It started like any other night
collateral
(2004)
Why watch it:
It contains a complex and fascinating villain
The atmosphere of the movie
It makes you confront your own beliefs
Memorable scenes:
“It’s just a dead guy”
“Yo homie, is that my briefcase?”
“Where did Miles learn music?”
“Mother, this is Vincent”
An omen?
“You’re a monument of it”
“I do this for a living”
Themes examined:
The hypocritical attitude people have towards violence
Bullshitting yourself
Making the choice
“I read about this guy. Gets on the MTA here, dies. Six hours he’s riding the subway before anyone notices his corpse doing laps around L.A., people on and off sitting next to him. Nobody notices.”
Stated early in the movie by an enigmatic cab passenger, this grim story shows how disconnected life is in the sprawling mega city of Los Angeles. It takes on a deeper meaning however, when analyzed within the context of Michael Mann’s film: Collateral.
This movie may seem like a glossy thriller, however just like its villain, it subverts expectations and forces us to confront our beliefs. The focus is on what’s beneath the surface, hidden just out of our sight, but visible to those that look. How much we notice it, or how much we ignore it is examined over one unforgettable night.
In a movie full of meetings of circumstance, the first one we see, isn’t. Two strangers bump into each other, the words spoken and the manners displayed, show that something premeditated is going on. A briefcase is exchanged, alongside a knowing look and empty words.
After this enigmatic opening, we are introduced to Max, preparing his cab amid the hustle and bustle of other drivers.
Immediately we see that Max is different. His activities contradict that of a typical cab driver, crosswords, and cleanliness in his cab bordering on an obsession. He then closes the door and takes refuge in the silence. These signs point to a man that’s smart, thorough and contemplative. In that case, why is he driving a cab?
This inconsistency is further shown when we see his first fare. Passengers argue openly about personal issues in front of him as if he isn’t there. His response to this is to sit in silence, gazing from time to time at an island postcard he keeps close at hand. He may work in this sprawling mass of a city, but he exists outside of the society which he serves.
“This is part time”
Amidst the chaos of the city, Max picks up a fare like any other. As the ride develops however, there’s a moment between cab driver and passenger which happens from time to time – an unplanned alignment of human experience. This results in a connection between the two. It’s here, during this brief moment that we see a flash of Max’s capability. From his time observing people, he sees what others don’t: their rhythms, routes, habits. During their discussion, Max shows himself to be witty, kind and humble. Again it brings up the question as to how someone with such a sharp intellect ended up in a job like this. Whatever the reason, this is clearly not his life’s calling. We discover what it actually is during their conversation:
Annie Farrell: “Do you take pride in being good at what you do?”
Tellingly, he diverts her line of questioning from his job to his ultimate goal:
Max Durocher: “Island Limos. It’ll be like an island on wheels.”
Max’s passenger is an all-business lawyer, Annie Farrell. Though their paths are polar opposites, they share the common experience of climbing their own personal mountain. As they exchange details, the taxi becomes a confession booth. Annie admits her love/hate relationship with being a lawyer and how she feels like an imposter. This is a troubling aspect to think about. If the most professional among us are barely holding on, what does that say about the city and this society at large?
AF: “I cry, pull myself together and get on with it.”
In this moment of vulnerability, Max shares his solution to the madness of living in L.A.
MD: “I go on vacation all the time.”
The postcard he keeps on in his cab turns out to be a tool to keep his sanity. Using it, he is able to escape the urban jungle and travel to the Maldives. Sensing she needs it more than him, he gives it to her.
Their connection transcends their many differences and for a moment there’s a link, two strangers stopping their personal journeys to acknowledge each other’s struggles. At the height of this, they arrive at Annie’s destination and the bond is over.
From his reaction, we see that there’s more to the Maldives postcard. Max Returns to where it was, his body language showing frustration at not pulling the trigger on the connection he just experienced. It’s clear that this postcard was not only a retreat from the city, but also a refuge from his failures. Both an oasis, and a prison.
