- Travis is sitting in his apartment watching American Bandstand on TV. He is angered by the celebration of adolescent sexuality he sees and how "human" and accessible it is portrayed to be. In contrast, Travis is completely unable to conceptualize himself in this rite of passage, due to the self loathing image he has built up in his mind. Travis then sees an empty pair of shoes on the floor amidst the dancing couples, a stark metaphor for his inability to relate to the world he finds himself in.

- Travis, although seemingly articulate and confident about his emotional convictions in his journal entries, recognizes the impending disintegration of his mental state and decides to seek the advice of his colleague Wizard, in a last ditch effort to make sense of his feelings. Travis's somber desperation is evident in his discussion with Wizard and an attempt is made to address the situation. However, Wizard, who shares none of Travis's chronic isolationism, is unable to offer any helpful words to Travis, who is ultimately frustrated one last time in his final effort to salvage his sanity. In the closing shot of the scene, Travis tries to articulate his inexpressible frustrations, to which Wizard casually replies "you know... you're all right, you're all right". With his last attempt to make a human connection an utter failure, Travis is now locked into his path of destruction, a path that cannot be positively influenced by outside individuals due to his inability to express his feelings. It is a particularly chilling scene, perhaps the definitive example in the film depicting Travis's final fate.

- Travis is seen in his apartment room preparing for his confrontation with Senator Palentine. He speaks about his apocalyptic mission through his journal entries. However, his words portray a man unable to articulate himself even in his hour of destiny - "listen you f***ers, you screw heads, here is a man who would not take it anymore, who would.. not....." (starts over) "listen you f***ers you screw heads.....". This scene is very effective in that it illustrates Travis's inability to express his emotions with certainty, even when they concern convictions which he feels strongly about.

- Immediately after his attempted assassination of Palentine fails, Travis is seen driving to the tenement house where Sport hustles. Dazed, Travis is utterly absorbed by his psychosis, his face a portrait of a concentrated, murderous obsession. A pedestrian attempts to flag down his cab, but Travis blows right by the would-be customer, occupied only with the slaughter he is about to engage in. I feel that this scene perfectly capsulizes Travis's complete descent into madness.

This film was cheated out of the best picture Oscar by Rocky, which (although a fine film in its own right) is a film that anybody can love. In contrast, Taxi Driver is a film that many people would prefer to avoid due to its cynical portrayal of human life. However, it is often the ugly things in life which are the more relevant, more engaging, more compelling, more real.

First, at the end of the shoot-out scene, Bickle rolls his eyes backwards in the classic movie signature of death. Just before, of course, he put his blood-dripping finger up to his temple and mimed blowing his own brains out (after having failed with the empty real guns). Bickle is suicidal, dying, and will not recover.

Second, after this scene the camera pans across various news clippings on the wall of Bickle's room; these clippings describe him as a "hero" that saved a young girl. Also we hear the voice-over of Iris' parents saying that Bickle would always be welcome in their home for saving Iris. But think about real life crimes for a moment. When newspapers report about a man that goes on a shooting spree in a run-down part of town, do they really ever report them as "heroes"? Even if Bickle could explain to them why he did this (Iris' dad says he was in a coma after the shoot-out), would anyone really take a person like this at their word? And would Iris' parents really want to allow a murderous man a place at their table? What we have here is Bickle's fantasy about how he _wants_ the press and Iris' folks to interpret his actions, not a realistic view of how the world generally views such actions.

Third (along the same lines as #2), it's hard to imagine Bickle's buddies at the cabstand glossing over his rampage and treating him like old times. Really, if a co-worker of mine were involved in so violent an incident, I would probably not hang out with him so blithely. This is Travis imaginging that things are "back to normal" after getting out of the hospital -- a fantasy of peace.

Fourth, Bickle happens to find Betsy in his cab soon after returning to work. How fortuitous in a city of millions! But their conversation shows that she now respects him, considers him a hero like the newspapers and Iris' parents. Again, extremely unlikely -- especially given their history. In real life if she heard about the rampage (or recognized him trying to kill Palentine), that would only tend to confirm her earlier opinion of him as a depraved person. But here she also interprets his actions in the way he wants them to be interpreted (that he saved Iris from the human scum that were selling her) rather than how she probably would in real life. (Also note that the photography of this scene always shows Betsy's face from his viewpoint, floating in a dreamlike way in his rear-view mirror.)

Fifth, when Bickle drops Betsy off she seems uncertain, embarrased, and demure, and is obviously just on the verge of offering some kind of intimate apology. Instead she asks how much is the fare. He drives off without accepting a dime. This is Bickle's triumph -- he wins their relationship battle by rejecting _her_, and by being confident, independent, and morally superior. Typical subconscious inversion tactic.

Sixth, as he drives off, Bickle sees himself in the car's rear-view mirror, then adjusts it to see if he can see Betsy. As he does so, a violent wrench is given to the accompanying musical score. Then we see no one in the mirror at all as the credits roll to Bernard Hermann's haunting love theme. There's nothing in the mirror (except the rolling, ubiquitous city) because Travis is not there. Its symbolic of his death -- like that of a vampire -- that the mirror doesn't show his reflection. Travis is dead and we have just witnessed his last thoughts.

Travis is only a hero in his own mind. There is no hero in this movie. It does not have a happy ending. Travis continues to justify his own behavior and viewpoint to the last, and grants himself a kind of sainthood -- beatified by the press, Iris' parents, and Betsy's acquiescence.

The tragedy of the movie is deepend by this reading of its end. To my mind, this also makes the movie more coherent, since it's main theme is the psychological isolation of Travis Bickle. The end consumates his separateness. Others will never connect to his vision of himself as a master (rather than a victim) of circumstance, a protector of innocence, a scourge of evildoers, an instrument of God's judgement.