CUT IN to ongoing conversation between the middle-aged
PERSONNEL OFFICER and a YOUNG MAN standing in front on his
desk.
The young man is TRAVIS BICKLE. He wears his jeans, boots
and Army jacket. He takes a drag off his unfiltered cigarette.
The PERSONNEL OFFICER is beat and exhausted: he arrives at
work exhausted. TRAVIS is something else again. His intense
steely gaze is enough to jar even the PERSONNEL OFFICER out
of his workaday boredom.
PERSONNEL OFFICER (O.S.)
No trouble with the Hack Bureau?
TRAVIS (O.S.)
No Sir.
PERSONNEL OFFICER (O.S.)
Got your license?
TRAVIS (O.S.)
Yes.
PERSONNEL OFFICER
So why do you want to be a taxi
driver?
TRAVIS
I can't sleep nights.
PERSONNEL OFFICER
There's porno theatres for that.
TRAVIS
I know. I tried that.
The PERSONNEL OFFICER, though officious, is mildly probing
and curious. TRAVIS is a cipher, cold and distant. He
speaks as if his mind doesn't know what his mouth is saying.
PERSONNEL OFFICER
So whatja do now?
3.
TRAVIS
I ride around nights mostly.
Subways, buses. See things. Figur'd
I might as well get paid for it.
PERSONNEL OFFICER
We don't need any misfits around
here, son.
A thin smile cracks almost indiscernibly across TRAVIS' lips.
TRAVIS
You kiddin? Who else would hack
through South Bronx or Harlem at
night?
PERSONNEL OFFICER
You want to work uptown nights?
TRAVIS
I'll work anywhere, anytime. I know
I can't be choosy.
PERSONNEL OFFICER
(thinks a moment)
How's your driving record?
TRAVIS
Clean. Real clean.
(pause, thin smile)
As clean as my conscience.
PERSONNEL OFFICER
Listen, son, you gonna get smart,
you can leave right now.
TRAVIS
(apologetic)
Sorry, sir. I didn't mean that.
PERSONNEL OFFICER
Physical? Criminal?
TRAVIS
Also clean.
PERSONNEL OFFICER
Age?
PERSONNEL OFFICER
Twenty-six.
PERSONNEL OFFICER
Education?
4.
TRAVIS
Some. Here and there.
PERSONNEL OFFICER
Military record?
TRAVIS
Honorable discharge. May 1971.
PERSONNEL OFFICER
You moonlightin?
TRAVIS
No, I want long shifts.
PERSONNEL OFFICER
(casually, almost to himself)
We hire a lot of moonlighters here.
TRAVIS
So I hear.
PERSONNEL OFFICER
(looks up at Travis)
Hell, we ain't that much fussy
anyway. There's always opening on
one fleet or another.
(rummages through his
drawer, collecting
various pink, yellow
and white forms)
Fill out these forms and give them
to the girl at the desk, and leave
your phone number. You gotta phone?
TRAVIS
No.
PERSONNEL OFFICER
Well then check back tomorrow.
TRAVIS
Yes, Sir.
CUT TO:
CREDITS
CREDITS appear over scenes from MANHATTAN NIGHTLIFE. The
snow has melted, it is spring.
A rainy, slick, wet miserable night in Manhattan's theatre
district.
5.
Cabs and umbrellas are congested everywhere; well-dressed
pedestrians are pushing, running, waving down taxis. The
high-class theatre patrons crowding out of the midtown shows
are shocked to find that the same rain that falls on the
poor and common is also falling on them.
The unremitting SOUNDS of HONKING and SHOUTING play against
the dull pitter-patter of rain. The glare of yellow, red and
green lights reflects off the pavements and autos.
"When it rains, the boss of the city is the taxi driver" -
so goes the cabbie's maxim, proven true by this particular
night's activity. Only the taxis seem to rise above the
situation: They glide effortlessly through the rain and
traffic, picking up whom they choose, going where they please.
Further uptown, the crowds are neither so frantic nor so
glittering. The rain also falls on the street bums and aged
poor. Junkies still stand around on rainy street corners,
hookers still prowl rainy sidewalks. And the taxis service
them too.
All through the CREDITS the exterior sounds are muted, as if
coming from a distant room or storefront around the corner.
The listener is at a safe but privileged distance.
After examining various strata of Manhattan nightlife,
CAMERA begins to CLOSE IN on one particular taxi, and it is
assumed that this taxi is being driven by TRAVIS BICKLE.
END CREDITS
CUT TO:
Travis's yellow taxi pulls in foreground. On left rear door
are lettered the words "Dependable Taxi Service".
We are somewhere on the upper fifties on Fifth Ave. The rain
has not let up.
An ELDERLY WOMAN climbs in the right rear door, crushing her
umbrella. Travis waits a moment, then pulls away from the
curb with a start.
Later, we see Travis' taxi speeding down the rain-slicked
avenue. The action is periodically accompanied by Travis'
narration. He is reading from a haphazard personal diary.
TRAVIS (V.O.)
(monotone)
April 10, 1972. Thank God for the
rain which has helped wash the
garbage and trash off the sidewalks.
6.
TRAVIS' POV of sleazy midtown side street: Bums, hookers,
junkies.
TRAVIS (V.O.)
I'm working a single now, which
means stretch-shifts, six to six,
sometimes six to eight in the a.m.,
six days a week.
A MAN IN BUSINESS SUIT hails Travis to the curb.
TRAVIS (V.O.)
It's a hustle, but it keeps me busy.
I can take in three to three-fifty
a week, more with skims.
MAN IN BUSINESS SUIT, now seated in back seat, speaks up:
MAN IN BUSINESS SUIT
(urgent)
Is Kennedy operating, cabbie? Is it
grounded?
On seat next to TRAVIS is half-eaten cheeseburger and order
of french fries. He puts his cigarette down and gulps as he
answers:
TRAVIS
Why should it be grounded?
MAN IN BUSINESS SUIT
Listen - I mean I just saw the
needle of the Empire State Building.
You can't see it for the fog!
TRAVIS
Then it's a good guess it's grounded.
MAN IN BUSINESS SUIT
The Empire State in fog means
something, don't it? Do you know,
or don't you? What is your number,
cabbie?
TRAVIS
Have you tried the telephone?
MAN IN BUSINESS SUIT
(hostile, impatient)
There isn't time for that. In other
words, you don't know.
TRAVIS
No.
7.
MAN IN BUSINESS SUIT
Well, you should know, damn it, or
who else would know? Pull over
right here.
(points out window)
Why don't you stick your goddamn
head out of the goddamn window once
in a while and find out about the
goddamn fog!
TRAVIS pulls to the curb. The BUSINESS MAN stuffs a dollar
bill into the pay drawer and jumps out of the cab. He turns
to hail another taxi.
MAN IN BUSINESS SUIT
Taxi! Taxi!
Travis writes up his trip card and drives away.
It is LATER THAT NIGHT. The rain has turned to drizzle.
Travis drives trough another section of Manhattan.
TRAVIS (V.O.)
I work the whole city, up, down,
don't make no difference to me -
does to some.
STREETSIDE: TRAVIS' P.O.V. Black PROSTITUTE wearing white
vinyl boots, leopard-skin mini-skirt and blond wig hails
taxi. On her arm hangs half-drunk seedy EXECUTIVE TYPE.
TRAVIS pulls over.
PROSTITUTE and JOHN climb into back seat. TRAVIS checks out
the action in rear view mirror.
TRAVIS (V.O.)(CONTD)
Some won't take spooks - Hell,
don't make no difference tom me.
TRAVIS' taxi drives through Central Park.
GRUNTS, GROANS coming from back seat. HOOKER and JOHN going
at it in back seat. He's having a hard time and she's
probably trying to get him to come off manually.
JOHN (O.S.)
Oh baby, baby.
PROSTITUTE (O.S.)
(forceful)
Come on.
8.
TRAVIS stares blankly ahead.
CUT TO:
TRAVIS' APARTMENT. CAMERA PANS SILENTLY across INT. room,
indicating this is not a new scene.
TRAVIS is sitting at plain table writing. He wears shirt,
jeans, boots. An unfiltered cigarette rests in a bent
coffee can ash tray.
CLOSE UP of notebook. It is a plain lined dimestore notebook
and the words TRAVIS is writing with a stubby pencil are
those he is saying. The columns are straight, disciplined.
Some of the writing is in pencil, some in ink. The
handwriting is jagged.
CAMERA continues to PAN, examining TRAVIS' apartment. It is
unusual, to say the least:
A ratty old mattress is thrown against one wall. The floor
is littered with old newspapers, worn and unfolded streets
maps and pornography. The pornography is of the sort that
looks cheap but costs $10 a threw - black and white photos
of naked women tied and gagged with black leather straps and
clothesline. There is no furniture other than the rickety
chair and table. A beat-up portable TV rests on an upright
melon crate. The red silk mass in another corner looks like
a Vietnamese flag. Indecipherable words, figures, numbers
are scribbled on the plain plaster walls. Ragged black wires
dangle from the wall where the telephone once hung.
TRAVIS (V.O.)
They're all animals anyway. All the
animals come out at night: Whores,
skunk pussies, buggers, queens,
fairies, dopers, junkies, sick,
venal.
(a beat)
Someday a real rain will come and
wash all this scum off the streets.
It's EARLY MORNING: 6 a.m. The air is clean and fresh and
the streets nearly deserted.
EXT. of TAXI GARAGE. TRAVIS' taxi pulls into the driveway.
TRAVIS (V.O.)(CONTD)
Each night when I return the cab to
the garage I have to clean the come
off the back seat. Some nights I
clean off the blood.
9.
INT. of TAXI GARAGE. TRAVIS pulls his taxi into garage
stall. TRAVIS reaches across the cab and extracts a small
vial of bennies from the glove compartment.
TRAVIS stands next to the cab, straightens his back, and
tucks the bottle of pills into his jacket pocket. He lowers
his head, looks into back seat, opens rear door and bends
inside.
He shakes a cigarette out of his pack of camels and lights it.
SLIGHT TIMECUT: TRAVIS books it at garage office. Old,
rotting slabs of wood are screwed to a grey crumbling
concrete wall. Each available space is covered with hand-
lettered signs, time schedules, check-out sheets, memos. The
signs read:
BE ALERT!!
THE SAFE DRIVER
IS ALWAYS READY
FOR THE UNEXPECTED
SLOW DOWN
AND GAUGE SPEED TO
ROAD CONDITIONS
YOU CAN'T STOP
ON A DIME!
ALL NIGHT DRIVERS
HAVING PERSONAL INJURY
ACCIDENTS
MUST PHONE IN AT ONCE TO
JUDSON 2-3410
AND MUST FILE A REPORT Promptly
AT 9 AM THE FOLLOWING MORNING AT
43 W. 61st.
A half dozen haggard cabbies hang around the office. Their
shirts are wrinkle, their heads dropping, the mouths
incessantly chattering. We pick up snatches of cabbie small
talk:
1ST CABBIE
... hadda piss like a bull steer,
so I pull over on 10th Ave, yank up
the hood and do the engine job.
(gestures as if
taking a piss into
the hood)
There I am with my dong in my hand
when a guy come up and asks if I
need any help. Just checking the
battery, I says, and, meanwhile...
(MORE)
10.
1ST CABBIE (CONT'D)
(takes imaginary piss)
2ND CABBIE
If he thinks I'm going up into The
Jungle this time of night, he can
shove it.
3RD CABBIE
(talking into pay phone)
Fuck that Violets First. Fucking
saddle horse. No, no, the OTB. Fuck
them. No, it was TKR. TCR and I'da
made seven fucking grand. Fuck them
too. Alright, what about the second
race?
4TH CABBIE
Over at Love, this hooker took on
the whole garage. Blew the whole
fucking joint and they wouldn't
even let her use the drinking
fountain.
Travis hands his trip sheet to a CAB OFFICIAL, nods slightly,
turns and walks toward the door.