Annie returns with her card, the connection still there. However whether or not Max will call her is doubtful.
First time in L.A?
It’s here that we see the grey suited man from earlier. Clean, sharp and well dressed it suggests a man on a business trip. As we have already seen in this city however, surface details don’t reveal the truth.
Max almost misses his fare, his mind on the island.
The very first interaction between these two men sets the tone for their relationship. As Max asks the passenger for his thoughts on L.A, we get the following:
MD: “First time in L.A?”
Passenger: “No. Tell you the truth, whenever I’m here I can’t wait to leave. It’s too sprawled out, disconnected. You know? That’s me. You like it?”
MD: “It’s my home.”
P: “17 million people. If this was a country it’d be the fifth biggest economy in the world and nobody knows each other.”
The passenger recounts a story to further drive home his point:
P: “I read about this guy. Gets on the MTA here, dies. Six hours he’s riding the subway before anyone notices his corpse doing laps around L.A., people on and off sitting next to him. Nobody notices.”
This disturbing story draws an uncomfortable parallel to Max’s existence – earlier when he was driving the arguing couple, it was as if he didn’t exist. Does the same fate lie in store for him? What about everyone else in the city? It’s almost as if the city itself is the source of the disconnected apathy for those that live in it.
A character that hasn’t been mentioned yet, but is important to address, is the character of the city itself. It overlooks every scene with a beautiful indifference, its presence bathing everything in a glittering artificial light. It’s under the gaze of this city that Max’s contradictions come to light.
MD: “This is just temporary.”
P: “How long you been driving?”
MD: “12 years.”
This work which is fueling his Island Limos dream has been part time for 12 years.
The passenger rightfully calls him out on this. Rather than elaborating or acknowledging his inconsistencies, Max prefers to stay quiet, essentially staying on his island. The passenger sums up his surface level understanding:
P: “You’re one of these guys that do instead of talk. That’s cool.”
From what we’ve seen of Max so far, it’s actually the opposite.
“Why don’t you Hang out with me?”
As ride comes to an end, the passenger does something unexpected, requesting Max’s services for the night. 700 Dollars, all in.
Their disagreement is solved quickly:
MD: “I don’t know.”
P: “Yeah you do.”
A succinct and finely structured argument, and with that, Max is won over by his charismatic passenger, Vincent.
Clearly happy with his good fortune, Max takes time out as he waits for Vincent. We see evidence of Max’s dream, the catalogue, the folded pages, it’s his treat, a self indulgence. Is this what he’s been doing for 12 years?
Any thoughts we have on this question are interrupted.
Despite L.A. being his home, Max is clearly out of his element here. It’s one thing to see death on the news, it’s another to have it land on your car.
As Max scrambles from the car and takes stock of what just happened, Vincent returns.
The truth revealed, we finally see what Vincent is.
MD: “You killed him?”
Vincent: “No, I shot him, bullets and the fall killed him.”
This correction of Max’s understanding is of minor importance, there’s still a dead man on the roof of his cab. As he attempts to escape, Vincent pulls a gun on him. The bullshit is over, now it’s time for the truth.
“Red light Max”
Max is now coerced into assisting a murderer. As they put the body in the trunk, a single interaction between the two highlights the difference between these two men - their backgrounds, what they know of the world, and how they react to it:
V: “It’s only a dead guy.”
MD: “He’s all twitching and shit!”
It may not seem like much to go on, but upon examination, we can see that Max has never experienced anything like this without the filter of a TV screen. He is now noticing the finer details of violence that those with familiarity know. This is difficult to accept, Max calling the body “he,” shows his discomfort with the reality of death. He still acknowledges the victim’s existence, his comment on the twitching showing concern, despite the fact that the man is dead.
Vincent on the other hand, is no stranger to violence. “It’s only a dead guy.” This is the perspective of someone who has intimate familiarity with death.
What’s unusual in this scene is that the murder is not actually shown. Instead we focus on the relationship between Max and Vincent. More specifically, the development of it through Vincent’s actions.
