A film like 'Taxi Driver' makes me wonder whether, perhaps, it's just my fault, not being able to appreciate "great" cinema. 'Taxi Driver' is, unarguably, one of the most highly regarded works ever committed to celluloid, and many claim that the chance to essay the character of Travis Bickle, the tormented protagonist of the tale, is every actor's 'wet dream'.

Travis Bickle, unquestionably, is unforgettably portrayed by a De Niro at the very top of his form. Every move is measured, nuanced, and honed to perfection. As a performance, it is a tour de force. No questions about that.

But what about the film itself? I read both the reviews, of this film, by the highly regarded and universally respected Roger Ebert, who, clearly, is overawed by it, as he is by Scorcese himself. Myself, I came out of the experience with a "Was THAT it?" feeling. Internet reviews of the film had raised my expectations so high that, at the end of it all, I felt as if someone had hit me with a wet sock.

Ebert, in one of his reviews, meditates considerably on the ending of the film, which, he wonders, might be a dream, and partook more of the character of "music" than of "drama". To me, it seemed nothing of the kind. To me, the film appeared to be a straightforward story of a vigilante, who - to avoid straying into spoiler territory - achieves something honourable, and is lauded for it. I found nothing dreamlike about it, and, with all due respect, felt that the film ended on a note which was disappointingly flat.

I do not intend to expound on the story of the film, which is straightforward, and would be well known to net surfers, having been discussed ad nauseam an interminable number of times. The Wikipedia introduction to the plot of the film, though, I felt was misleading. It claims the film to be the story of Bickle's "descent into insanity". To me, it seems nothing of the kind. Bickle appears just as sane, at the close of the story, as he was at its start.

Apart from De Niro's performance, which invited the four stars I have, somewhat hesitatingly, awarded this film, I found nothing really to right home about. Sure, Jodie Foster, at twelve and a half, is cute as a button, but she really has nothing much to do. And I also feel that the wonderful Harvey Keitel, who stays on screen for exactly two scenes, is sadly wasted.

All in all, a disappointment.

Or is it, perhaps, that I just do not appreciate great cinema? Maybe. Who knows?