OUTSIDE, TRAVIS walks pleasantly down Broadway, his hands in
his jacket pockets. The sidewalks are deserted, except for
diligent fruit and vegetable VENDORS setting up their stalls.
He takes a deep breath of fresh air, pulls a white pill from
his pocket, pops it into his mouth.
Travis turns a corner, keeps walking. Ahead of him is a 24-
hour PORNO THEATRE. The theatre, a blaze of cheap day-glow
reds and yellows, is an offense to the clear, crisp morning
air. The permanent lettering reads, "Adam Theatre, 16mm
Sound Features". Underneath, today's feature are hand-
lettered: "Six-Day Cruise" and "Beaver Dam".
Travis stops at the box office, purchases a ticket, and
walks in.
INT. PORNO THEATRE
Travis stands in the aisle for a moment. He turns around,
walking back toward the concession stand.
CONCESSION STAND
A plain dumpy-looking GIRL sits listlessly on a stool behind
the shabby concession stand. A plaster-of-Paris Venus de
Milo sits atop a piece of purple velvet cloth on the counter.
11.
The SOUND of the feature drones in the background.
CONCESSION GIRL
Kin I help ya?
Travis rests his elbow on the counter, looking at the Girl.
He is obviously trying to be friendly - no easy task for him.
God knows he needs a friend.
TRAVIS
What is your name? My name is Travis.
CONCESSION GIRL
Awh, come off it, Pal.
TRAVIS
No, I'm serious, really...
CONCESSION GIRL
Ya want me to call da boss? Huh?
That what you want?
CONCESSION GIRL
No, no, it's alright. I'll have a
big Coca-Cola - without ice - and a
large buttered popcorn, and...
(pointing)
... some of them chocolate covered
malted milk balls... and ju-jukes,
a box. They last.
CONCESSION GIRL
We don't have ju-jukes. We don't
have Coca-Cola. We only got Royal
Crown Cola.
TRAVIS
That's fine.
CONCESSION GIRL
That's a dollar forty-seven.
Travis lays two dollar bills on the counter.
INT. THEATRE AUDITORIUM
Slight TIMECUT to Travis sitting in theatre, drinking his
Royal Crown Cola, eating his popcorn and milk balls. His
eyes are fixed on the screen. A MALE VOICE emanates from the
screen:
MALE MOVIE VOICE (O.S.)
Come here, bitch. I'm gonna split
you in half.
12.
Male Voice yields to Travis' monotone narration.
TRAVIS (V.O.)
Twelve hours of work and I still
cannot sleep. The days dwindle on
forever and do not end.
FADE TO:
EXT. CHARLES PALANTINE CAMPAIGN HEADQUARTERS
The Headquarters of the "New Yorkers for Charles Palantine
for President Committee", located at the corner of 50th
Street and Broadway, are festooned in traditional red, white
and blue banners, ribbons and signs.
One large sign proclaims "Palantine". Another sign reads
"Register for New York Primary, July 20.". The smiling
middle-aged face of Charles Palantine keeps watch over the
bustling pedestrians.
It is LATE AFTERNOON.
INSIDE HEADQUARTERS
A variety of YOUNG WORKERS joke and chatter as they labor
through stacks of papers. The room is pierced with the sound
of ringing phones.
Seen from a distance - the only way Travis can see them -
those are America's chosen youth: Healthy, energetic, well-
groomed, attractive, all recruited from the bucolic fields
of Massachusetts and Connecticut.
CAMERA FAVORS BETSY, about 25, an extremely attractive woman
sitting at the reception desk between two phones and several
stacks of papers. Her attractions, however, are more than
skin deep. Beneath that Cover Girl facial there is a keen,
though highly specialized sensibility: Her eyes scan every
man who passes her desk as her mind computes his
desirability: Political, intellectual, sexual, emotional,
material. Simple pose and status do not impress her; she
seeks out the extraordinary qualities in men. She is, in
other words, star-fucker of the highest order.
Betsy, putting down the phone, calls TOM, a lanky, amiable
and modishly long-haired campaign workder over to her desk:
BETSY
Tom.
Tom is pleasant and good-looking, but lacks those special
qualities which interest Betsy. He gets nowhere with Betsy -
yet he keeps trying.
13.
Just another of those routine office flirtations which pass
the hours and free the fantasies.
BETSY
Tom, come here a moment.
(he walks over)
I think this canvas report is about
ready to go out. Check it out with
Andy, and if he okays if, have a
copy made for the campaign
headquarters in every county.
(a beat)
And don't forget to add the new
photo releases.
TOM
The senator's white paper is almost
ready, Bets. Should we wait for that?
BETSY
Andy usually just sends those to
the national media. The local press
doesn't know what to do with a
position paper until UPI and AP
tell them anyway.
TOM
I think we should try to get
maximum coverage for this new
mandatory welfare program. Push the
issues.
BETSY
(as if instructing a child)
First push the man, then the issue.
Senator Palantine is first of all a
dynamic man, an intelligent,
interesting, fascinating man.
TOM
You forgot "sexy".
BETSY
No, I didn't forget "sexy".
TOM
Just didn't get around to it, huh?
BETSY
Oh, Tom, please.
14.
TOM
Well, for Christsakes, you sound
like you're selling... I don't know
what... cars... not issues.
BETSY
Have you ever wondered why CBS News
has the highest ratings?
TOM
More people watch it.
BETSY
Alright, forget it if you're not
going to be serious,
TOM
No, c'mon, I'm listening. I was
just...
BETSY
Just what?
TOM
Kidding around... you know, fun.
Betsy looks toward the street, then back at Tom.
BETSY
Maybe if you'd try thinking once in
a while, you'd get somewhere.
TOM
With who?
BETSY
Alright, now. You want to know why
CBS has the highest ratings? You
their news is any different from
NBC, ABC? It's all the same news.
Same stories. Same order usually.
What, you thought they had good
news for people, right? You thought
that's why people watched CBS? I'll
tell you why people watch CBS.
Cronkite. The man. You got it? Not
the news, not the issues, the man.
If Walter Cronkite told people to
eat soap, they'd do it. We are
selling cars, goddamn it.
Betsy's attention is being distracted by something she sees
across the street. She puts on her glasses and looks out
across the street again.
15.
TOM
Well, if Cronkite's so great, why
don't we run him instead?
BETSY
That's the last. The finish. Period.
Some pople can learn. Some people
can't. And you wonder why we never
get serious----
TOM
Sure we could run him. You realize
he's already of his block
association.
BETSY
(looks across street again)
Have you been noticing anything
strange?
TOM
No, why?
BETSY
Why's that taxi driver across the
street been staring at us?
TOM
What taxi driver?
BETSY
That taxi driver. The one that's
been sitting here.
TOM
How long has he been there?
BETSY
I don't know - but it feels like a
long time.
Travis' cold piercingly eyes Stare out from his cab parked
across the street from Palantine Headquarters. He is like a
lone wolf watching the warm campfires of civilization from a
distance. A thin red dot glows from his cigarette.
Tom exchanges Travis' gaze.
TOM
(determined)
Well, I'll go out and ask him.
As Tom walks toward front door Betsy's eyes alternate
between him and the position where Travis sits.
16.
EXT. PALANTINE HEADQUARTERS
Tom strides out the front door and walks briskly across the
street toward Travis' taxi.
Travis spots Tom walking toward him and quickly stares up
his cab, then squeals off in a burst of billowing exhaust.
Tom watches the speeding taxi quizzically.
Travis' taxi continues down Broadway.
CUT TO:
INT. TRAVIS' APARTMENT
He lies on his mattress at the ceiling. He is fully clothed
and appears deep in thought.
Near his mattress rest several medications: A large bottle
of vitamin pills, two smaller bottles of pills, a bottle of
peach-flavored brandy.
TRAVIS (V.O.)
All my life needed was a sense of
direction, a sense of someplace to
go. I do not believe one should
devote his life to morbid self-
attention, but should become a
person like other people.
ANOTHER DAY - LATE AFTERNOON
Travis' taxi is driving down Broadway with the "Off Duty"
sign on.
POV TRACKING SHOT down Broadway. CAMERA stops at Palantine
Campaign Headquarters. A few WORKERS remain in the office.
Betsy's desk is vacant.
FIFTH AVENUE - THE SAME AFTERNOON
CAMERA TRACKS with crowded mass of MANHATTANITES as they
ooze through the sidewalks toward their various destination.
Individuals are indiscernible: It is simply a congested mass.
TRAVIS (V.O.)
I first saw her at Palantine
Campaign Headquarters at 58th and
Broadway. She was wearing a yellow
dress, answering the phone at her
desk.
17.
Suddenly: Cut of the congested human mass, IN SLOWING
MOTION, appears the slender figure of BETSY in a stylish
yellow dress. The crowd parts like the Red Sea, and there
she is: Walking all alone, untouched by the crowd, suspended
in space and time.
TRAVIS (V.O.)(CONTD)
She appeared like an angel out of
this open sewer. Out of this filthy
mass. She is alone: They cannot
touch her.
INT. TRAVIS' APARTMENT
He is at the table, writing in his diary.
CLOSEUP - His stubby pencil rests on the word "her".
CUT TO:
It is 3:30 IN THE MORNING in a bacon-shaped all night WEST
SIDE REATAURANT. The thick smell hangs in the air - fried
grease, smoke, sweat, regurgitated wine.
Whatever doesn't flush away in New York at night turns up in
places like this. A burly grease-stained COOK stands over
the grill. A JUNKIE shuffles from one side of the door to
another. Slouched over the small four-person formica tables
are several WELL-DRESSED BLACKS (too well-dressed for this
time and place), a cluster of STREET PEOPLE and a lost OLD
COOT who hangs onto his cup of coffee as if it were his last
possession.
The restaurant, brightly lit, perfectly conveys the image
urban plasticity - without the slightest hint of an
accompanying cleanliness.
Toward the rear of the restaurant sit three cabbies: WIZARD,
a worn man about fifty, DOUGH-BOY, younger family man,
CHARLIE T., fourtyish Black.
Wizard is telling Dough-Boy a story. Charlie T., his elbows
popped against table top, is not listening. He stares
silently down at a plate of cold scrambled eggs and a Racing
Forum. His eyes may not be open.
WIZARD
First she did her make-up. You
know, I hate it when they do that.
I mean she does the whole works,
the mascara, the eye-shadow, the
lipstick, the rouge...
18.
DOUGH-BOY
Not rouge. Blush-On, they call it.
WIZARD
The kind with a brush.
Travis appears at the door. He has to push aside the JUNKIES
to enter without making physical contact - something Travis
would not relish. He may be repulsed with these people and
this place, but he is too much a part of this to let his
feelings rise to the surface.
Wizard gives Travis a perfunctory wave.
WIZARD
Travis.
TRAVIS
Hey Wizard.
Travis straddles a seat at the table. Dough-Boy gives Travis
something between a wink and an eye-twitch saying:
DOUGH-BOY
Yeah, that's Blush-On. My wife uses
it,
WIZARD
(ironic)
Ask Travis. He's the ladies man.
Travis shrugs and motions for a cup of coffee.
WIZARD
(continuing)
Well, whatever the fuck it is, she
used it. And then the spray perfume.
You know, the real sweat kind -
and, on top of that, get this,
right when we're crossing the Tri-
boro bridge - she changes her
pantyhose!
DOUGH-BOY
No.
Travis turns his head. He appears not to be interested, but
is.
WIZARD
Yeah.
DOUGH-BOY
Could you see anything?
19.
WIZARD
Well, she was trying to keep her
skirt down, sort of, you know. But
it was pretty obvious what she was
doing. I mean, Christ, it was rush
hour and the traffic's practically
standing still.
DOUGH-BOY
What did you do?
WIZARD
Threw on the emergency, jumped the
seat and fucked her brains out -
What do you think!
(they laugh)
What do I have to do? Draw you a
picture?
DOUGH-BOY
Yeah.
WIZARD
What was I supposed to do? I was
watching in the rear view. You
know, just checkin' traffic.
(to Travis)
So howsit?
