A middle-aged woman who considers herself the epitome of glamour travels from her home in suburban Copenhagen to Rome, telling her friends that it is for a vacation when she is looking for someone – she isn’t quite sure who it is. Still, she knows that it is a man who is going to treat her like she deserves, which leads her down a few terrifying paths as she interacts with a range of eccentric individuals, all of whom prove not to be the person she is looking for, as well as avoiding the authorities, who are desperate to identify this mysterious woman who carries secrets that they are intent on unearthing. This is the premise for The Driver’s Seat (alternatively known as Identikit), a pulpy Italian psychological drama in which director Giuseppe Patroni Griffi adapts the novella of the same name by acclaimed author Muriel Spark, plunging himself (and the audience by extension) into a world of paranoia and intrigue, allowing us to spend some time with the enigmatic Lise as she makes her way through arguably one of the most beautiful cities in Europe, searching for both love and answers, all the while being silently pursued by a range of people, some of which are only looking to solve a mystery, while others intend to contribute to it in their way. A delightfully bizarre work that is steeped heavily in 1970s paranoia, the kind that feels plucked directly from the pages of the most low-quality, over-the-top pulp fiction novels that are rarely well-written (despite the source material being written by a celebrated author), but have a sense of excitement and a lust for the danger that is irresistible to many of us who can set aside logic and just surrender to such an absurd premise, which becomes the heart of the story and the overall impetus for one of the most unforgettable experiences we could have with such a film, especially one that aims to be as quintessentially offbeat at this one.

On the surface, The Driver’s Seat seems to be a low-quality, trashy thriller without much artistic merit – this is until we realize that this is all by design and that both Spark (in her capacity as the writer of the source material), and Griffi were respected artists within their fields, and were intentionally crafting this film to be a subversive riff on common productions at the time. Italy is the only country that truly managed to create its sub-genre of 1970s paranoia thriller that matches up with that which was pioneered in Hollywood, those dark and twisted films steeped heavily in political upheaval and social despair, where danger lurks around every corner and someone is always watching. Once we step out of the mindset that would lead us to assume this was just a one-dimensional thriller, we start to understand the brilliance lurking beneath the surface – Griffi effortlessly glides through different genres throughout the film, delivering a story that blends different ideas in its effort to not only cast as wide a net as possible over this very peculiar story but also contributes to the off-kilter tone that is incredibly important to the film’s identity. It is primarily a psychological thriller, and it was marketed as such from the first moments where we are plunged into a state of suspense – but after a while, we start to notice broad overtures of dark comedy, with the sheer absurdity of the situations in which this character finds herself bordering on surreal. There are elements of crime drama, political satire and even some horror scattered liberally throughout the film, which comes about in both the visual landscape and in the tone, which gleefully borrows from a range of genres in its effort to play into this dastardly and wacky work of paranoia-fueled delight. It’s even more compelling since it never becomes clear whether this was intentional or just a byproduct that the director and his crew decided to lean into as the film progressed, but it proves to be quite successful in unexpected ways.

Casting the role of Lise proved to be a good opportunity for the director to choose someone who could handle different aspects of the character – it’s not a particularly easy brief to deliver to any actor, since they will essentially be playing a glamorous older woman who is holding onto her youth with a thread, and who would like to see herself as an object of desire, but in reality is only a few steps away from being the crone that she is fearful she is becoming – and added onto this, she is also something of a fugitive from the law. It’s a role that requires quite a bit of work, and considering the director intended to bring some Hollywood lustre to the film (and Griffi was relatively well-received as a filmmaker, having worked with several tremendous stars in the past, so he could feasibly request just about anyone within reason), The Driver’s Seat ended up becoming a vehicle for Elizabeth Taylor (no pun intended), and to this very day, it is bewildering and delightful in equal measure that she agreed to appear in this role. Taylor, who had a reputation for taking herself quite seriously and choosing roles that would play into the glamorous image she had cultivated for herself, was a fantastic choice for this film, since not only did it allow her to do something radically different, but it gave her the chance to expand on her repertoire, taking on a part that was different from quite a lot of what she had done before. It’s a performance that has proven to be divisive, and ultimately it depends on whether the viewer is willing to buy what she is selling throughout this film – if they are, the experience is worthwhile, whereas if they aren’t, it can be deeply frustrating. There’s something very special about the extent to which Taylor commits to this role, and her efforts are admirable – it draws on every ounce of her acting skill, from her line delivery to the physicality, both of which are subjected to quite a workout throughout this film, and while no one would dare to consider this to be her best work, it is one of her most entertaining and compelling performances, especially for those with a penchant for seeing these iconic Hollywood actors are asked to go against-type and deliver much harsher performances.