There’s also an undercurrent of dark humor which starts to show in their relationship:
MD: “Why don’t you just take the cab?”
V: “Take the cab?”
MD: “You take it. I’ll chill. I’ll just chill...”
V: “You promise not to tell anyone right?”
MD: “Yeah, promise.”
V: “Get in the fucking car.”
At this point we are with Max: bemused, confused, and in the cab for the ride.
“I roll here, find this.”
It’s after this kill that we are introduced to another player in the story: Detective Fanning.
This is a character often seen in Michael Mann’s films. (See Heat, 1995, Manhunter, 1986). Similar to Max and his inside / outside perspective, Fanning is the type that has a job in the city, but a mentality outside of his society. The first thing you notice are his piercing eyes, constantly looking for signals. He’s switched on, obsessed. These abilities serve both the police and the criminal underworld well, and on appearances alone, it’s Fanning that looks like the criminal, and Vincent that looks like the detective.
Fanning’s qualities demonstrate a person who perceives things without the filter of TV: skills honed through action, a highly attuned intuition, and a professional in sniffing out bullshit. It’s these skills which enable him to pick up on the case. He knows something’s going down.
Judging by Fanning’s introduction, he is a worthy opponent to Vincent.
“Bent out of Shape”
Back in the cab, Max’s half-assed attempt to confront Vincent is immediately shut down:
MD: “You said you got to go visit some friends.”
V: “Yeah, somebody’s friends.”
Vincent’s a professional in every sense of the word, sharply dressed, a powerful command of language and logic and laser-like focus on achieving his aim. If he wasn’t a killer, he could have been a coach to Max’s earlier passenger, Annie Farrell.
Max protests at what he’s being forced into. His feeble argument is ended by Vincent’s intimidating response:
MD: “I can’t drive you around while you go around killing people. It ain’t my job.”
V: “Tonight it is.”
And who would argue with that?
On an unremarkable night, in the blink of an eye, Max has gone from invisible cab driver to murder accomplice, ferrying this angel of death from one kill to the next.
Vincent’s summary of their predicament also reflects his mind set:
V: “Here’s the deal. You were going to drive me tonight and never be the wiser, but el gordo got in front of a window, did his high dive... we’re into plan B. We gotta make the best of it, improvise, adapt to the environment, Darwin, shit happens, I Ching, whatever man, we gotta roll with it.”
Max’s response to this sudden philosophical analysis is more grounded:
MD: “I Ching? What are you talking about man? You threw a man out of a window.”
Their discussion then takes a turn which is even more disturbing. Not only because it’s true, but because of it’s implications:
V: “Six billion people on the planet and you’re getting bent out of shape because of one fat guy.”
MD: “Who was he?”
V: “What do you care?”
Not only does Max not care, but Vincent goes further, pointing out the hypocrisy in Max’s moral compass:
V: “Have you ever heard of Rwanda? Tens of thousands killed before sundown, nobody’s killed people that fast since Nagasaki and Hiroshima, did you bat an eye Max? Did you join Amnesty International, Oxfam, Save the Whales, Greenpeace or something? No. I off one fat Angelito and you throw a hissy fit.”
All Max can offer is an impotent response, which is immediately shot down by Vincent for it’s double standards:
MD: “I don’t know any Rwandans.”
V: “You don’t know the guy in that trunk either.”
Unless it directly affects us, we simply don’t care. Max inherently knows this, but like everyone else, he blocks it out. Heinous shit happens everyday, and it’s true, we don’t bat an eye. Instead we go about our business oblivious to it, or even worse, we ignore it. Is this the by-product of living in such a disconnected city?
Vincent, shows that he is not just a crazed murderer, but something far more dangerous. This is a professional killer with a thorough understanding of the human condition. Moreover, as much as we would like to label him as a maniac, we can see that he’s not insane. His logic rings true, and disturbingly, he has a valid point.