TRAVIS
(w/o inflection)
Some fleet driver for Bell just cut
up. Just heard it on the radio.
DOUGH-BOY
Stick up?
A WAITRESS brings Travis' coffee and a glass of water. He
asks for a cheeseburger.
WIZARD
Sure. What do you think? She wanted
to get out of the cab. I said
"Look, you're in the middle of the
fucking bridge..."
DOUGH-BOY
You said that?
WIZARD
Well, I said, "Lady, please, we're
on a bridge..."
20.
DOUGH-BOY
And what happened?
Travis awaits Wizard's answer.
WIZARD
She stayed in the cab, what's she
gonna do? but she stiffed me. A
real skunk.
DOUGH-BOY
A real skunk.
Wizard realizes Travis and Dough-Boy may not have met.
WIZARD
(paternal)
Travis, you know Dough-Boy, Charlie
T.?
Charlie T. nods sleepily. Travis indicates he knows Dough-Boy.
DOUGH-BOY
Yeah. We went to Harvard together.
(laughs)
WIZARD
We call him Dough-Boy cause he
likes the dollars. He'll chase a
buck straight into Jersey.
DOUGH-BOY
Look who's talking?
(gestures around table)
Who else would stay up all night to
catch the morning rush hour?
Travis sips his coffee. Charlie T.'s eyelids slip shut.
WIZARD
(to Travis)
So howsit?
TRAVIS
(w/o inflection)
Some fleet driver for Bell just got
cut up. Just heard it on the radio.
DOUGH-BOY
Stick up?
21.
TRAVIS
No, just some crazy fucker. Cut
have his ear off.
DOUGH-BOY
Where.
TRAVIS
In the jungle. 122nd.
Travis' eyes turn toward the restaurant's other patrons.
POV: THREE STREET PEOPLE sitting at a table. One GUY,
stoned, stares straight ahead. A raggedly attractive GIRL
rest her head on the shoulder of the other, a heavily
bearded YOUNG MAN with a headband. They kiss and tease each
other, momentarily lost in their separate world.
Travis watches the hippie couple closely, his feeling
sharply divided between cultural contempt and morose jealousy.
Why should these people enjoy the love and intimacy that has
always eluded him? He must enjoy these schizoid emotions,
because his eyes dwell on the couple.
DOUGH-BOY
(changing the subject)
You run all over town, don't you,
Travis?
WIZARD
(referring to 122nd St.)
Fuckin' Mau Mau land, that's what
it is.
Travis turns back to his companions.
TRAVIS
Huh?
DOUGH-BOY
I mean, you handle some pretty
rough traffic, huh?
TRAVIS
(catching on)
I have.
DOUGH-BOY
You carry a piece? You need one?
TRAVIS
Nah.
(a beat)
I suppose not.
22.
Waitress slaps down smudge-marked glass of water, and a
cheeseburger plate that looks more like a shrunken head on a
serving platter.
DOUGH-BOY
Well, you ever need one, I know a
feller that kin getcha a real nice
deal. Lotsa shit around.
WIZARD
The cops and company raise hell
they find out.
Travis drops two Alka-Seltzer into his glass of water.
DOUGH-BOY
Truck drivers bring up Harlem
Specials that blow up in your hand.
But this guy don't deal no shit.
Just quality. If you ever need
anything, I can put you in touch.
WIZARD
For a fee.
DOUGH-BOY
For a fee.
WIZARD
I never use mine. But it's a good
thing to have. Just as a threat.
DOUGH-BOY
(getting up)
well, if there's this many hackies
inside, there must be lots of hares
outside. And I'm gonna hustle 'em.
WIZARD
What ya gonna do with all that
money, Dough-Boy?
DOUGH-BOY
Support my kids. Can you dig it?
(pause)
nice to meet ya, Travis. So long,
Wizard. Say hello to Malcolm X for
me.
(nods to Charlie T.)
Charlie T. remains unmoved: He is sleeping.
23.
Dough-Boy exits. Travis smiles perfunctorily, then looks
back at Wizard. They really don't have much to talk about,
and the Wizard doesn't care to manufacture any more
conversations.
Travis scans the greasy spoon: The scene is unchanged.
CUT TO:
EXT. PALANTINE HEADQUARTERS - ANOTHER DAY
Traffic passes.
INT. PALANTINE HEADQUARTERS
Tom and Betsy are talking. She takes out a cigarette. He
takes out matches to light it.
BETSY
Try holding the match like this.
TOM
This is gotta be a game, right?
BETSY
(putting on glasses)
This I gotta see.
TOM
(burning fingers)
Ouch!
BETSY
(giggling)
Oh, are you all right?
TOM
I'm great. Always set my fingers on
fire. If you want to see another
trick. I do this thing with my nose.
BETSY
No. I just wanted to see if you
could light it that way. The guy at
the newsstand can.
TOM
Ah, yes, the guy at the newsstand,
Mr. Asbestos...
BETSY
He happens to be missing fingers. I
first noticed when -
24.
TOM
Is he Italian?
BETSY
No, why?
TOM
You sure he's not Italian?
BETSY
He's Black, OK?
TOM
Well, If he had been Italian, they
could have been shot off. Sometimes
the mob does that to teach guys a
lesson, If they blow a job or
something.
BETSY
As I said, he isn't Italian.
Besides, I thought they just killed
them.
TOM
Don't be naive. They can't kill
everybody. They have different
punishments for different things.
Like, if they kill a stool pidgeon,
they leave a canary on the body.
It's symbolic.
BETSY
Why don't they leave a pidgeon
instead of a canary?
TOM
I don't know. Maybe they don't
leave a canary. Don't be technical.
What I'm saying is if this newsstand
guy's Italian and his fingers are
gone, maybe he's a thief.
BETSY
First, he's not Italian. Second
he's not a thief. I noticed the
fingers when he was getting my
change - the right change. Two of
his fingers are missing. Just stubs.
Like they were blown away. I was
putting my change in my purse when
I saw him get out a cigarette. I
couldn't help watching. I was dying
to see how he'd light it.
25.
TOM
With the other hand, right?
BETSY
No, stupid. With the stubs. That's
the whole point.
TOM
I know that guy. His hand looks
like a paw. An old Black guy, the
newsstand at -
BETSY
No, this is young - well, I'm never
sure how old Black people are -
but, anyway, he isn't old. That's
for sure.
TOM
Show me how he did that again.
EXT. ACROSS THE STREET FROM HEADQUARTERS
Travis is striding briskly across Broadway toward the
Palantine Headquarters.
He s dressed the best we have seen him; his pants (not
jeans) are pressed, his boots shined, his hair combed. Under
his Army jacket he wears a freshly laundered shirt and ivy
league tie. He drops his cigarette, steps on it and walks in.
Watching Travis enter Palantine's Headquarters, we are
surprised to realize that Travis is really quite attractive.
His deformities are psychological, not physical. He believes
he is cursed, and therefore he is.
Travis walks briskly into the office, and heads toward
Betsy's desk. Tom walks over to greet him, but Travis
ignores him.
TRAVIS
(at Betsy's desk)
I want to volunteer.
As the CAMERA examines Travis' face more closely, one can
see the hollowness wrought by lack of sleep and sufficient
diet.
TOM
(at Betsy's desk)
If you'll come this way.
Travis elbows Tom off.
26.
TRAVIS
(to Betsy)
No. I want to volunteer to you.
TOM
(under his voice)
Bets.
BETSY waves TOM off with a short gesture, indicating
everything is OK. He walks away.
BETSY
(curious)
And why is that?
TRAVIS is on his best behavior. He smiles slightly:
TRAVIS
Because you are the most beautiful
woman I have ever seen.
BETSY is momentarily taken back, but pleased. TRAVIS'
presence has a definite sexual charge. He has those star
qualities BETSY looks for: She senses there is something
special about the young man who stands before her. And then,
too, there is that disarming smile. He is, as Betsy would
say, "fascinating".
BETSY
(smiling)
Is that so?
(pause)
But what do you think of Charles
Palantine?
TRAVIS
(his mind elsewhere)
Who mam?
BETSY
Charles Palantine. The man you want
to volunteer to help elect president.
TRAVIS
Oh, I think he's a wonderful man.
Make a great, great President.
BETSY
You want to canvass?
TRAVIS
Yes, mam.
27.
Betsy is interviewing Travis, but she is also teasing him a
little, leading him on in a gentle feminine way:
BETSY
How do you feel about Senator
Palantine's stand on welfare?
This takes TRAVIS back a bit. He obviously doesn't have the
slightest idea what Palantine's stand on welfare is, in
fact, he doesn't have any idea about politics whatsoever.
TRAVIS thinks a moment, then improvises an answer:
TRAVIS
Welfare, mam? I think the Senator's
right. People should work for a
living. I do. I like to work. Every
day. Get those old coots off
welfare and make 'em work for a
change.
Betsy does a subtle double-take: This isn't exactly
Palantine's position on welfare. She remain intrigued by
Travis.
BETSY
Well, that's not exactly what the
Senator has proposed. You might not
want to canvass, but there is
plenty more other work we need
done: Office work, filing, poster
hanging.
TRAVIS
I'm a good worker, Betsy mam, a
real good worker.
BETSY
(gesturing)
if you talk to Tom, he'll assign
you to something.
TRAVIS
If you don't mind, mam, I'd rather
work for you.
BETSY
Well, we're all working tonight.
TRAVIS
Well, Betsy mam, I drive a taxi at
night.
28.
BETSY
Well, then, what is it you exactly
want to do?
TRAVIS
(bolstering courage)
If you don't mind, mam, I'd be
mighty pleased if you'd go out and
have some coffee and pie with me.
Betsy doesn't quite know what to make of Travis. She is
curious, intrigued, tantalized. Like a moth, she draws
closer to the flame.
BETSY
Why?
TRAVIS
Well, Betsy mam, I drive by this
place here in my taxi many times a
day. And I watch you sitting here
at this big long desk with these
telephones, and I say to myself,
that's a lonely girl. She needs a
friend. And I'm gonna be her friend.
(smiles)
Travis rarely smiles, but when he does his whole face glows.
It is as if he is able to tap an inner reserve of charm
unknown even to himself. Betsy is completely disarmed.
BETSY
I don't know...
TRAVIS
It's just to the corner, mam. In
broad daytime. Nothing can happen.
I'll be there to protect you.
BETSY
(smiles)
All right.
(relents)
All right. I'm taking a break at
four o'clock. If you're here then
we'll go to the corner and have
some coffee and pie.
TRAVIS
Oh, I appreciate that, Betsy mam.
I'll be here at four o'clock
exactly.
(pause)
And... ah... Betsy...
29.
BETSY
Yes?
TRAVIS
My name is Travis.
BETSY
Thank you, Travis.
Travis nods, turns and exits.
Tom, who has been watching this interchange with a pseudo-
standoffish (actually jealous) air, steps over to Betsy. His
manner demands some sort of explanation of what Betsy was
doing.
Betsy simply shrugs (it's really none of his business) and
says:
BETSY
I'm just going to find out what the
cabbies are thinking.
CUT TO:
Travis is pacing back and forth on Broadway just beyond the
Palantine Headquarters. He checks his watch.
TRAVIS (V.O.)
April 26, 1972. Four o'clock p.m. I
took Betsy to the Mayfair Coffee
Shop on Broadway...
INT. COFFEE SHOP
Travis and Betsy are sitting in a booth of a small New York
Coffee Shop. They both have been served coffee; Travis is
nervously turning his cup around in his hands.
As Travis speaks V.O., WAITRESS brings their orders: Apple
pie for TRAVIS, fruit compote for BETSY.
TRAVIS (V.O.)
I had black coffee and apple pie
with a slice of melted yellow
cheese. I think that was a good
selection. Betsy had coffee and a
fruit salad dish. She could have
had anything she wanted.
Betsy's conversation interrupts Travis' V.O.:
30.
BETSY
We've signed up 15.000 Palantine
volunteers in New York so far. The
organizational problems are becoming
just staggering.
