Taxi Driver (1976)
Martin Scorsese’s descent into a lonely man’s psyche is drenched in a specific type of urban despair that feels like a Bill Evans composition turned menacing. Bernard Herrmann’s iconic, jazz-heavy score is the most direct link. The mournful, late-night
saxophone theme that follows Travis Bickle through the sleazy, rain-slicked New York streets mirrors the lonely, searching quality of Evans' piano lines. While Evans' music is more lyrical and less overtly threatening, both artists tap into a deep well of urban isolation. The film’s atmosphere of a man disconnected from the world, observing life through a glass barrier—his taxi windshield—is the visual equivalent of the introspective, sometimes detached, world Evans created with his trio.
In the Mood for Love (2000)
Wong Kar-wai's masterpiece isn't overtly a jazz film, but its emotional texture is pure Bill Evans. The movie's feeling of unspoken longing, of moments that are beautiful precisely because they are fleeting and restrained, is the essence of an Evans ballad. The film's slow, rhythmic editing and Christopher Doyle's lush, shadowed cinematography create a hypnotic, dreamlike state. Much like Evans' music, the most powerful moments are found in the spaces between the notes—the glances that aren't held, the words left unsaid. It's a film about two people moving around each other in a graceful, melancholic dance of missed connections, which perfectly captures the delicate, heartbreaking beauty central to Evans' sound.
Paterson (2016)
Jim Jarmusch's quiet ode to the poetry of the mundane has the same gentle, observational rhythm as a Bill Evans performance. The film follows a bus driver named Paterson through one week of his life, finding beauty in his simple, repetitive routine. Like Evans, who could take a simple melodic line and explore its infinite harmonic possibilities, the film finds profound depth in everyday details. There is no grand plot, only a focus on tone, imagery, and the quiet internal world of its artist protagonist. The film’s structure, which repeats each day with slight variations, feels like a musical composition with a recurring theme. It’s a movie that understands that creativity isn't always a dramatic explosion but often a quiet, consistent, and deeply personal practice, a sentiment that defines Evans' introspective genius.
Blade Runner 2049 (2017)
While Vangelis's score for the original Blade Runner is legendary, the sequel, scored by Hans Zimmer and Benjamin Wallfisch, creates an atmosphere of sublime, dystopian melancholy that aligns with the Evans mood. The film is defined by its overwhelming sense of loneliness and the search for identity in a cold, synthetic world. The visual landscape—vast, smog-choked, and often hauntingly empty—evokes a profound isolation. It’s a feeling of being adrift in a beautiful but sorrowful future. Bill Evans' music often carries this same weight of contemplative solitude. The film's slow, deliberate pacing and stunning, often somber, cinematography immerse the viewer in a mood that is both beautiful and bleak, a high-tech version of the smoky, after-hours introspection that Evans perfected.
'Round Midnight (1986)
This is perhaps the most direct connection, as Bertrand Tavernier's film is a love letter to the expatriate jazz scene in 1950s Paris, a world Evans knew. The film stars legendary tenor saxophonist Dexter Gordon as Dale Turner, a brilliant but troubled musician whose character is partly inspired by pianist Bud Powell and saxophonist Lester Young. The entire film is steeped in the authentic atmosphere of jazz life—the smoky clubs, the camaraderie, and the personal cost of artistic genius. Herbie Hancock's Oscar-winning score perfectly captures the era. The central theme of a profoundly talented artist struggling with his demons, channeling his pain and joy into his music, mirrors the biographical narrative of Bill Evans' own life and career, marked by immense sensitivity, brilliance, and personal tragedy.
