Maybe it’s the metaphor. The transition, the feeling of getting caught in between two places while not really being in either one. Moving characters from Point A to Point B, internally and externally.
There is room to grow in the back of a taxi. It’s difficult to convey an inner struggle on film when a character is alone. Dialogue leaves more room for exposition, and yet, if you’re in the back of a taxi by yourself, what are you going to do? Stare introspectively out the window while the rain hits the glass pat-pat-pat, tires squeal, maybe a jolt as the cab stops short, a reminder that the outside world keeps moving even when we do our best to withdraw? Maybe.
Or, you could turn to the one person you know won’t judge you—and even if they do, you’ll never see them again: your humble taxi driver. It’s strange that of this dynamic, given that there are plenty of models for what a good taxi scene should be. Take, for example, another film focused solely on the dynamic between taxi driver and passenger: Jim Jarmusch’s .
In five different cities, the taxi provides the lens through which we learn about the film’s characters and the spaces they inhabit. In the New York section, the city comes alive alongside YoYo (Giancarlo Esposito) and Helmut (Armin Mueller-Stahl). YoYo is a native New Yorker; Helmut is a recent German immigrant who can’t get the hang of driving a cab.
In roughly 25 minutes, we get an intimate glimpse into the lives of these two men, even though.