TRAVIS
I know what you mean. I've got the
same problems. I just can't get
things organized. Little things, I
mean. Like my room, my possessions.
I should get one of those signs
that says, "One of these days I'm
Gonna Organezizied".
Travis contorts his mouth to match his mispronunciation,
than breaks into a big, friendly, infectious grin. The very
sight of it makes one's heart proud.
Betsy cannot help but be caught up in Travis' gin. Travis'
contagious, quicksilver moods cause:
BETSY
(laughing)
Travis, I never ever met anybody
like you before.
TRAVIS
I can believe that.
BETSY
Where do you live?
TRAVIS
(evasive)
Oh, uptown. You know. Some joint.
It ain't much.
BETSY
So why did you decide to drive a
taxi at night?
TRAVIS
I had a regular job for a while,
days. You know, doin' this, doin'
that. But I didn't have anything to
do at night. I got kinda lonely,
you know, just wandering around. So
I decided to works nights. It ain't
good to be alone, you know.
BETSY
After this job, I'm looking forward
to being alone for a while.
31.
TRAVIS
Yeah, well...
(a beat)
In a cab you get to meet people.
You meet lotsa people. It's good
for you.
BETSY
What kind of people?
TRAVIS
Just people people, you know. Just
people.
(a beat)
Had a dead man once.
BETSY
Really?
TRAVIS
He'd been shot. I didn't know that.
He just crawled into the back seat,
said "West 45th Street" and conked
out.
BETSY
What did you do?
TRAVIS
I shot the meter off, for one thing.
I knew I wasn't goimg to get paid.
Then I dropped him off at the cop
shop. They took him.
BETSY
That's really something.
TRAVIS
Oh, you see lots of freaky stuff in
a cab. Especially when the moon's
out.
BETSY
The moon?
TRAVIS
The full moon. One night I had
three or four weirdoes in a row and
I looked up and, sure enough, there
it was - the full moon.
Betsy laughs. Travis continues:
32.
TRAVIS
Oh, yeah. People will do anything
in front of a taxi driver. I mean
anything. People too cheap to rent
a hotel room, people scoring dope,
people shooting up, people who want
to embarrass you.
(a bitterness emerges)
It's like you're not even there,
not even a person. Nobody knows you.
Betsy cuts Travis' bitterness short:
BETSY
Com'on, Travis. It's not that bad.
I take lots of taxis.
TRAVIS
I know. I could have picked you up.
BETSY
Huh?
TRAVIS
Late one night. About three. At the
plaza.
BETSY
Three in the morning? I don't think
so. I have to go to bed early. I
work days. It must have been
somebody else.
TRAVIS
No. It was you. You had some manila
folders and a pink bag from Saks.
Betsy, realizing Travis remembers her precisely, scrambles
for a polite rationale for her behavior:
BETSY
You're right! Now I remember! It
was after the Western regional
planners were in town and the
meeting went late. The next day I
was completely bushed. It was
unbelievable.
TRAVIS
If it wasn't for a drunk I would
have picked you up. He wanted to go
to the DMZ.
33.
BETSY
The DMZ?
TRAVIS
South Bronx. The worst. I tried to
ditch him, but he was already in
the cab, so I had to take him.
That's the law. Otherwise I would
have picked you up.
BETSY
That would have been quite a
coincidence.
TRAVIS
You'd be surprised how often you
see the same people, get the same
fare. People have patterns. They do
more or less the same things every
day. I can tell.
BETSY
Well, I don't go to the Plaza every
night.
TRAVIS
I didn't mean you. But just ordinary
people. A guy I know - Dough-Boy -
met his wife that way. They got to
talking. She said she usually
caught the bus so he started
picking her up at the bus stop,
taking her home with the flag up.
BETSY
That's very romantic. Some of your
fares must be interesting. See any
stars, politicians, deliver any
babies yet?
TRAVIS
Well, no... not really... had some
famous people in the cab.
(remembering)
I got this guy who makes lasers.
Not regular lasers, not the big
kind. Little lasers, pocket sized,
small enough to clip your belt like
a transistor radio, like a gun, you
know. Like a ray gun. Zap.
BETSY
(laughs)
What hours do you work?
34.
TRAVIS
I work a single, which means
there's no replacement - no second
man on the cab. Six to six,
sometimes eight. Seventy-two hours
a week.
BETSY
(amazed)
You mean you work seventy-two hours
a week.
TRAVIS
Sometimes 76 or 80. Sometimes I
squeeze a few more hours in the
morning. Eighty miles a day, a
hundred miles a night.
BETSY
You must be rich.
TRAVIS
(big affectionate smile)
it keeps ya busy.
BETSY
You know what you remind me of?
TRAVIS
What?
BETSY
That song by Kris Kristofferson,
where it's said "Like a pusher,
party truth, partly ficition, a
walking contradiction".
(smiles)
TRAVIS
I'm no pusher, Betsy. Honest. I
never have pushed.
TRAVIS
I didn't mean that, Travis. Just
the part about the contradiction.
TRAVIS
(more at ease)
Oh. Who was that again?
BETSY
The singer?
35.
TRAVIS
Yeah. Yes. I don't follow music too
much.
BETSY
(slowly)
Kris Kristofferson.
Travis looks at Betsy intently and they exchange smiles.
CUT TO:
Travis is walking confusedly around SAM GOODY'S at MIDDAY,
obviously unable to locate what he desires.
Travis is lost among the hip, young intellectual type that
populate the store. He watches the stylish, attractive
female help, unable to come right out and requests what he
desires.
A young SALESGIRL sees his plight, walks over and asks if he
needs any help. Travis INAUDIBLY says a name to her, although
the name is obviously Kris Kristofferson.
The Salesgirl digs out Kristofferson's "Silver-Tongued
Devil" album for him.
Travis says something additional to the Salesgirl and she
goes off to gift-wrap the album.
Travis emerges from the RECORD STORE, the brightly gift-
wrapped album proudly tucked under his arm.
CUT TO:
A lengthy POV SHOT from Travis' vantage point behind the
wheel.
We see the city as Travis sees it. The front windshield is a
little dirty, the lighted meter just up at the low right
screen. The intercom crackles with STATIC and MESSAGES.
The light turns green; we take off with a start. A short
first gear - quick shift - a long second gear. The cab eases
to the right of the street, checking out prospective fares.
Our eyes scan the long lines of PEDESTRIANS. The regular -
bums, junkies, tourists, hookers, homosexuals, hippies -
they mean nothing now. They only blend into the sidewalks
and lighted storefronts.
Our eyes now concentrate on those that step away from the
curb - is that man hailing a cab or scratching his head?
36.
In the next block there are perhaps three, four fares -
quick gas-up through this yellow light - brake sharply -
check the action. The first: Tourist, nickel tipper - let
the next guy pick them up. Let the second go also, the
third - there's a live fare. Middle-aged LOCAL WOMAN: Short
fare to the East Side, good tip.
We pull to the curb, waiting for her to get in. It is a long
wait - a Black STREET WALKER crosses in front of the cab. We
focus on (as Travis would) a YOUNG COUPLE embracing in the
distance.
As we travel, we hear Travis' random thoughts about selecting
fares and tips:
TRAVIS (V.O.)
You work at night, you get an
instinct. You can smell them. The
big tippers, the stiffs, the
trouble makers. Quarter is good tip
for Manhattan. Queens is better,
Brooklyn is best. go for the guys
with suitcases. The rich are the
worst tippers, hooks are lousy.
Spooks are okay, but they don't
live at Park Ave after all.
The meter is activated: $.60 registers. Tick, tick, tick. A
quick glance shows the woman is now seated. She says softly,
"192 East 89". We take off with another jolt. Cross back up
9th Ave, then cut through the park.
We're zooming up 9th Ave - how many green lights can we
string together? Somebody steps out to hail the cab, but
quickly steps back again. The meter is up $.90. It'll be a
$1.40 fare.
Now through the park and we're almost there. Check the
numbers - 134 - 140. End of the block. Fare=$1.40.
Check back mirror - she's getting out two bills. Two quarters
and a dime change. Tip'll be either.25 or .35.
The tip comes back: 35 cents - good tip. Good lady. We take
off again with a jolt.
This is Travis' world: Dark side streets, garish glaring
main streets, quick glances, quicker evaluations - a dozen
instantaneous decisions a minute. Are these people, are
these objects?
EXT. TRAVIS' TAXI speed down darkened street.
Travis lets off a fare and pulls into line at the Plaza.
37.
TRAVIS (V.O.)
I called Betsy again at her office,
and she said maybe we could go to a
movie together after she gets off
work tomorrow. That's my day off.
At first she hesitated, but I
called her again and she agreed.
(pause)
Betsy. Betsy what? I forgot to ask
her last name again. Damn. I've
got to remember stuff like that.
Travis' thoughts are with Betsy, as THREE MEN enter Travis'
cab. He activates the meter and pulls off.
MAN'S VOICE
St. Regis Hotel.
Travis checks the mirror. Scanning across the back seat, he
recognizes the middle passenger. It is CHARLES PALANTINE,
candidate for President. He must have left the Hotel
shortly after BETSY.
Tom, seated on the jump seat, checks his watch and speaks
deferentially to Palantine:
TOM
It's 12:30 now. You'll have fifteen
minutes before the actual luncheon
begins.
Palantine nods as his assistant picks up the thread of an
earlier conversation.
ASSISTANT
I don't think we have to worry
about anybody here committing
themselves until things start
coming in from California.
Travis recognizes his passenger. He puts out his cigarette.
TRAVIS
(interrupting)
Say, aren't you Charles Palantine,
the candidate?
PALANTINE
(only mildly irritated)
Yes I am.
38.
TRAVIS
Well, I'm one of your biggest
supporters. I tell everybody that
comes in this cab that they should
vote for you.
PALANTINE
(pleased; glances to
check Travis' license)
Why, thank you Travis.
TRAVIS
I'm sure you'll win, sir. Everybody
I know is going to vote for you.
(a beat)
I was going to put one of your
stickers on my taxi but the company
said it was against their policy.
PALANTINE
(pleasant)
I'll tell you, Travis, I've learned
more about this country sitting in
taxi cabs than in the board room of
General Motors.
TOM
(joking)
And in some other places too...
Palantine, his Assistant and Tom all laugh. Palantine,
quickly reassuming candiorial mien, speaks to Travis:
PALANTINE
Travis, what single thing would you
want the next President of this
country to do most?
TRAVIS
I don't know, sir. I don't follow
political issues much.
PALANTINE
There must be something...
TRAVIS
(thinks)
Well, he should clean up this city
here. It's full of filth and scum.
Scum and filth. It's like an open
sewer. I can hardly take it.
(MORE)
39.
TRAVIS (CONT'D)
Some days I go out and smell it
then I get headaches that just stay
and never go away. We need a
President that would clean up this
whole mess. Flush it out.
Palantine is not a Hubert Humphrey-type professional
bullshitter, and Travis' intense reply stops him dead in his
tracks. He is forced to fall back on a stock answer but
tries to give it some meaning.
PALANTINE
(after a pause)
I know what you mean, Travis, and
it's not going to be easy. We're
going to have to make some radical
changes.
TRAVIS
(turning the wheel)
Damn straight.
EXT. BARCLAY HOTEL
TRAVIS' taxi pulls up in front of the Barclay Hotel.
PALANTINE and AIDE get out of the cab. SECOND AIDE stays in
back seat a moment to pay TRAVIS.
PALANTINE looks in front window of cab momentarily and nods
goodbye to TRAVIS.
PALANTINE
Nice talking to you, Travis.
TRAVIS
(calling back)
Thank you, sir. You're a good man,
sir.
Travis' taxi departs.
PALANTINE and AIDES walk up carpet to the St. Regis.
CAMERA CLOSES IN on PALANTINE as he stops, turns back and
watches Travis' departing taxi.
PALANTINE turns back and ascends the hotel steps with his
AIDES.
40.
EXT. MANHATTAN STREET - EARLY MORNING
TRAVIS, dressed to the teeth, walks brightly down the
sidewalk. His face is frehsly shaved, his hair combed, his
tie straightened.
