Taxi Driver: Porno Theater

TRAVIS' APARTMENT.

CAMERA PANS SILENTLY across INT. room, indicating this is not a new scene.

TRAVIS is sitting at plain table writing. He wears shirt, jeans, boots. An unfiltered cigarette rests in a bent coffee can ash tray.

CLOSE UP of notebook. It is a plain lined dimestore notebook and the words TRAVIS is writing with a stubby pencil are those he is saying. The columns are straight, disciplined. Some of the writing is in pencil, some in ink. The handwriting is jagged.

CAMERA continues to PAN, examining TRAVIS' apartment. It is unusual, to say the least:

A ratty old mattress is thrown against one wall. The floor is littered with old newspapers, worn and unfolded streets maps and pornography. The pornography is of the sort that looks cheap but costs $10 a threw - black and white photos of naked women tied and gagged with black leather straps and clothesline. There is no furniture other than the rickety chair and table. A beat-up portable TV rests on an upright melon crate. The red silk mass in another corner looks like a Vietnamese flag. Indecipherable words, figures, numbers are scribbled on the plain plaster walls. Ragged black wires dangle from the wall where the telephone once hung.

TRAVIS (V.O.): They're all animals anyway. All the animals come out at night: Whores, skunk pussies, buggers, queens, fairies, dopers, junkies, sick, venal. (a beat)

Someday a real rain will come and wash all this scum off the streets.

It's EARLY MORNING: 6 a.m. The air is clean and fresh and the streets nearly deserted.

EXT. of TAXI GARAGE.

TRAVIS' taxi pulls into the driveway.

TRAVIS (V.O.)(CONTD): Each night when I return the cab to the garage I have to clean the cum off the back seat. Some nights I clean off the blood.

INT. of TAXI GARAGE.

TRAVIS pulls his taxi into garage stall. TRAVIS reaches across the cab and extracts a small vial of bennies from the glove compartment.

TRAVIS stands next to the cab, straightens his back, and tucks the bottle of pills into his jacket pocket. He lowers his head, looks into back seat, opens rear door and bends inside.

He shakes a cigarette out of his pack of camels and lights it.

SLIGHT TIMECUT: TRAVIS books it at garage office. Old, rotting slabs of wood are screwed to a grey crumbling concrete wall. Each available space is covered with hand-lettered signs, time schedules, check-out sheets, memos. The signs read:

BE ALERT!! THE SAFE DRIVER IS ALWAYS READY FOR THE UNEXPECTED

SLOW DOWN AND GAUGE SPEED TO ROAD CONDITIONS YOU CAN'T STOP ON A DIME!

ALL NIGHT DRIVERS HAVING PERSONAL INJURY ACCIDENTS MUST PHONE IN AT ONCE TO JUDSON 2-3410 AND MUST FILE A REPORT PROMPTLY AT 9 AM THE FOLLOWING MORNING AT 43 W. 61st.

A half dozen haggard cabbies hang around the office. Their shirts are wrinkle, their heads dropping, the mouths incessantly chattering. We pick up snatches of cabbie small talk

1ST CABBIE: ... hadda piss like a bull steer, so I pull over on 10th Ave, yank up the hood and do the engine job. (gestures as if taking a piss into the hood) There I am with my dong in my hand when a guy come up and asks if Ineed any help. Just checking the battery, I says, and, meanwhile...

(MORE)

1ST CABBIE (CONT'D): (takes imaginary piss)

2ND CABBIE: If he thinks I'm going up into The Jungle this time of night, he can shove it.

3RD CABBIE: (talking into pay phone) Fuck that Violets First. Fucking saddle horse. No, no, the OTB. Fuck them. No, it was TKR. TCR and I'da made seven fucking grand. Fuck them too. Alright, what about the second race?

4TH CABBIE: Over at Love, this hooker took on the whole garage. Blew the whole fucking joint and they wouldn't even let her use the drinking fountain.

Travis hands his trip sheet to a CAB OFFICIAL, nods slightly, turns and walks toward the door.

OUTSIDE, TRAVIS walks pleasantly down Broadway, his hands in his jacket pockets. The sidewalks are deserted, except for diligent fruit and vegetable VENDORS setting up their stalls. He takes a deep breath of fresh air, pulls a white pill from his pocket, pops it into his mouth.

Travis turns a corner, keeps walking. Ahead of him is a 24-hour PORNO THEATRE. The theatre, a blaze of cheap day-glow reds and yellows, is an offense to the clear, crisp morning air. The permanent lettering reads, "Adam Theatre, 16mm Sound Features". Underneath, today's feature are hand-lettered: "Six-Day Cruise" and "Beaver Dam".

Travis stops at the box office, purchases a ticket, and walks in.

INT. PORNO THEATRE

Travis stands in the aisle for a moment. He turns around, walking back toward the concession stand.

CONCESSION STAND

A plain dumpy-looking GIRL sits listlessly on a stool behind the shabby concession stand. A plaster-of-Paris Venus de Milo sits atop a piece of purple velvet cloth on the counter.

The SOUND of the feature drones in the background.

CONCESSION GIRL: Kin I help ya?

Travis rests his elbow on the counter, looking at the Girl. He is obviously trying to be friendly - no easy task for him. God knows he needs a friend.

TRAVIS: What is your name? My name is Travis.

CONCESSION GIRL: Awh, come off it, Pal.

TRAVIS: No, I'm serious, really...

CONCESSION GIRL: Ya want me to call da boss? Huh? That what you want?

TRAVIS: No, no, it's alright. I'll have a big Coca-Cola - without ice - and a large buttered popcorn, and… (pointing)... some of them chocolate covered malted milk balls... and ju-jukes, a box. They last.

CONCESSION GIRL: We don't have ju-jukes. We don't have Coca-Cola. We only got Royal Crown Cola.

TRAVIS: That's fine.

CONCESSION GIRL: That's a dollar forty-seven.

Travis lays two dollar bills on the counter.

INT. THEATRE AUDITORIUM

Slight TIMECUT to Travis sitting in theatre, drinking his Royal Crown Cola, eating his popcorn and milk balls. His eyes are fixed on the screen. A MALE VOICE emanates from the screen:

MALE MOVIE VOICE (O.S.): Come here, bitch. I'm gonna split you in half.

Male Voice yields to Travis' monotone narration.

TRAVIS (V.O.): Twelve hours of work and I still cannot sleep. The days dwindle on forever and do not end.