“That’s Lenny, Dispatch”
Just when we think we have a grasp of Vincent’s character, our expectations are upended again. Preparing for his next hit, Vincent ties Max to the steering wheel. As he is about to depart, Max receives a call from Lenny, his boss. It is clear almost immediately that Max is bullied by this man, to such an extent that Vincent steps in to defend him.
At first, it can be deduced that Vincent is merely trying to avoid unwanted attention, but it is in the ensuing back and forth that we detect something else.
Vincent participates in the call, defends Max and gets him to take a stand against his scumbag boss. This could just be for Vincent’s entertainment though, as evidenced by his dark humor earlier, however the following interaction hints at a deeper meaning:
M: “I need my job,”
V: “No you don’t.”
Earlier, Vincent pointed out Max’s hypocrisy towards violence. Here, he is doing the same but towards Max’s career. For a moment Vincent is a manifestation of the person that Max should be. As this defender of the working man exits the cab, he looks back at Max. Though the moment only lasts seconds, there is a spark of kinship.
“Yo homey, is that my briefcase?”
Just when we begin to see a thread of humanity in Vincent, we are reminded as to his true nature.
Max, who is tied to his steering wheel, tries to attract the attention of people nearby. A number of people pass, until two unsavory looking characters pay attention. Max’s joy at being saved is short-lived as the two men demonstrate the disconnectedness of L.A. – even though they see Max tied up, they do nothing to help, choosing instead to steal Vincent’s briefcase. Their actions quickly receive consequences.
Vincent returns from his off screen activity and sees the two street thugs carrying his briefcase. Vincent immediately gains their attention, and we see him demonstrate his craft for the first time.
The kills are not stylized or edited for effect, instead shown in one uninterrupted shot. Vincent’s movements are economical and clean, resulting in a brutally efficient double kill. It happens so quickly that we are just as shocked as Max.
In the few seconds of silence as Vincent collects his briefcase, there is a sense of amazement, even admiration in his actions, however this impression is quickly shattered by the way he executes the surviving thug.
Due to the sheer quickness of Vincent’s actions, this scene slips by before we even realize what happened, however in analyzing it more closely, we can see the finer details that would have only been visible to Vincent. Homey 1 gets too close to Vincent with his gun, allowing it to be diverted. Homey 2, with his gun tucked into his pants, is unable to respond in time – a sign of an amateur. Vincent is quick and clean, his gun in a special holster, – his thinking minimal, pared down to the bare essentials, efficient, deadly.
A key point to notice here is the manner of execution – double tap to the sternum and one to the head. Both receiving the same treatment. We can see that Vincent is an expert in his craft, observant, sharp, and decisive. These qualities would serve a lawyer well, however Vincent puts them to use in a manner which requires nobody’s judgement except his own.
This goes beyond the cool antihero realm and into maladjusted sociopath territory. For Max, there’s an element of guilt here. Had the attackers killed Vincent, they would most likely have killed Max as well, leaving no witnesses. Max’s relief at being saved by a righteous kill is then undermined by the follow up on the now helpless attacker, whose role changed to a victim.
The implications of what we have just seen are ominous. We’ve witnessed Vincent’s fearsome technique and we also know that in his method, nothing is off the table. From now on, anything can happen.
We’ve been in a taxi with these people for less than an hour, and already our perceptions have been shattered. We are rolling along with them, with no idea of how things will turn out.
“Behind the notes”
This line, said by Vincent as he watches the jazz performance, is reflected in the events of the scene – it’s what’s not said which reveals details about those at the table.
Vincent has a fascination with Jazz: “It’s off melody, behind the notes, not what’s expected.” His description indicates a deep understanding as he watches the musicians closely. His comparison of their performance to his: “Improvising, like tonight.” suggests an idea of living in the moment, reflected in the unpredictability of a jazz player in a flow state.
We peek into Vincent’s mind here, as he compares the masses with what they are experiencing tonight:
V: “Most people ten years from now, same job, same place, routine. Everything the same, just keeping it safe over and over. Ten years from now. Man, you don’t know where you’ll be ten minutes from now do you?
