His characters are life-artists. Bickle jigsaws an ideal version of himself together through the people he meets, accumulating philosophies like tacky souvenirs. A recurring motif of these “man in the room” dramas is the donning of a uniform: Mishima’s kitschy militia suits, Toller’s warrior priest cassock, and Bickle’s knight-plume mohawk. However, though he is able to greet parts of himself through creativity that would otherwise be stifled, Mishima claims that “words are insufficient” in the arena of action. Ever the masochist. If you can’t feel it sting the flesh, is it even true? Seppuku is the artist’s immaculate ending, allowing him to write his own final chapter on the world stage. No more rehearsals. Torn from his guts, language’s impotency is expunged. Meanwhile, any psychotherapist would be able to see that the miasma Bickle swears is stalking him does so because he believes himself to be unclean. There’s the rub: Schrader’s characters’ desire to permanently alter their worlds lead them inevitably back to themselves, and so their crusade must lead explosively from the inside out.
Yeah, I have. Really liked it. Love that scene where he's out on the rocks somewhere and it's all purple, also the bit towards the end when he's gasping, wrapping himself in barbed wire, whilst the woman sings Leaning on the Everlasting Arms in the church next door; really moving.Have you seen first reformed? Watch that first, it's really good.
He's the most "postmodern" of the three, I suppose, what with all the tricks and films-inside-films and pastiche. I like all three, but Scorsese may actually be my least favourite, at least at the moment; Schrader's probably my favourite.DePalma is in many ways the weirdest of the bunch. Less overt mystique as compared to schrader and scorsese. He's playing a game.