He pauses in a store window to check his appearance.
Under his arm he carries the gift-wrapped Kristofferson
record album.
OUTSIDE PALANTINE HEADQUARTERS
BETSY, smartly dressed, waves goodbye to another CAMPAIGN
WORKER and walks out the door to greet him.
A SHORT WHILE LATER, TRAVIS and BETSY are walking down
Broadway toward Times Square. BETSY does not let their
bodies touch as they walk although TRAVIS contemplates
edging closer to her.
Betsy has opened the package and is admiring the record -
or, rather, Travis' sentiment behind giving it.
Travis looks around himself with pride: This is a moment in
his life - one of the few.
BETSY
You didn't have to spend your
money - ?
TRAVIS
(interrupting)
He'll, what else can I do with it
all?
Betsy notices that the seal on the record has not been broken.
BETSY
Travis, you haven't even played the
record?
TRAVIS
(evasive)
Yeah, well my stereo player is
broke. But I'm sure the record is OK.
BETSY
Your stereo broke? God, I could
hardly stand that. I live on music.
41.
TRAVIS
I don't follow music much. I'd like
to though.
(second thought)
Honest.
BETSY
(pointing to album)
So you haven't heard this record yet?
TRAVIS
No.
(sly smile)
I thought maybe you could play it
for me on your player.
Betsy's face backtracks a bit. Maybe she was wrong to go out
with this fellow she doesn't know.
She makes a polite laugh.
LATER. Travis and Betsy are in TIMES SQUARE, turning the
corner from Broadway to 42nd Street. Travis carries the
album under his arm.
They approach the garish marquee of a large midtown porno
theatre advertising "The Swedish Marriage Manual". The box
office is flanked on both sides by glass cages filled with
explicit publicity stills. Offending portions have been
blocked out with black tape.
Travis steps over to the window and buys two $5 tickets.
Betsy, befuddled, watches him. She doesn't know what to say.
Travis returns with the tickets.
Betsy still has not fully comprehended what is happening:
BETSY
What are you doing?
TRAVIS
(innocent)
I bought a couple of tickets.
BETSY
But this is a porno movie.
TRAVIS
No, these are the kind that couples
go to. They're not like the other
movies. All kinds of couples go.
Honest. I've seen them.
42.
Travis seems confused. He is so much part of his own world,
he fails to comprehend another's world. Compared to the
movies he sees, this is respectable. But then there's also
something that Travis could not even acknowledge, much less
admit: That he really wants to get this pure white girl into
that dark porno theatre.
Travis makes an awkward gesture to escort Betsy into the
theatre. Betsy looks at the tickets, at the theatre, at
Travis. She mentally shakes her head and walks toward the
turnstile. She thinks to herself: "What the Hell. What can
happen?" She's always been curious about these pictures
anyway, and - like all women, no matter how intelligent -
she's been raised not to offend her date. A perverse logic
which applies even more in offsetting circumstances like
these.
INSIDE THE THEATER
Travis escorts Betsy to an empty center row. Travis was
right. Couples do go to films like this. There are at least
six or seven other MEN with their bewigged "DATES".
Travis settles into his familiar porno theatre slouch. Betsy
looks curiously from side to side.
ON SCREEN, a conservatively-dressed middle-aged woman is
speaking in Swedish about importance of healthy sex life in
a happy marriage. Subtitles translate her words. Then,
without warning, there is a direct CUT to a couple copulating
on a sterile table-like bed.
Travis watches intently. The color, however, is slowly
draining from Betsy's cheeks. One thought fills her mind:
"What am I doing here?"
TRAVIS
(to himself)
Damn.
BETSY
What's wrong?
TRAVIS
I forgot to get the Coca-Cola.
That does it. Betsy just looks at him for a moment, then
gets up and starts to leave. Travis, confused, hustles after
her.
He follows her out of the theatre.
43.
ON THE SIDEWALK
Travis catches up with her.
TRAVIS
Where are you going?
BETSY
I'm leaving.
TRAVIS
What do you mean?
Betsy looks at Travis, trying to understand him:
BETSY
These are not the kind of movies I
go to.
TRAVIS
Well, I don't follow movies too
much...
BETSY
You mean these are the only kind of
movies you go to?
The TICKET GIRL watches expressionlessly from the booth.
TRAVIS
This is sort of high class...
BETSY
I mean porno movies.
TRAVIS
(hesitant)
Well... mostly...
BETSY
My God!
TRAVIS
We can go to another movie if you
like, I don't care. I got money.
There's plenty...
Travis gestures toward the long row of 42nd Street marquees,
but is interrupted by Betsy:
BETSY
If you just wanted to fuck, why
didn't you just come right out and
say it?
44.
Travis is flabbergasted by Betsy's blunt language. His arm
still gestures toward the marquees, his lips continue to
move, but words do not come out.
Unable to respond to Betsy's question, Travis picks up where
he left off:
TRAVIS
... there's plenty of movies around
here. I haven't seen any of them,
but I'm sure they're good.
BETSY
No, Travis. You're a sweet guy and
all that, but I think this is it.
I'm going home.
TRAVIS
(interrupting)
You mean you don't want to go to a
movie?
(a beat)
There's plenty of movies around here.
BETSY
No, I don't feel so good. We're
just two very different kinds of
people, that's all.
TRAVIS
(puzzled)
Huh?
BETSY
It's very simple. You go your way,
I'll go mine. Thanks anyway, Travis.
TRAVIS
But... Betsy...
BETSY
I'm getting a taxi.
She walks to the curb.
TRAVIS
(following her)
What about the record?
BETSY
Keep it.
TRAVIS
Can I call you?
45.
Betsy looks for a cab.
TRAVIS
(tender)
Please, Betsy, I bought it for you.
Betsy looks at his sad, sweet face and relents a bit.
BETSY
All right, I'll accept the record.
Betsy accepts the record, but quickly turns and hails a taxi.
BETSY
Taxi!
A taxi quickly pulls up.
Travis feebly protests to no one in particular:
TRAVIS
But I got a taxi.
Betsy gives instructions to CAB DRIVER, looks briefly back
at Travis, then straight ahead. Taxi speeds off.
Travis looks around helplessly: A cluster of PEDESTRIANS on
the crowded street has stopped to watch the argument. Travis
looks back at the woman in the porno theatre box office who
has also been following the argument.
CUT TO:
INSIDE TRAVIS' APARTMENT
Travis is sitting at the table. There are some new items on
the table: His giant econo-sized bottle of vitamins, a giant
econo-sized bottle of aspirins, a pint of apricot brandy, a
partial loaf of cheap white bread.
On the wall behind the table hang two more items: A gag sign
reading "One of These Days I'm Gonna Get Organezizied" and
an orange-and-black bumper sticker for Charles Palantine.
TRAVIS (V.O.)
May 8, 1972. My life has taken
another turn again. The days move
along with regularity...
C.U. of notebook: Travis is no longer sitting at the desk.
The pencil rests on the open notebook.
46.
LATER THAT DAY: TRAVIS has pulled his straight-backed chair
around and is watching his small portable TV, which rests on
the upright melon crate.
A cereal bowl partially filled with milk rests in his lap.
Travis pours a couple shots of the apricot brandy into the
bowl, dips folded chunks of white bread into the mixture,
and eats them.
Travis is watching early evening NEWS PROGRAM. TV background
SOUND. Charles Palantine is being interviewed somewhere on
the campaign trail.
TRAVIS (V.O.)(CONTD)
... one day indistinguishable from
the next, a long continuous chain,
then suddenly - there is a change.
Betsy is walking down a midtown street when Travis suddenly
appears before her. He has been waiting.
Travis tries to make conversation but she doesn't listen.
She motions for him to go away and keeps on walking.
Travis, protesting, follows.
CUT TO:
INT. BUILDING - DAY
Travis speaks intensely into a wall pay phone.
TRAVIS (V.O.)
I tried to call her several times.
We hear Travis' Voice on the phone.
TRAVIS
(smoking a cigarette)
you feeling better? You said you
didn't feel so good...
TRAVIS (V.O.)
But after the first call, she would
no longer come to the phone.
Travis holds the receiver in his hand. The other party has
hung up.
TRACKING SHOT across interior lower wall of TRAVIS' APARTMENT.
Against the stark wall there is a row of wilted and dying
floral arrangements. Each one of the four or five bouquets
is progressively more wilted than the one closer to the door.
They have been returned.
47.
TRAVIS (V.O.)
I also sent flowers with no luck. I
should not dwell on such things,
but set them behind me. The smell
of the flowers only made me sicker.
The headaches got worse I think
I've got stomach cancer. I should
not complain so. "You're only as
healthy as you feel."
A drama is acted out at PALANTINE HEADQUARTERS: Travis,
groggy and red-eyed from lack of sleep, walks into the
campaign headquarters about NOONTIME.
Betsy is standing near the rear of the office; she ducks
from sight when she sees Travis enter. Travis' path is cut
short by Tom's large-framed body. There is no live sound.
TRAVIS (V.O.)
I realize now how much she is like
the others, so cold and distant.
Many people are like that. They're
like a union.
Travis tries to push his way past Tom but Tom grabs him.
Travis says something sharply to Tom and the two scuffle.
Tom, by far the taller and stronger, quickly overcomes
Travis, wrenching his arm behind his back.
Travis kicks and protests as Tom leads him to the front door.
ON THE SIDEWALK
Travis' efforts quickly subside when Tom motions to a nearby
POLICEMAN. Travis quiets down and walks off.
CUT TO:
EXT.
Travis is again making his way through the garish urban
night. He stops for a PASSENGER on PARK AVE. A middle-aging
professorial executive.
C.U. TRAVIS: His face is expressionless. The MAN makes
himself comfortable in the back seat.
PROFESSIONAL PASSENGER
Jackson Heights.
Travis has no intention of driving out to Jackson Heights
and coming back with a fare.
48.
TRAVIS
I'm off duty.
PROFESSIONAL PASSENGER
You mean you don't want to go out
to Jackson Heights?
TRAVIS
No, I'm off duty.
PROFESSIONAL PASSENGER
Then how come your "Off Duty" light
wasn't on.
TRAVIS switches on the "Off Duty" light.
TRAVIS
It was on.
(gesturing toward top
of taxi)
it just takes a while to warm up.
Like a TV.
TRAVIS doesn't budge. PROFESSIONAL PASSENGER curses to
himself and exits cab. Travis takes off.
POV as Travis' eyes dwell on the young HIP COUPLES coming
out of a East Side movie house.
LATER THAT NIGHT, TRAVIS pulls over for a young (mid-
twenties) MAN wearing a leather sports jacket.
TRAVIS eyes his passenger in rear-view mirror.
YOUNG PASSENGER
471 Central Park West.
EXT.
TRAVIS' taxi speeds off.
LATER, TRAVIS' taxi slows down as it approaches 400 block of
Central Park West.
Travis checks apartment numbers.
YOUNG PASSENGER
Just pull over to the curb a moment.
TRAVIS turns the wheel.
YOUNG PASSENGER
Yeah, that's fine. Just sit here.
49.
TRAVIS waits impassively. The motor ticks away.
After a long pause, the PASSENGER speaks:
YOUNG PASSENGER
Cabbie, ya see that light up there
on the seventh floor, three windows
from this side of the building?
CAMERA CLOSES IN on 417 Central Park West: TRACKING UP to
the seventh floor, it moves three windows to the right.
TRAVIS (V.O.)
Yeah.
A young WOMAN wearing a slip crosses in front of the light.
YOUNG PASSENGER (O.S.)
Ya see that woman there?
TRAVIS (O.S.)
Yeah.
YOUNG PASSENGER (O.S.)
That's my wife.
(a beat)
But it ain't my apartment.
(a beat)
A nigger lives there.
(a beat)
She left me two weeks ago. It took
me this long to find out where she
went.
(a beat)
I'm gonna kill her.
C.U. TRAVIS' face: it is devoid of expression.
