Taxi Driver Page #19

He sets down one gun, picks up the next, then the next.

Quickly reloading, he fires again.

The targets spin and dance under his barrage. The piercing

sound of GUNSHOTS ring through the air.

CUT TO:

INT. APARTMENT

TRAVIS is again writing at the table. His western shirt is

open, exposing his bare chest.

A note of despair and doom has entered into TRAVIS' normally

monotone narration voice: this will be the last entry in his

diary.

TRAVIS (V.O.)

My whole life has pointed in one

direction. I see that now. There

never has been any choice for me.

CUT TO:

LENGTHY P.O.V. SHOT from TRAVIS' taxi: we see New York's

nightlife as TRAVIS sees it. CAMERA TRACKS down midtown

sidewalks in SLIGHTLY SLOW MOTION. There we see:

COUPLES, walking in SLOWING MOTION, young couples, middleaged

couples, old couples, hookers and johns, girlfriends,

boyfriends, business friends -- the whole world matched up

in pairs, and TRAVIS left wandering alone in the night.

Others would notice the breasts, the asses, the faces, but

not TRAVIS:
he notices the girl's hand that rubs the hair on

her boyfriend's neck, the hand that hangs lightly on his

shoulder, the nuzzling kiss in the ear.

TRAVIS (V.O.) (CONTD)

Loneliness has followed me all my

life. The life of loneliness

pursues me wherever I go: in bars,

cars, coffee shops, theaters,

stores, sidewalks. There is no

escape. I am God's lonely man.

MATCHCUT TO P.O.V.: another neighborhood, LATER IN THE NIGHT.

Still in SLIGHTLY SLOW MOTION.

The CROWDS are more sparse here, the streets darker. A

JUNKIE shudders in a doorway, a WINO pukes into a trash can,

a STREET-WALKER meets a prospective CLIENT.

98.

TRAVIS (V.O.) (CONTINUED)

I am not a fool. I will no longer

fool myself. I will no longer let

myself fall apart, become a joke

and object of ridicule. I know

there is no longer any hope. I

cannot continue this hollow, empty

fight. I must sleep. What hope is

there for me?

CUT TO:

INT. APARTMENT

TRAVIS, his shirt fastened, stands beside table.

C.U.:
He lays a brief hand-written letter on the table. We

read it.

Dear Iris,

This money should be enough for your trip. By the time you

read this I will be dead.

Travis

TRAVIS stacks five crisp hundred dollar bills beside the

letter, folds them up with the letter, and puts them into an

envelope.

TIMECUT:
A SHORT WHILE LATER. TRAVIS has cleaned up his

apartment. Everything is neat and orderly.

CAMERA PANS across room. The mattress is bare and flattened

out, the floor is spotless, the cans and bottles of food and

pills put out of sight. The wall is still covered with

Palantine political paraphernalia, but when we reach the

desk we see only four items there: an open diary and three

loaded revolvers: .44, .38, .25.

TRAVIS, freshly shaved and neatly dressed, stands in the

middle of his clean room. The empty holster hangs on his

shoulder. Metal .25 gliders can be seen under the slit in

his right sleeve. He turns toward table.

CUT TO:

TRAVIS, envelope in hand, closes the door behind him and

walks down the corridor.

He passes a ajar door and we are suprised to see the room is

empty--and trashed. Travis lives in a decaying, if not

condemned building.

99.

EXT.

TRAVIS places the envelope to IRIS in his mail box.

BACK IN APARTMENT. CAMERA CLOSE ON revolvers lying on the

table in neat array.

CUT TO:

FADE IN:

SOUND of a political rally: cheering, laughing, a band

playing, talking.

AFTERNOON. A CROWD of about 500 PERSONS is assembled before

a platform outside a Brooklyn union hall. A DIXIELAND BAND

is playing on the platform.

C.U. CHARLES PALANTINE's feet climb out of a limousine.

There is a ROAR from the nearby CROWD.

PALANTINE, a bulky SECRET SERVICE MAN to the right and left

of him, pushes his way through the CROWD toward the platform.

Still cameras click, and TV cameras purr.

SLIGHT TIMECUT:
PALANTINE is speaking on the platform.

CUT TO:

TRAVIS' empty taxi sits parked a few blocks away from rally.

At this distance, the rally sounds are almost

indistinguishable.

C.U. of TRAVIS' boots walking. They make their way past one

person, then two, then a cluster of three or four. SOUNDS

of rally increase.

We see a FULL FIGURE SHOT of TRAVIS: he is standing alone in

an opening near the fringes of the CROWD.

TRAVIS looks like the most suspicious human being alive.

His hair is cropped short, he wears mirror-reflecting

glasses. His face is pallid and drained of color, his lips

are pursed and drawn tight. He looks from side to side.

One can now see the full effect of TRAVIS' lack of sleep and

sufficient diet -- he looks sick and frail.

Even though it is a warm June day, TRAVIS is bundled up in a

shirt, sweater and Army jacket buttoned from top to bottom.

Under his jacket are several large lumps, causing his upper

torso to look larger than it should. He is slightly hunched

over and his hands shoved into his pockets.

100.

Anyone scanning the crowd would immediately light upon

TRAVIS and think, "There is an assassin."

TRAVIS pulls the vial of red pills from his pocket and

swallows a couple.

CUT TO:

SECRET SERVICE MAN standing beside the platform, scanning

the CROWD. It is the same SECRET SERVICE MAN TRAVIS spoke

to at the first rally. TOM, dressed in a conservative suit,

stands beside him.

PALANTINE is wrapping up his short speech:

PALANTINE:

... and with your help we will go

on to victry at the polls Tuesday.

(applause)

TRAVIS begins moving up into the crowd.

PALANTINE (CONTD)

On to victory in Miami Beach next

month

(building applause)

and on to victory next November!

PALANTINE steps back, smiling and receiving the applause.

Then, nodding, at the SECRET SERVICE MAN he descends the

stairs and prepares to work his way through the CROWD.

TRAVIS unbuttons the middle two buttons of his jacket,

opening access to his holster. With the other hand he

checks the .44 hooked behind his back.

PALANTINE smiles and shakes a few of the many hands

outstretched toward him.

The SECRET SERVICE MAN, scanning the CROWD, spots something

that interests him. He looks closely.

SECRET SERVICE MAN'S P.O.V.: TRAVIS, his face intense,

pushes his way through the CROWD.

PALANTINE works his way through crowds and cameras.

SECRET SERVICE MAN motions to SECOND SECRET SERVICE MAN and

points in TRAVIS' direction.

TRAVIS slips his hand into his jacket.

101.

The SECOND SECRET SERVICE MAN converges on TRAVIS from the

side.

TRAVIS and PALANTINE draw closer to each other.

SECRET SERVICE MAN, walking just behind PALANTINE, grabs the

candidate's hand and pulls him backward. PALANTINE looks

sharply back at SECRET SERVICE MAN who motions for him to

take a slightly altered route.

TRAVIS sees this: his eyes meet the SECRET SERVICE MAN's.

He recognizes the situation. To his right he spots the

SECOND SECRET SERVICE MAN.

TRAVIS' eyes meet PALANTINE's: candidate and would-be

assassin exchange quick glances.

TRAVIS hastily works his way back through the CROWD. He

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