We can tell from the very beginning that this is not a film that is going to give us any answers, and for some, this can be truly frustrating since we are naturally inclined to desire a neat resolution, or rather be pointed in a direction where there are a few options from which we can choose the most likely outcome based on our understanding. The Driver’s Seat doesn’t even give us enough information to allow us the chance to form our interpretation, with the storyline not only being ambigious but almost entirely nonsensical. This is part of the incredible appeal of this film, which proves to be quite a sombre affair at some points, which only makes the loose structure and bizarre timeline even more peculiar since it never seems to be intending to make us laugh, but we can’t help finding the humour in the jagged nature of this narrative. Anyone who goes into The Driver’s Seat seeking answers is going to be disappointed since the reality is that this film doesn’t intentionally withhold the resolution from the viewer, but rather it was crafted without any conceivable solutions, so it would be impossible for it give us the answers when even the filmmakers and writers themselves are at a loss for what it means. Once again, this all feels very intentional, and not only does it pay tribute to the dense paranoia thrillers that sometimes throw us into these labyrinthine plots, but it hearkens back to the era of convoluted, impenetrable film noir, where people acted without any logical motivation, and existed almost entirely for the sake of being figureheads for some deeper meaning which either never arrives, or comes about in truly bizarre ways. This is the foundation of this film, and while it does have a few moments of profound commentary, these are supplementary to the story rather than definitive of it, and it all becomes a matter of patiently waiting to see which off-kilter left-turn this film is going to take next, and enjoying every moment.

Logic is not always the asset that some may believe it to be, and with a film like The Driver’s Seat, we find that the most valuable components are those which exist on the outskirts, those bizarre elements that would be viewed as flaws in a more conventional film, but which prove to be highlighted in this case. It’s a strange film with a bizarre sense of humour, especially since we never know who is the subject of the mockery, and who is in on the joke – is the director the one playing an elaborate prank on us, or was he fooled into making a seemingly complex film that was secretly just an absurd disaster? Was Taylor aware of the extent of what this role required and committed to it wholeheartedly, or was she the victim of an editor who turned what she imagined was a solid character study into a bizarre depiction of an older woman losing her mind? Were we as the audience given the chance to splendour in the sheer absurdity of a truly off-the-wall film that fails to be categorized under any genre, or were we simply strung along on a mystery that lacked both motivation and a resolution, essentially just being 100 minutes of red herrings and narrative non-sequiturs? These are some of the questions that come to mind, and the fact that we cannot answer any of them with even an ounce of certainty is precisely why The Driver’s Seat is such a delight – it’s bizarre and ridiculous, and never makes any sense. It feels both reverential and disrespectful, elegant and trashy – and it feels very little shame for some of its subject matter. The film is more of a cult classic than it is a well-received work of 1970s cinema, which is indeed the most appropriate fate for a film such as this since it only adds to the mystique. In recent years, there have been some efforts to revive this film and stir interest in it once again, and with the current generation’s love for brutal nihilism and dark, surreal humour, it seems poised to find a home with contemporary audiences, who will hopefully give this peculiar film the respect it deserves.