YOUNG PASSENGER
What do you think of that, cabbie?
C.U. YOUNG PASSENGER's face: it is gaunt, drained of blood,
full of fear and anger.
Travis does not respond.
YOUNG PASSENGER
Huh?
(a beat)
What do you think of that, huh?
Travis shrugs, gesturing toward meter.
50.
YOUNG PASSENGER
I'm gonna kill her with a .44
Magnum pistol.
CAMERA returns to SEVENTH FLOOR WINDOW. Woman is standing in
the light.
YOUNG PASSENGER (O.S.)
Did you ever see what a .44 can do
to a woman's face, cabbie?
(pause)
Did you ever see what it can do to
a woman's pussy, cabbie?
Travis says nothing.
YOUNG PASSENGER (O.S.)
I'm going to put it right up to
her, cabbie. Right in her, cabbie.
You must think I'm real sick, huh?
A real pervert. Sitting here and
talking about a woman's pussy and a
.44, huh?
CAMERA CLOSES IN on Travis' face: He is watching the woman
in the seventh floor window with complete and total
absorption. It's the same glazed-over stare we saw in his
eyes as he watched the porno movie.
FADE TO:
BROOKLYN STREET CORNER - DAY
Travis stands near the corner wearing his boots, jeans,
western shirt and army jacket.
He pulls his aspiring bottle out of his pocket, shakes three
or four into his palm, pops them into his mouth and chews.
An "Off Duty" taxi pulls up to the curb. Travis gets in.
INSIDE TAXI
Dough-Boy leans back from the wheel and greets Travis as he
enters.
DOUGH-BOY
Hey Travis. This here's Easy Andy.
He's a travelling salesman.
In the back seat, beside Travis, sits ANDY, an attractive
young man about 29. He wears a pin-striped suit, white shirt
and floral tie. His hair is modishly long.
51.
ANDY
Hello Travis.
Travis nods as the taxi speeds off.
Dough-Boy slows down near an economy hotel. Not a flop
house, but not do fancy they care what the guests do in the
privacy of their rooms.
ANDY
This is fine, Dough-Boy
(to Travis)
Pay Dough-Boy here.
Travis pulls a twenty out of his pocket and gives it to
Dough-Boy.
TRAVIS
20 bucks?
DOUGH-BOY
(takes bill)
Yeah. Hey thanks. That's real nice,
Travis.
Travis and Andy get out of the cab and walk toward the hotel.
Dough-Boy pulls away.
As they enter the hotel, they pass a JUNKIE, stoned out and
spread-eagled across the hood of a derelict old blue dodge.
INT. HOTEL
Travis follows Andy up the worn carpeted stairs and down the
hallway. Andy unlocks the door to one of the rooms.
The HOTEL ROOM is barren and clean; there's no sign anyone
is staying in it. The fire escape is appropriately near.
Andy locks the door behind them, steps over to the closet,
unlocks it and pulls out two grey Samsonite suitcases - the
kind you can drive a truck over.
ANDY
Dough-Boy probably told you I don't
carry any Saturday Night Specials
or crap like that. It's all out of
State, clean, brand new, top-of-
the-line stuff.
Andy places the suitcases on the white bedspread. The
suitcases are equipped with special locks, which he quickly
opens.
52.
Andy opens the suitcases: Stacked in grey packing foam are
rows and rows of brand new hand guns.
TRAVIS
You got a .44 Magnum?
ANDY
That's an expensive gun.
TRAVIS
I got money.
Andy unzips a cowhide leather pouch to reveal a .44 Magnum
pistol. He holds it gingerly, as if it were a precious
treasure. Andy opens the chambers and cradles the long
eight-inch barrel in his palm. The .44 is a huge, oversize
inhuman gun.
ANDY
(admiringly)
It's a monster. Can stop a car --
put a bullet right into the block.
A premium high resale gun. $350 --
that's only a hundred over list.
Easy Andy is a later version of the fast-talking, good-
looking kid in college who was always making money on one
scheme or another. In high school he sold lottery tickets,
in college he scored dope, and now he's hustling hand guns.
Andy holds the Magnum out for Travis' inspection. There's a
worshipful CLOSEUP of the .44 Magnum. It is a monster.
Travis hefts the huge gun. It seems out of place in his hand.
It is built on Michelangelo's scale. The Magnum belongs in
the hand of a marble god, not a slight taxi driver. Travis
hands the gun back to Andy.
ANDY
I could sell this gun in Harlem for
$500 today - but I just deal high
quality goods to high quality
people.
(pause)
Now this may be a little big for
practical use, in which case I'd
recommend the .38 Smith and Wesson
Special. Fine solid gun - nickel
plated. Snub-nosed, otherwise the
same as the service revolver. Now
that'll stop anything that moves
and it's handy, flexible.
(MORE)
53.
ANDY (CONT'D)
The Magnum, you know, that's only
if you want to splatter it against
the wall. The movies have driven up
the price of the Magnum anyway.
Everybody wants them now. But the
Wesson .38 - only $250 - and worth
every dime of it.
(he hefts the .38)
Throw in a holster for $10.
Travis hefts the nickel-plated .38, points it out the window.
ANDY (CONT'D)
Some of these guns are like toys,
but a Smith and Wesson, man, you
can hit somebody over the head with
it and it will still come back dead
on. Nothing beats quality.
(pause)
You interested in an automatic?
TRAVIS
I want a .32. Revolver. And a
palm gun. That .22 there.
ANDY
That's the Colt .25 - a fine little
gun. Don't do a lot of damage, but
it's as fast as the Devil. Handy
little gun, you can carry it almost
anywhere. I'll throw it in for
another $125.
Travis holds the .32 Revolver, hefts it, slips it under his
belt and pulls his shirt over it. He turns from side to
side, to see how it rides in his waist.
TRAVIS
How much for everything.
ANDY
The .32's $150 - and you're really
getting a good deal now - and all
together it comes to, ah, seven
eighty-five for four pieces and a
holster. He'll, I'll give you the
holster, we'll make it seventy-five
and you've got a deal - a good one.
TRAVIS
How much to get a permit to carry?
54.
ANDY
Well, you're talking big money now.
I'd say at least five grand, maybe
more, and it would take a while to
check it out. The way things are
going now $5.000 is probably low.
You see, I try not to fool with the
small-time crap. Too risky, too
little bread. Say 6 G's, but if I
get the permit it'll be as solid as
the Empire State Building.
TRAVIS
Nah, this'll be fine.
ANDY
You can't carry in a cab even with
a permit - so why bother?
TRAVIS
Is there a firing range around?
ANDY
Sure, here, take this card, go to
this place and give 'em the card.
They'll charge you, but there won't
be any hassle.
Travis pulls out a roll of crisp one hundred dollar bills
and counts off eight.
ANDY
You in Nam? Can't help but notice
your jacket?
TRAVIS
(looking up)
Huh?
ANDY
Vietnam? I saw it on your jacket.
Where were you? Bet you got to
handle a lot of weapons out there.
Travis hands Andy the bills. Andy counts them and gives
Travis a twenty and five.
TRAVIS
Yeah. I was all around. One
hospital, then the next.
55.
ANDY
(through counting)
It's he'll out there all right. A
real shit-eatin' war. I'll say
this, though: It's bringing a lot
of fantastic guns. The market's
flooded. Colt automatics are all
over.
(pockets the money)
TRAVIS
(intensely)
They'd never get me to go back.
They'd have to shoot me first.
(pause)
You got anything to carry these in?
(gestures to pistols)
Travis is like a light switch: For long periods he goes
along dark and silent, saying nothing; then suddenly, the
current is turned on and the air is filled with the
electricity of his personality. Travis' inner intensity sets
Andy back a bit, but he quickly recovers.
ANDY
Sure.
Andy pulls a gym bag from under his bed. He wraps the gun in
the sheet in the bag and zips it up. An identical gym bag
can be partially seen under the bed. He hands Travis the bag.
ANDY
You like ball games?
TRAVIS
Huh?
ANDY
I can get you front and center.
What do you like? I can get you
Mets, Knicks, Rangers? Hell, I can
get you the Mayor's box.
TRAVIS
Nah. I ain't interested.
Andy closes and locks the suitcases.
ANDY
Okay, okay.
Travis turns to leave.
56.
ANDY
Wait a second, Travis. I'll walk
you out.
CUT TO:
SEVERAL WEEKS LATER. The face of TRAVIS' apartment has
changed. The long, blank wall behind the table is now
covered with tacked-up charts, pictures, newspaper-clippings,
maps. CAMERA does not come close enough to discern the exact
contents of these clippings.
Travis is in C.U. in the middle of the floor doing push-ups.
He is bareback, wearing only his jeans. There is a long scar
across his left side.
TRAVIS (V.O.)
May 29, 1972. I must get in shape.
Too much sitting has ruined my body.
Twenty-five push-ups each morning,
one hundred sit-ups, one hundred
knee-bends. I have quit smoking.
Travis, still bareback, passes his stiff arm through the
flame of a gas burner without flinching a muscle.
TRAVIS (V.O.)
Total organization is necessary.
Every muscle must be tight.
INT. FIRING RANGE
The CRACKING SOUND of rapid-fire pistol shots fills the
musty air of the firing range. The walls are heavily
soundproofed, and sawdust is spread over the floor.
Travis stands rock solid, firing the .44 Magnum at an arm's
length. With each blasting discharge from the Magnum,
Travis' body shudders and shakes, his arm as if each recoil
from the giant gun was a direct attack on his masculinity.
Travis fires the Magnum as quickly as he can re-set, re-aim
and re-fire. The Magnum is empty, he sets it down, picks up
the .38 Special and begins firing as soon as he can aim.
After the .38, comes the .25: It is as if he were in a
contest to see how quickly he can fire the pistols. After
all the guns are discharged, he begins reloading them
without a moment's hesitation.
Downrange, the red and white targets have the black outline
of a human figure drawn over them. The contour-man convulses
under the steady barrage of Travis' rapid-fire shots.
57.
INT. APARTMENT
TRAVIS, now wearing an unfastened green plaid western shirt,
sits at the table writing in his diary. The vial of bennies
is on the table.
TRAVIS (V.O.)
My body fights me always. It won't
work, it won't sleep, it won't
shit, it won't eat.
LATER. TRAVIS, his shirt still revealing his bare chest,
sits on his straight-backed chair watching the TV. The .44
Magnum rests on his lap.
The TV is Broadcasting ROCK TIME, a late afternoon local
teenage dance and rock show. On screen YOUNG TEENYBOPPERS
are dancing, and the TV CAMERAMAN, as any devotee of the
genre knows, is relentlessly ZOOMING-IN on their firm young
breasts, fannies and crotches -- a sensibility which reflects
TRAVIS' own. These supper-hour rock dance shows are the most
unabashedly voyeuristic form of broadcasting the medium has
yet developed.
The HARD ROCK NUMBER ends, and the TV CAMERA CUTS TO the
local DISC JOCKEY, a hirsute plastic-looking man about 35.
FIVE scrumptious TEENYBOPPERS are literally hanging on his
shoulders and arms, their faces turned up to him in droolish
awe. Out of his mouth comes an incessant stream of disc
jockey blather. He is the complete asshole; I don't know who
is currently performing this function in New York, but in
Los Angeles his name is Real Don Steele.
TV DISC JOCKEY
Freshingly, fantastic, freaked-out
dance time. Can you dig it? Dig on
it. You got it, flaunt it.
TRAVIS watches the show, his face hard and unmoving. He is,
as the Scriptures would say, pondering all these things in
his heart. Why is it the assholes get all the beautiful
young chicks? He takes a swig of peach brandy.
CUT TO:
EARLY EVENING, about 6:30 p.m. TRAVIS' taxi, with 'Off
Duty' light on, sits near the curb somewhere in midtown
Manhattan.
TRAVIS runs his hand down the left side of his jacket,
attempting to smooth out the bulge underneath.
TRAVIS opens his jacket partially, checking underneath.
There rests the nickel-plated .38 Special in its holster.