After this discussion, we see that Vincent is eager to meet one of the jazz performers. In meeting Daniel, Vincent seems to be genuinely interested in his story, admiring even. However it’s here that we start to see subtle signs of something beneath the surface. Vincent glances at the waitress, checking if the coast is clear, all the while with a gleaming smile on his face.
Vincent is able to fake a look of genuine interest, but has another intention under the surface. This man is clearly a sociopath.
Due to the magnetism of Vincent’s presence, an overlooked aspect of this scene is Max’s mental state. Max is back to being human again, almost as if his earlier experiences didn’t happen. He’s completely engrossed in the jazz discussion.
A thread throughout the movie, and the turning point in the conversation is the notion of missing your chance. As Daniel discusses opportunities missed, Vincent changes his tune. He suddenly goes off melody with a flat note:
V: “What a great story. I’ve gotta tell the people in Culiacan and Cartagena that story.”
The ruse is up. Nothing is outright mentioned between Vincent and Daniel. Meaning is left unsaid, but Daniel’s reaction shows us what’s about to happen. At this point, Max interjects, trying to find a way to save Daniel. Vincent finds this hypocritical, coming from Max, but he improvises, offering Daniel a chance to live if he can answer a question about Miles Davis.
Daniel gets it wrong.
The conversation has been stretched to breaking point and ends with a brutal murder. Max is so close to the kill that it’s as if he participates in it. This raises the question: why did Vincent bring Max along on this kill? In one sense, we can see Vincent doing it as cover – the two of them attending a jazz club together, but this iceberg sits deep, Vincent has other motives beneath the surface. For example, the moment when Vincent catches Daniel’s head.
On the surface he is avoiding unwanted attention, but the look on his face betrays a deeper meaning: there’s conflict, between admiration and a hint of remorse for silencing the music. The moment is fleeting, but it’s there, further muddying the waters. This is a professional killer that dislikes wasted potential.
As they leave, Max asks:
Like the unplayed music notes in jazz, Vincent never answers the question, so it’s up to us to decipher meaning. Had Daniel answered correctly, would Vincent have let him go?
Looking at how methodical he is in other areas, it’s doubtful. Vincent is able to improvise, but he knows when to stick to the tune he’s paid to play.
“Mother, this is Vincent”
After the kill, Max is forced to make a detour to the hospital and visit his sick mother. During this scene, we see yet another layer to Vincent.
As they discuss flowers, we learn about Max’s relationship with his mother. He sees no need, knowing his mother will be dismissive of them, even critical. Vincent debates this with insight far beyond everything we have seen so far:
As mind mindbogglingly profound as this line is, it highlights how aware Vincent is of the human condition. Any mother would understand this, having gone through the arduous journey of pregnancy, but for Vincent to say it, further underlines his complexity. It’s a point most of us have never even considered, let alone appreciated. This point resonates with every human being on the planet, and yet it’s a moral lesson taught by a professional killer.
V: “People buy flowers.”
Notice the language Vincent uses here: ‘People,’ ‘humans.’ It’s as if he’s speaking as an observer of the human race, talking about how to mimic their actions, to appear normal and fit in. These are the words of someone who watched humanity from an emotionally detached perspective.
In a strange coincidence Detective Fanning joins them as they enter the lift. Vincent and Fanning exchange pleasantries, but there’s nothing behind it.
V: “Having a good night?”
Fanning: “Mezzo Mezzo.” (literally meaning half half)
It’s ironic that both men have similar skill sets, and are so close, yet so far away from each other in a sea of indifference. It’s a reflection of Vincent’s earlier observation of L.A, the mass of contradictions played out in both a large and small scale of existence.
Sibling Rivalry
We meet Ida, Max’s mother and a strange thing happens. As you would expect, the scene is awkward: Vincent has his eyes on the clock, knowing that this is an inconvenient, but necessary detour. When Ida compliments him on the flowers however, his demeanor changes.
Vincent seems to revel in this moment, sharing a conversation and a joke with Ida, winning the pseudo battle of sibling rivalry. To Ida, Vincent is nothing but charming. So much so that she reveals Max’s dirty little secret.
