Hear me howl.
The ultimate portrait of the troubled white male stewing in his own fetid juices, this assault on the senses makes modern-day films look anemic.
Robert De Niro, before he softened his rough edges by making crappy late-in-life comedies, is equal parts bristling danger and self-hatred, while the incomparable Jodie Foster owns the screen.
Many have tried, and most have failed, to match Martin Scorsese’s tale of alienation, and it still rattles.
Whether he dies at the end, or is still out there in an unforgiving city, driving hard through the night, the scars Travis left behind endure.
