
John Quin presents a hormonally loaded take on Martin Scorsese and Paul Schrader’s classic of male alienation
We hear a festinating beat, those sinuous nocturnal saxophones, see a belch of street steam. A ghostly yellow cab glides across the screen in slow motion. The anxious driver’s eyes are caught in a red light, then he’s off again through wet Manhattan streets, the shimmering multicoloured neon reflected in black asphalt. A nervous mood is quickly set in place. Here be monsters. Male monsters.
Twenty-six-year-old Travis Bickle, as played by Robert De Niro, craves more work. He haggles with his supervisor, admits to insomnia, is told: “There’s porno theatres for that.”
Welcome to a preposterously testosterone-fuelled world, one we might call ‘The Preposterone’. This is…
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