A limo company. Content to stick at his taxi job, Max has been lying to his sick mother, telling her that he works with important people.
Ida: “Always talking to himself in the mirror.”
Beyond the reference to the iconic Taxi driver (1976), this is evidence of how Max is bullshitting his way through life. His mind is on the island already, but he is yet to achieve his ambition in reality.
It’s this point, not the brutal murders earlier, which motivates Max to rebel against Vincent. He runs away with the briefcase and throws it onto the freeway.
This gives us an insight into Vincent’s working style:
“All of my prep was in there.”
He doesn’t study the cases until he’s on the ground, much like the jazz musician, he knows his instrument well enough to take the tune and roll with it.
“They project onto you their flaws"
As they travel to their next destination, Vincent digs deeper into Max’s background, especially the secret that has come to light.
Max rejects the mocking tone, only to be shut down by Vincent taking the moral high ground:
V: “I’m not the one lying to my mother!”
This is a man who kills people for money, however he sees Max deceiving his mother as the more repugnant behavior. Vincent it seems, prefers bitter truth to sweet lies.
On the subject of parents, Vincent surprisingly opens up and offers information about himself:
V: “I had a father like that... he hated everything I did, drank, foster homes.”
Max’s curiosity gets the better of him and asks what happened. Vincent reveals that he killed him at a young age.
This shocks Max, but turns out to be a twisted, dark joke. It’s bizarre but funny in a way, the kind of trick you would play on a close friend, knowing they could take it. As with all humor however, there is an element of truth within the information, and from what was said before, we now have a insight into why Vincent thinks and acts the way he does. That’s the background of someone who has lived outside of a nuclear family, a person that had to observe, not participate. This separation from humanity has led to detachment and ice cold logic.
“I’m Vincent”
During the Felix scene, Max takes on the role of Vincent and tricks Felix into believing it. This leads to a thought provoking possibility – is Max capable of doing the same type of work as Vincent? As a fellow observer of people, on the outside looking in, He is able to play the part of a killer convincingly enough to fool a cartel boss.
What we are looking at is polar opposites of the same person, one acting on his abilities to the full extent, the other, stifling his abilities, with soul-crushing denial. Both have taken it too far, and as their ideologies clash, one of them will have to yield.
After coming out of the encounter unscathed, we quickly move on to the next hit, and it’s here that the threads start to converge. The cops are now aware of a ‘meat eater super assassin’ giving us more details on Vincent’s professional background:“Private sector – security companies hiring out to cartels... People with trigger time, skill sets, real trade crafts.”
An Omen?
It’s here that we see one of the most memorable scenes in the movie, and as Vincent says, it’s what’s between the notes that carries the most meaning.
As they drive towards the next hit, Vincent, death personified, urges Max to grab the opportunity in front of him.
V: “Your lady friend – pick up the phone. Life’s short, one day it’s gone.”
This is spoken by someone who truly knows how ephemeral life is.
In a twisted way, it’s as if Vincent is what Max should be. He speaks the words that Max has always wanted to say, and made the choices that he always wanted to make. He is not dreaming of his island, he has created his own. Though it may be an island built on blood, he has been true to his cause. There’s been no bullshitting, and he’s steered his own fate up to this point.
As Max confronts the ugly truth, he stops the cab. Something passes before them in the darkness.
Silence, a locking of eyes, a moment of silence in the chaos.
What does it mean?
In various cultures and belief systems, coyotes symbolize the following:
a trickster
a teacher
an omen, or a portent of things to come
a sign of losing ones way
Or maybe it’s nothing. Just a moment that these two men share with an errant coyote. The flaw of humanity: assigning meaning to things where there is none. Trying to make order of the chaos.
After this brief moment of silence, the coyote walks off into the darkness, and both parties continue on their separate ways.
No words are spoken, but a lot is said behind the notes.
Fates Intertwine
As they enter the club, you can see the different realities of these two men. Max bumbles through, getting caught up in the throng of people, Vincent glides like a snake through sand.