58.
P.O.V. down the street where TRAVIS' taxi is parked: Several
blocks ahead the red, white and blue campaign headquarters
of CHARLES PALANTINE are visible.
TRAVIS' eyes resume their watch.
TRAVIS starts the car and drives toward the PALANTINE
HEADQUARTERS.
TRACKING P.O.V. shot of row of storefronts leading up to
Palantine Headquarters. P.O.V. passes headquarters: it is
half-empty. A few stalwart SUPPORTERS continue to work
toward the rear of the office. BETSY'S desk ----
Sign in window reads: "Only 4 More Days Until Arrival of
CHARLES PALANTINE."
TRAVIS' "Off Duty" light goes off as he speeds up and heads
toward a prospective fare.
LATER THAT NIGHT, about 9:30. UPTOWN -- 128th and Amsterdam.
The Jungle. TRAVIS' taxi pulls up to an address, lets off
YOUNG BLACK MAN.
TRAVIS receives fare and tip, takes off.
P.O.V. as TRAVIS works his way through Harlem back down
Seventh Ave. Cluster of YOUNG BLACK STREET PUNKS pretend to
hail cab -- we ignore them. One throws wine bottle which
crashes in our path -- taxi swerves to avoid it.
CAMERA TRACKS through sidewalk CROWDS with the roving,
suspicious, antagonistic eye of a taxi-driver.
LATER THAT NIGHT, about 12:30. TRAVIS is on the LOWER EAST
SIDE, somewhere on B Street, east of Tompkins Square.
The sidewalks are populated with the remains of what once
was the hippie movement: TEENAGE STREET-WALKERS, JUNKIES,
THUGS, emaciated LONERS on the prowl.
TRAVIS' taxi pulls over, letting out a fare.
TRAVIS pockets his fare, but the rear right door doesn't
slam -- instead there is the SOUND of another person jumping
into the cab.
TRAVIS checks the back seat in the rear-view mirror: there
sits a pale HIPPIE PROSTITUTE.
The GIRL is, at best, 14 or 15, although she has been made
up to look older. She wears floppy, Janis Joplin clothes.
Her face is pallid. She wears large blue-tinted sunglasses
and multi-colored leg stockings.
59.
Her name, as we shall learn later, is IRIS.
TRAVIS hesitates, looking at her in the mirror.
IRIS
Come on, mister, let's get outta
here -- quick.
TRAVIS moves to activate the meter, when the rear door opens.
IRIS is helped out of the cab by a MAN TRAVIS cannot see.
SPORT
(to IRIS)
Come on, baby, let's go. This is
all a real drag.
IRIS lets herself be taken out of the cab. The rear door
closes.
Sport leans partially in the front window, throwing something
on the front seat. TRAVIS looks: it is a crumpled $20 bill.
SPORT
Just forget all about this, cabbie.
It's nothing.
TRAVIS cannot see the Sport's face lime green completely,
but notices he is wearing a jacket. The voice is that of a
man in his early twenties.
TRAVIS turns to catch a glimpse of Sport as he walks off
with Iris.
TRAVIS shrugs and turns around.
TRAVIS' taxi pulls away.
CUT TO:
EARLY MORNING, 6:00 a.m. Quitting time -- TRAVIS pulls into
TAXI GARAGE.
INT. GARAGE
TRAVIS pulls into his stall.
TRAVIS sits in driver's seat, thinking a moment. He looks
to his right: the crumpled $20 bill still lies there,
untouched since it was thrown there six hours previously.
TRAVIS reluctantly picks up the $20 bill and stuffs it into
his jacket pocket as he gets out of the cab. He gathers up
his time report and heads toward book-in table.
60.
A SHORT WHILE LATER, TRAVIS is walking down the sidewalk
near the taxi garage. His hands are in his jacket pockets,
obscuring the slight bulge on his left side.
TRAVIS turns into the box offfice of PORNO THEATER. He
reaches into jacket pocket for money to purchase ticket and
pulls out crumpled $20 bill. Seeing the $20 bill, he
decides not to use it, and pays for ticket out of his wallet
instead.
TRAVIS walks past concession stand en route to the darkened
theater auditorium. A YOUNG MAN is now sitting listlessly
behind the concessions counter.
INT. PORNO THEATER AUDITORIUM
TRAVIS slouches down into his seat, his face glowing in the
reflected light from the screen.
FEMALE MOVIE VOICE (O.S.)
Oh, come on, now, down, lick it,
come on...
(a beat)
Mmm, that's good. Ahh, ahh, more ...
TRAVIS averts his eyes as the action on screen becomes too
graphic. Placing his stiffened right hand beside his eyes,
TRAVIS can, by turning it inward, shut off or open up his
field of vision by small degrees.
MOVIE VOICE DIMINISHES, replaced by SOUND of TRAVIS' voice
over.
TRAVIS (V.O.)
The idea had been growing in my
brain ...
CUT TO:
TRACKING SHOT to wall of TRAVIS' APARTMENT. CAMERA MOVES
slowly across wall covered with clippings, notes, maps,
pictures. We now see their contents clearly:
The wall is covered with CHARLES PALANTINE political
paraphernalia; there are pictures of him, newspaper articles,
leaflets, bumper stickers. As the CAMERA MOVES along it
discovers a sketch of Plaza Hotel, Kennedy Airport and cut-
up sections of city maps with notations written in. There
is lengthy N.Y. Times clipping detailing the increased
Secret Security Protection during the primaries. A section
pertaining to PALANTINE is underlined. Further along there
is a sheet reading "traveling schedule" and a calendar for
June with finely written notations written over the dates.
61.
TRAVIS (V.O.)(CONTD)
... for some time. True Force.
All the king's men cannot put it
back together again.
As the CAMERA reaches the end of its track, it finds TRAVIS,
standing, his shirt open, but the mattress. He is wearing
the empty holster, and the .44 is in his hand.
In the SHOTS that follow TRAVIS gives the audience a lesson
in gunmanship:
TRAVIS practices fast-drawing the .38 Special from his
holster and firing it.
He hooks the .44 into his pants behind his back and practices
withdrawing it. He holds the .44 firmly at an arm's length,
tightening his forearm muscles.
He has worked out a system of metal gliders taped to his
inner forearm, whereby the Colt .25 can rest hidden behind
the upper forearm until a spring near the elbow is activated,
sending the .25 flying down the gliders into his palm. He
has cut open his shirt to accomodate the gun mechanism and
now checks in the mirror to see how well the gun is hidden.
He straps an Army combat knife to his calf and cuts a slit
in his jeans where the knife can be pulled out quickly.
He now tries on various combinations of shirts, sweater and
jacket in front of the mirror to see how well he can hide
all the handguns he wishes to carry. Finally, wearing two
western shirts, a sweater and jacket, he manages to obscure
the location of all three guns, although he resembles a
hunter bundled up against the Arctic winter.
He sits at the table dum-dumming the .44 bullets -- cutting
"x's" across the bullet heads.
P.O.V.: he scans the objects of his room through the scope
of the .38.
TRAVIS stands in the middle of his apartment, staring at his
PALANTINE wall. His eyes are glazed with introspection; he
sees nothing but himself.
TRAVIS (V.O.)(CONTD)
Listen you screwheads: Here is a
man ...
TRAVIS lies on his mattress, all bundled up in his shirts,
sweater, jacket and guns. His face is turned toward the
ceiling, but his eyes are closed. Although the room is
flooded with light, he is finally catching some sleep.
62.
The big furry animal drifts into his own world.
TRAVIS (V.O.)(CONTD)
... who wouldn't take it any more,
a man who stood up against the
scum, the cunts, the dogs, the
filth. Here is ...
(voice trails off)
C.U. of diary: entry ends with words "Here is" followed by
erratic series of dots.
CUT TO:
NIGHT: the taxis are roaming the slick streets.
Sometimes after 2:00 a.m., TRAVIS pulls his cab to the curb
near an all-night delicatessen in Spanish Harlem. The
streets are relatively deserted.
TRAVIS waves to STOREKEEPER as he walks past counter:
TRAVIS
Hey 'Melio.
Spanish rhythm and blues blares from a cheap radio.
TRAVIS walks over to dairy counter in rear of store, picks
out a pint of chocolate milk, goes over to the open cooler
and picks through various chilled prepackaged sandwiches.
He overhears a VOICE as he looks at the sandwiches.
When TRAVIS returns to the counter with the chocolate milk
and a sandwich in one hand, he sees a YOUNG BLACK MAN
holding a gun on 'Melio. The STICK-UP MAN is nervous,
hopped-up, or both; he bounces on the balls of his cheap
worn black tennis shoes -- a strung-out junkie on a
desperation ride. The STICK-UP MAN, a thorough
unprofessional, doesn't notice TRAVIS.
'MELIO watches the STICK-UP MAN closely, deciding what to do
himself.
STICK-UP MAN
(shaking gun)
Come on, man. Quick, quick, quick.
Hand over that bread.
It doesn't take TRAVIS long to decide what to do: without
hesitation he pulls his .32 from his jacket pocket.
TRAVIS
Hey dude!
63.
The STICK-UP MAN, surprised, turns toward TRAVIS, finding
only an exploding .32. The MAN's lower jaw bursts open with
blood as he reels and crashes to the floor. There is no
emotion on TRAVIS' face.
As the STICK-UP MAN falls, 'MELIO leans over the counter,
wielding his battered .38. He is about to fire when he
realizes the MAN is already dead.
'MELIO, charged up, turns his gun toward TRAVIS, then,
realizing the danger is over, lowers it again.
'MELIO
Thanks, man. Figured I'd get him
on the way out.
TRAVIS sets his .32 on the counter.
TRAVIS
You're gonna have to cover me on
this one, 'Melio. I can't stay for
the cop show.
'MELIO
You can't do that, Travis. You're
my witness.
TRAVIS
The hell I can't. It's no sweat
for you. What is this for you,
number five?
'MELIO smiles and holds up four fingers:
'MELIO
No, only four.
(shrug)
Alright, Travis, I'll do what I can.
TRAVIS
Thanks a lot.
TRAVIS exits. 'MELIO picks up the phone and starts dialing.
The bloody BODY lies on the floor unmoving.
TRAVIS, still carrying his pint of chocolate milk and
sandwich, walks down the empty sidewalk and enters his cab.
The street is deserted.
CUT TO:
DIRECT CUT TO PORNOGRAPHIC MOVIE: this is the first time we
have actually seen the porno movie itself.
64.
SEVERAL ACTORS and ACTRESSES are dallying on screen in
whatever manner the ratings board deems permissible.
Whatever the action, the movie's decor is strictly Zody's --
ersatz landscape paintings, tufted bedspreads. As in most
porno films, the ACTORS look up occasionally toward the
CAMERA to receive instructions. Studio grunts, groans and
moans of pleasure have been dubbed in.
Action on screen begins to go into SLOW MOTION, the ACTORS
and ACTRESSES gradually transforming obscenity into poetry.
CUT TO:
TRAVIS, sitting in his chair in his APARTMENT, watching
afternoon soap opera. He is cleaning his .38 and eating
from a jar of applesauce. Soap opera audio continues.
He watches the soap opera without expression.
SOUND TRACK of film also SLOWS DOWN, gradually mixing with
and then becoming the sound track of a midafternoon TV soap
opera.
A YOUNG GIRL and BOY are talking in those familiar soap
opera voices and a third party, the GIRL's mother, who had
tried to terminate their "relationship."
CUT TO:
TELEVISION: The BOY is visiting the GIRL in her hospital
room. Both look as if they've stepped out of the Blue Chip
stamp catalogue.
SOAP OPERA BOY
Is it that she just doesn't -- like
me?
SOAP OPERA GIRL
(hesitantly)
Well, Jim, it's just that -- I
don't know how to say this -- it's
that she thinks your parents
aren't... good enough, I guess.
TRAVIS, through cleaning his gun, begins to play a game with
the television set.
He places the heel of his boot at the top of the melon crate
which supports the TV. Then, slowly rocking his heel back
and forth, he sees how far he can tip the melon crate
without knocking it over.
