It is weird. Really weird. If you’ve ever stumbled across The Driver’s Seat movie on a late-night streaming binge or a deep dive into 1970s avant-garde cinema, you know exactly what I’m talking about. It doesn’t follow the rules. Most movies want you to like the protagonist, or at least understand them. This one? It wants to make you itch.
Released in 1974 and also known by the much more ominous title Identikit, this film is a psychological train wreck in the most artistic way possible. It stars Elizabeth Taylor. Yes, the legendary, violet-eyed icon. But this isn’t the Elizabeth Taylor of Cleopatra or Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. This is Taylor playing Lise, a woman who is basically a walking nervous breakdown looking for a place to happen.
The plot is thin, yet suffocatingly dense. Lise travels to Rome. She’s looking for something. Or someone. Specifically, she’s looking for someone to kill her. It’s a "whodunit" where we already know the victim is the one orchestrating the crime.
Honestly, the first time I saw it, I kept waiting for a twist that never came. The twist is just the sheer, unapologetic morbidity of the premise.
The Muriel Spark Connection
You can't talk about The Driver’s Seat movie without talking about Muriel Spark. She wrote the novella the film is based on. Spark was a master of the "metaphysical thriller," and she reportedly considered this her best work. It’s cold. It’s clinical.
The book is written in the present tense, which gives it this terrifying sense of inevitability. The movie tries to capture that by stripping away the usual Hollywood cushions. There are no soaring orchestral swells to tell you how to feel. There is just Lise, her garish, mismatched clothes, and the sweltering streets of Rome.
Director Giuseppe Patroni Griffi didn't want a comfortable movie. He succeeded. He captured that specific 70s European "euro-trash" aesthetic but injected it with a high-art soul. It’s colorful but feels grey. It’s loud but feels silent.
People often forget how much Spark’s Catholicism influenced her writing. This movie is essentially about the loss of free will—or perhaps the ultimate exercise of it. Lise chooses her end. She selects her murderer like someone picking out a ripe piece of fruit at a market. It’s uncomfortable because it flips the script on the "final girl" trope decades before that trope was even fully codified in slasher cinema.
Elizabeth Taylor’s Bravest Performance?
Critics were mean. They were really mean when this came out. They called it a vanity project. They said it was incomprehensible. But looking back from 2026, Taylor’s performance is nothing short of fearless.
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She screamed. She wore a dress that looked like a psychedelic nightmare. She acted with her entire nervous system.
"I'm looking for my type!"
That’s a recurring line Lise uses. She’s searching for a man who fits her specific criteria for a killer. Watching an A-list star like Taylor lean into such an unlikable, fractured character was a massive risk. It’s not a "pretty" performance. Her face is often contorted in a grimace or a forced, terrifying smile.
And then there’s the cameo.
Andy Warhol shows up. Yes, that Andy Warhol. He plays a character named Lord Burghersh. He doesn’t really "act" in the traditional sense—he’s just Warholing around the screen. His presence adds to the surreal, disjointed vibe of the whole production. It’s the kind of casting choice that makes you realize this film was never intended for the masses. It was a piece of pop-art nihilism.
Why Nobody Talked About It For Decades
For a long time, The Driver’s Seat movie was a lost relic. It didn't fit the "Greatest Hits" reel for Elizabeth Taylor. It wasn't a cozy classic. It was a difficult, jagged pill to swallow.
The film deals with themes that were—and still are—incredibly taboo. Female agency through the lens of self-destruction is a tough sell. Most movies about women in peril frame them as victims of external forces. Lise is the force. She is the driver, even if she’s driving straight off a cliff.
The cinematography by Vittorio Storaro is, frankly, too good for how depressing the story is. Storaro is a legend (Apocalypse Now, The Last Emperor). He uses light in Rome to create a sense of isolation that feels almost physical. You can feel the heat. You can feel the sweat. You can feel the desperation of a woman who has decided that her life only has meaning if she can control the moment it stops.
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Ian McDiarmid—long before he was Emperor Palpatine—and Mona Washbourne also pop up, adding to the strange, eclectic energy of the cast. Every interaction Lise has feels slightly "off." It’s like everyone is speaking the same language but different dialects. Communication is a failure throughout the entire runtime.
The Visual Language of Chaos
Lise’s clothes are a character themselves. She buys a coat and a dress that don't match. The salesgirls laugh at her. She doesn't care. To her, these colors are part of the ritual.
- The lime green.
- The jarring reds.
- The chaotic patterns.
In any other movie, this would be a "makeover" montage. Here, it’s the preparation of a sacrificial lamb who is also the priest performing the sacrifice.
The movie is structured with flash-forwards. We see the police investigating her death before we even see her die. This kills any traditional suspense. We aren't wondering if she dies; we are wondering how she managed to make it happen. It’s a reverse procedural. It’s brilliant, but it’s also incredibly frustrating for a casual viewer.
The 2020s Resurgence
Why are we talking about it now? Well, the Criterion Collection and various film restorers have a way of digging up these "failures" and showing us why they were actually ahead of their time.
In an era where we discuss mental health, autonomy, and the "female gaze" constantly, The Driver’s Seat movie feels shockingly relevant. It’s a film about a woman who refuses to be a secondary character in her own life, even if that means ending it.
It’s a proto-feminist nightmare. It’s a fashion film. It’s a psychological study.
If you go into it expecting a standard thriller, you will hate it. You’ll probably turn it off after twenty minutes. But if you watch it as a document of a woman dismantling her own existence, it’s haunting. It stays with you. You’ll find yourself thinking about Lise’s blank stare long after the credits roll.
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Actionable Takeaways for Film Lovers
If you're planning to hunt down this piece of cinematic history, here's how to actually digest it without losing your mind:
1. Watch the Restored Version Don't settle for a grainy YouTube rip. The colors are essential to the experience. Find the digitally restored version (often under the title Identikit) to see Storaro’s cinematography as it was intended.
2. Read the Novella First Muriel Spark’s prose is razor-sharp. Reading the book (it's very short) provides a roadmap for the internal logic of Lise's character that the movie sometimes leaves a bit too abstract.
3. Contextualize the 1970s Remember that this was a time of massive social upheaval in Italy (the "Years of Lead"). The sense of chaos and random violence in the background of the film isn't just a stylistic choice; it was the reality of the era.
4. Focus on the Wardrobe Pay attention to how the costume design evolves. The clothes are the most honest thing about Lise. They represent her rejection of societal norms and her embrace of her own chaotic end.
5. Don't Look for "Why" The biggest mistake viewers make with this film is looking for a rational motive. There isn't one. Lise isn't "sad" in the way we usually see in movies. She's decided. Accepting her lack of a traditional motive is the only way the movie works.
The film remains a polarizing masterpiece that refuses to be categorized. It is a testament to a time when movie stars took genuine risks and directors weren't afraid to alienate their audience in pursuit of a singular, uncomfortable vision. Whether you love it or loathe it, you won't forget it.