All three groups finally meet, erupting in a shootout. In the heat of battle, Vincent shoots cartel members who were about to kill Max.
He gives Max a look. It’s fleeting, but we can see a lot – Vincent’s frustration at having to adapt due to Max’s behavior, and the disdain he sees for another of Max’s double standards: his earlier protests at killing are now absent when his own life is in danger.
Vincent works his craft, killing several people with little fuss. He executes Lin – double tap, plus a head shot – the same method he used in his earlier kills, including those that weren’t on the list. Although Vincent prides himself on adaptation, he paradoxically follows a strict routine in killing.
In the ensuing chaos, Fanning manages to connect with Max. As they leave the club however, he is gunned down by Vincent. The killing is as quick and efficient as any other so far, however this is someone who was driven by purpose, building momentum. The fact that Fanning was snuffed out so unceremoniously is a heated point in Vincent and Max’s next exchange.
In this bizarre moment, Vincent is upset that a man whom he has kidnapped, held at gunpoint tied up, and forced to participate in murder, has not thanked him for saving his life. This is a killer that sees people as a commodity, and life as negotiable, yet he still maintains standards of decorum and expects the same standards from those he terrorizes. Max, understandably, is far from being on the same page as Vincent, and humanizes Fanning:
MD: “Why’d you have to kill him? He’s probably got a family, Kids will grow up without him.”
Max has reached his limit, the scales between preserving life, and preserving humanity have been tipped. We see him stand his ground:
MD: “Why don’t you just kill me and get another cab driver?”
V: “Because you’re good. We’re in this together. Fates intertwined, cosmic coincidence.”
Vincent sees himself but nobody else as having a purpose. In his own universe, he is the center. Max has meaning because Vincent has bestowed it on him. In a sense, he may be right, and it’s here that Max’s reality changes.
“What do we got to lose anyway right?”
We are now at the very heart of what this movie is about:
MD: “you’re full of shit.”
V: “I’m Full of shit? You’re a monument of it. you’ve even bullshitted yourself. All I’m doing is taking out the garbage, killing bad people.”
MD: “Then what’d they do?”
V: “How do I know? They’ve all got that witness for the prosecution look to me. Probably some major federal indictment of somebody who majorly does not want to get indicted.”
M: “So that’s the reason?”
V: “That’s the why. There’s no reason. There’s no good reason, there’s no bad reason to live or to die.”
M: “Then what are you?”
V: “Indifferent. Get with it. Millions of galaxies of hundreds of millions of stars and a speck on one in a blink. That’s us, lost in space. The cop, you, me, who notices?”
Though this is an extremely nihilistic viewpoint to take on the pointlessness of life, it is true. When looking at the scale of things, our insignificance is frightening. To avoid confronting this harsh truth, we bullshit ourselves.
Vincent continues:
V: “Someday my dream will come? One night you’ll wake up and you’ll discover that it never happened. Its all turned around on you. It never will. suddenly you are old. Didn’t happen and never will, because you were never going to do it anyway.”
Vincent sees reality for what it is and he has broken the taboo, picking apart the threads of bullshit that hold our flimsy beliefs together. Or is this just his father talking?
He continues:
V: “You’ll push it into memory then zone out in your barcalounger being hypnotized by daytime TV for the rest of your life. Don’t you talk to me about murder. All it ever took was a down payment on a Lincoln town car. Or that girl, you can’t even call that girl. What the fuck are you still doing driving a cab?”
The truth penetrates deeper than any bullet.
Max realizes his own bullshit, and his revelation occurs. On this one night he has been made to confront death up close, not only the deaths of other people, but potentially, his own. When faced with this, he is forced to confront the bullshit that he has been selling himself. Even if he does survive this night, is it worth continuing the the existence he has had so far? Looking at everything before today, the answer is no. If he is to truly live, the current ideas and beliefs that make up his identity have to die.
Red Light Max
Vincent, despite his crimes, is true to himself. Max is a liar to his mother, and even worse, to himself. He was never going to make it. He realizes this, and he has an epiphany. He’ll end it on his terms.