65.
The TV, still broadcasting the hospital room melodrama,
rocks back and forth.
TRAVIS pushes the TV farther and farther until finally the
inevitable happens -- the crate tips backward, sending the
portable TV crashing to the floor.
There is a short flash and the TV screen turns white.
TRAVIS, realizing what he has done, bends over, turns the TV
upright on the floor, fiddles with the knobs, slaps it, and
tries to reactivate the vanished image. TRAVIS' efforts are
futile; a tube has broken, and the TV will not come back to
life.
TRAVIS
(to himself)
Damn, damn.
TRAVIS bends over in the chair and places his head in his
hands, despairing of himself.
FADE TO:
About 1 a.m. TRAVIS pulls his cab behind a line of empty
taxis parked outside the Bellmore Cafeteria, a cabbie
hangout on Park Avenue South.
He locks his cab and walks past the line of taxis. He
sidesteps TWO DRUNKEN FIGHTING BUMS and enters the Bellmore.
A LOUD BUZZER RINGS as TRAVIS steps INTO THE BELLMORE. He
pulls a ticket from the dispenser (silencing the buzzer) and
walks toward the wall-length counter.
An assortment of CABBIES are seated around a formica-topped
table near the rear of the cafeteria. Some are barely
awake, some are eating, the rest are swapping stories and
smalltalk.
Wizard, Dough-Boy, Charlie T and a FOURTH CABBIE are seated
at a long table.
WIZARD
You know Eddie, he's the new hippie
kid in our group, long hair...
Wizard demonstrates length of hair and others nod.
WIZARD
...he called up the Dispatcher last
night. Charlie McCall, our
dispatcher...
66.
DOUGH-BOY
One-Ball McCall?
WIZARD
That's the guy. Eddie calls him up
and says, "Hey, what do you want me
to do. I'm over here at Poly Prep.
I got a girl in the back and she
doesn't have the fare. She wants
me to come in back and collect.
What should I do?
The cabbies laugh. Across the cafeteria Travis selects a
cup of coffee and some pastries.
CHARLIE T
This is on the two-way with about a
hundred and fifty cars listenin in.
WIZARD
McCall says. "How much on the
meter?" Eddie comes back and says
"Two-fifty." McCall says, "Is she
worth it".
More laughter.
DOUGH-BOY
Fuckin One-Ball.
WIZARD
And the kid says, "Yeah. She's
about 19, good-lookin." McCall
says, "What can I tell you?"
FOURTH CABBIE
She should have told him to get an
OK from the front office.
(laughter)
WIZARD
McCall says, "Well, if you want
some help I'll see if I can send
some units out."
CHARLIE T
Yeah. About a hundred and fifty.
DOUGH-BOY
I hope he had a checker.
67.
WIZARD
She was just a kid. Stoned, you
know.
Travis, carrying his coffee and pastries, walks over to
their table. Charlie T spots him.
CHARLIE T
Hiya Killer.
Charlie forms his hand into a pistol, cocks and fires,
making the SOUND, "Pgghew." TRAVIS nods.
WIZARD
You're getting a rep, Travis.
TRAVIS sits down and the other CABBIES resume their
conversation.
CHARLIE T
Got the five you owe me, Killer?
TRAVIS reaches into his pocket and pulls out a roll of small
denomination bills. The crumpled $20 bill falls onto the
table. TRAVIS stares at it a moment. He unfolds a five,
gives it to CHARLIE T, then picks up the crumpled $20 and
puts it back into his jacket pocket.
WIZARD (O.S.)
(to Travis)
What's the action around?
TRAVIS
Slow.
CHARLIE T
Shit yes. Night woulda been dead
if I hadn't grabbed an outatowner
at Kennedy. Took him roun the horn
and got a five dollar tip to boot.
WIZARD
(joking)
One of these days we're gonna turn
you in, Charlie T. Fleecin the
hicks like that.
DOUGH-BOY
Remember the time this cat picks up
four dudes from the other side,
Pakastanis I think they were, holds
up their passports, to the toll
booth collector on the bridge and
charges em ten bucks each for
'crossing the border?
68.
They all laugh.
CHARLIE T
Hell, I know'd you to do worse.
DOUGH-BOY
Least I'm no airport rat. I work
the whole town.
CHARLIE T
(chuckling)
It's a living.
WIZARD gets up to leave.
WIZARD
Well, I'm shovin' on.
WIZARD gets up, nods and walks toward the CASHIER. After a
second's thought, TRAVIS calls to him:
TRAVIS
Hey Wiz, just a second. I wanna
talk to you.
WIZARD waits for TRAVIS as he takes a final gulp of coffee
and catches up with him. CHARLIE T calls to TRAVIS as they
go:
CHARLIE T
See ya, Killer. Don't forget your
pea shooter.
CHARLIE T cocks his imaginary gun again, fires and chuckles.
WIZARD and TRAVIS nod goodbye, pay the CASHIER and exit.
EXT.
TRAVIS follows WIZARD out onto the sidewalk. TRAVIS follows
WIZARD as he walks toward his cab. He has something on his
mind, something he wants to talk to WIZARD about.
TRAVIS
(walking)
Hey Wiz.
WIZARD leans back against the cab. TRAVIS is about to speak
when he spots a GROUP of BLACK and PUERTO RICAN STREET
PUNKS, ages 12-15, jiving down the sidewalk toward him. ONE
tosses a spray paint can around his back, basketball style.
ANOTHER mocks as if he's going to scratch a key along one of
the cabs.
69.
WIZARD has no visible reaction. A flash of controlled anger
crosses TRAVIS' face. He stares at the BOY with the poised
key. It is the same look that crossed his face in the
Harlem Deli. We are reminded with a jolt that the killer
lies just beneath TRAVIS' surface.
The BLACK PUNK must instinctively realize this too, because
he makes a cocky show of putting the key back into his
pocket and be-bopping around TRAVIS and WIZARD.
The YOUNG MEAN-STREETERS continue down the street and TRAVIS
turns back to WIZARD.
Across the street, in the background, a JUNKIE nestles in a
doorway.
TRAVIS
(hesitant)
Wiz?
WIZARD
Yeah?
TRAVIS
Look, ah, we never talked much, you
and me...
WIZARD
Yeah?
TRAVIS
I wanted to ask you something, on
account you've been around so long.
WIZARD
Shoot. They don't call me the
Wizard for nothing.
TRAVIS
Well, I just, you know...
WIZARD
Things got ya down?
TRAVIS
Real down.
WIZARD
It happens.
70.
TRAVIS
Sometimes it gets so I just don't
know what I'm gonna do. I get some
real crazy ideas, you know? Just
go out and do somethin.
WIZARD
The taxi life, you mean.
TRAVIS
Yeah.
WIZARD
(nods)
I know.
TRAVIS
Like do anything, you know.
WIZARD
Travis, look, I dig it. Let me
explain. You choose a certain way
of life. You live it. It becomes
what you are. I've been a hack 27
years, the last ten at night.
Still don't own my own cab. I
guess that's the way I want it.
You see, that must be what I am.
A police car stops across the street. TWO PATROLMEN get out
and roust the JUNKIE from his doorway.
WIZARD
(continuing)
Look, a person does a certain thing
and that's all there is to it. It
becomes what he is. Why fight it?
What do you know? How long you
been a hack, a couple months?
You're like a peg and you get
dropped into a slot and you got to
squirm and wiggle around a while
until you fit in.
TRAVIS
(pause)
That's just about the dumbest thing
I ever heard, Wizard.
WIZARD
What do you expect, Bertrand
Russell? I've been a cabbie all my
life, what do I know?
(a beat)
I don't even know what you're
talking about.
71.
TRAVIS
Neither do I, I guess.
WIZARD
You fit in. It's lonely, it's
rough at first. But you fit in.
You got no choice.
WIZARD
Yeah. Sorry, Wizard.
WIZARD
Don't worry, Killer. You'll be all
right.
(a beat)
I seen enough to know.
TRAVIS
Thanks.
WIZARD gives TRAVIS a short wave implying, "Chin up, old
boy," and walks around to the driver's side of his cab.
WIZARD drives off, leaving the street to its natural
inhabitants.
CUT TO:
FADE IN:
EXT. CHARLES PALANTINE RALLY - DAY
A rally platform in a supermarket parking lot somewhere in
QUEENS is draped in red, white and blue bunting.
A CROWD of about 500 persons mills about, waiting for the
rally to begin. Piped pop-country MUSIC plays over the
loudspeaker system.
The CADRE OF SECRET SERVICE MEN, with their distinctive
metallic grey suits, sun glasses and football physiques,
stands out in the CROWD.
On the PLATFORM are seated an assortment of LOCAL POLITICOS
as well as some PALANTINE WORKERS and ADVISERS.
TOM is silently reading something on the podium, and BETSY
stands on the platform steps talking with ANOTHER WORKER.
TOM looks up and to his left for a moment, then returns to
what he was reading. Then he returns his gaze to the upper
left, watching something very closely.
72.
After a moment he walks over to the steps where BETSY is
standing.
TOM
Betsy, come over here a moment.
BETSY
What is it? I'm busy.
TOM
(insistent)
Just follow me.
BETSY excuses herself and walks across the platform with TOM.
As they stand to the rear of the platform, TOM secretively
makes a gesture with his eyes and says out of the side of
his mouth:
TOM
Look there.
(her eyes follow his)
No, over further - get your
glasses - yes, over there. Isn't
that little guy the same guy that
was bugging you around the office
about a month ago?
BETSY, putting on her glasses, looks closely. She tries not
to make her stare too obvious.
BETSY
No, I don't think so.
(a beat)
That's someone else.
TOM
Now look more closely. Look around
the eyes and chin. See? See there?
CAMERA CLOSES IN on TRAVIS BICKLE standing in the CROWD: he
has shaved his head to a short stubble. There he is: brush-
cut, wearing a giant grin, and a large "Palantine '72" button.
Although it is a pleasant sunny day, TRAVIS wears a bulky
bulged-out Army jacket.
TRAVIS looks warily from side to side and vanishes in the
CROWD.
A SHORT WHILE LATER, TRAVIS walks up to a SECRET SERVICE MAN
standing near the fringes of the CROWD. The SECRET SERVICE
MAN -- in sun glasses, grey suit, ever-roving eyes -- is
immediately identifiable.
73.
Whenever TRAVIS confronts a symbol of authority, he becomes
like a young boy. This time is no exception, although one
suspects there is a plan hatching beneath that boyish
exterior. The SECRET SERVICE MAN, for his part, is about as
talkative as the Sphinx.
TRAVIS
Are you a Secret Service Man?
SECRET SERVICE MAN
(indifferently)
Why do you ask?
TRAVIS
I've seen a lot of suspicious-
looking people around here today.
SECRET SERVICE MAN glances at TRAVIS momentarily.
SECRET SERVICE MAN
Who?
TRAVIS
Oh, lots. I don't know where they
all are now. There used to be one
standing over there.
(points)
SECRET SERVICE MAN's gaze follows TRAVIS' finger for a
second, then return to TRAVIS.
TRAVIS (CONTD)
Is it hard to get to be a Secret
Service Man?
SECRET SERVICE MAN
Why?
TRAVIS
I kinda thought I might make a good
one. I'm very observant.
SECRET SERVICE MAN
Oh?
TRAVIS
I was in the Army too.
(beat)
And I'm good with crowds.
The SECRET SERVICE MAN is starting to get interested in
TRAVIS: he definitely ranks as a suspicious character.
74.
SECRET SERVICE MAN
Is that so?
TRAVIS
What kind of guns do you guys use?
.38's?
The SECRET SERVICE MAN decides it's time to get some more
information on TRAVIS:
SECRET SERVICE MAN
Look, um, if you give me your name
and address, we'll send you the
information on how to apply.
TRAVIS
You would, huh?
SECRET SERVICE MAN
(taking out notepad)
Sure.
TRAVIS
My name is Henry Krinkle