As he accelerates, we hear his pent up frustrations. This is a man that has accepted being stepped on his entire life. It has taken a sociopathic killer to make him realize this.
MD: “...I could have done it anytime I wanted to... What does it matter anyway? we’re all insignificant in this big ass nowhere. Twilight Zone Shit. Says the bad ass sociopath in my back seat... That’s the one thing I gotta than you for bro, because until now I never looked at it that way. What does it matter? It don’t, so fucking fix it. What do we got to lose anyway right?”
A moment of clarity for this monument of bullshit.
And it’s here that the Max of old dies.
In standing up to Vincent, something has awoken in Max. Vincent however, is still on track to complete his contract.
“What are you gonna do about it?”
Upon realizing that Annie is the final target, Max takes action, stealing the cop’s gun and forcing him to cuff himself, mimicking Vincent’s behavior, even down to his words form earlier in the night:
MD: “When did this become a negotiation?”
Now in the endgame, Max is called upon to rescue Annie and confront Vincent. When he tries to use the gun, any ideas of him playing an action hero are quickly dispelled due to his inexperience. This goes against the typical hero archetype, but similar to James Cameron’s Aliens (1986) this is what makes the finale so compelling. He is seemingly incapable of beating his adversary.
Max is not smarter, faster, or better equipped, but he is compelled to act.
As Max enters the building, Vincent hunts down Annie, silhouetted by the omnipresent city, beautiful in its indifference.
Threads cross, fates intertwine, and we have a showdown.
Vincent has Annie dead to rights, but Max interrupts him. He dismisses the threat:
V: “What are you gonna do about it?”
Vincent goes ahead with his plan, but he’s mistaken.
Max has the intent, but unfortunately not the aim. He shoots Vincent, grazing his face with the bullet.
Max and Annie are now on the run, seeking refuge on the subway.
Vincent is able to pursue them, despite the lack of clues revealing their escape route. It’s here that we see Vincent transcend the role of typical bad guy and become something else.
He is the manifestation of max’s wasted potential, his half-assed attempt at life. He’s the physical representation of all of his excuses for not reaching his dreams. He is a problem which Max has let grow to such an extent, that facing it means confronting his own reality.
Vincent boards the train, the showdown with Max inevitable.
Max is not a hero. He’s weak, timid. There are elements of Vincent’s character that are heroic: killing bad guys, standing up to oppressive bosses, saving lives, living by his own rules. We know Max should be the hero, however we don’t want to identify with his pathetic existence, because it means acknowledging our own monuments to bullshit.
At this point though, we don’t have time to weigh the pros and cons of our decision. We are out of time.
They come face to face.
Everything that has gone before builds up to this moment: Max lets go, leaving the safety of his middling existence, and gives way to the cosmic fate which he has been swept up in.
As they confront each other, the lights go out:
For a first time viewer who is not paying close attention, the result of this standoff may seem difficult to follow, but look closely at Vincent’s bullet holes:
Max shoots around in a wild pattern, with little to no control. Vincent follows his steadfast rule of double tap and head shot. His muscle memory, trigger time and craft all worked against him here. In trying to fit the universe into his reality, he failed to realize that the universe doesn’t give a fuck.
“Think anybody’ll notice?”
Though it may be one of the most low key deaths ever captured on film, this doesn’t diminish how memorable Vincent’s demise is. He accepts it serenely, sitting down on the train.
Max sits opposite him in disbelief. As they both contemplate the chain of events that brought them here, Max breaks the silence:
MD: “We’re almost at the next stop.”
Why say this? Is Max playing his role of a taxi driver, announcing arrival at the destination? Is he offering to get help for his mortally wounded passenger?
Vincent responds with the MTA story, harking back to their initial meeting. Like the MTA doing laps, the story has come full circle.
Both men have messages for each other, however they are not delivered with the words they use.
As we have seen throughout their time together, the real meaning is behind the notes, not what’s expected.
