Rotten Tomatoes reviews
David Spiro
before, but it is an excellent analysis of BR. It is a bit long, but
bear with it. I would be curious as ot the group's reactions.
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Grades
Director's Cut: A+
Original release: A- Review and analysis by Carlo Cavagna
Note: The analysis contains spoilers and is intended only for readers
who have already seen the movie. The review does not contain spoilers.
Review
Before Return of the Jedi and after Raiders of the Lost Ark,
action-film icon Harrison Ford made Blade Runner, a genre-defining
science-fiction thriller with echoes of old-fashioned film noir. Unlike
many other science-fiction stories, which look to the future with hope,
Blade Runner adopts a gloomy, nihilistic view of what is to come. Based
on the intriguingly titled short novel by Philip K. Dick, Do Androids
Dream of Electric Sheep?, Blade Runner foresees a world ruined by
economic and environmental exploitation, inhabited by helpless, lonely
people.
The year is 2019. Humanity is fleeing the polluted hell that Earth has
become for new colonies on other planets. Deep-space exploration and
colonization is not easy. To bear the brunt of the labors, powerful
corporations have invented super-strong, intelligent androids called
“replicants,” many of whom do not adapt well to slavery. After a bloody
revolt, replicants are prohibited on Earth. Special police officers
called Blade Runners are charged with enforcing the ban. Harrison Ford
is Deckard, one such Blade Runner, brought out of retirement to hunt
down four especially dangerous newly-arrived replicants.
Predictably, the producers sought to capitalize on Ford’s previous
successes by marketing Blade Runner as a rock-‘em, sock-‘em flick. Blade
Runner is no boisterous romp, however. Taking no joy in its action
sequences, the melancholy Blade Runner has little in common with the
Star Wars and Indiana Jones franchises. The sense of humor Ford
displayed in those movies appears only once, when he interviews a
possible replicant while posing as a squeaky-voiced member of the
"Committee Against Moral Abuses." Instead, Ford gives one of the first
of his many quiet, understated performances that would characterize his
later career, including such films as Presumed Innocent, Clear and
Present Danger, and The Devil’s Own. Among Ford's movies, Blade Runner
possibly has the most in common with Witness, in which Ford plays a
police officer drawn to a woman from a different world, where he finds
all his assumptions challenged–not unlike Deckard.
Director Ridley Scott brings the same patience, pensive tone, and
metaphysical themes to Blade Runner that can be found in his previous
film, Alien. Characterized by a recurring birth motif, Alien explored
the concept of non-human life. Blade Runner asks, “What is life?” more
explicitly. Can artificial life forms have a consciousness, or a soul?
Blade Runner presents an answer, but introduces many new questions along
the way.
Fearful that the film was too impenetrable and uncommercial, the
producers made several changes to the theatrical release. They deleted a
brief dream sequence, tacked on a more positive ending, and, to make the
story easier to follow, added voiceover narration by Deckard, which Ford
recorded under protest. The narration in the original version does
clarify certain points, but obscures others and restricts Scott’s
vision. Though Blade Runner did poorly at the box office (not even
recouping its $28 million budget in U.S. receipts), its merits were
eventually recognized, and the Director’s Cut was finally released in
1992. Narration-free, more ambiguous, and with the implications added by
the unicorn daydream, the Director's Cut is a major, thought-provoking
artistic achievement, and a landmark in science fiction.
Analysis (contains spoilers)
ike most of the best science fiction, Blade Runner is not really
concerned with pseudo-scientific gobbledy-gook. Despite the presence of
aliens, alternate realities, or fantastical futures, the best science
fiction asks, what does it mean to be human? What is the nature of
consciousness? Of life? In exploring these issues, a science fiction
universe can have an advantage over a “standard” fiction setting,
because it gives writers greater freedom and a larger milieu in which to
pose their questions. The best science fiction investigates the essence
of life using conflicts out of the bounds of our contemporary world as a
catalyst. (Star Trek also does this.)
Because science fiction is inherently speculative, sometimes one must
forgive small holes in a premise. It’s inescapable–even the most
scientific science-fiction must ultimately resort to the imagination to
conjure up possible futures and technological marvels. If you look
closely, all science-fiction premises are flawed in some way. Certainly
in Blade Runner there are a few problematic questions. For example, why
must androids be subjected to a complicated emotion test to determine
whether they are human? Why isn’t a skin sample or an x-ray enough? A
single scale and a microscope is enough to determine that a snake is
artificial. One could argue that the androids are completely organic
machines (the film suggests this, in fact), but that is inconsistent
with their immunity to boiling water or extreme cold.
Such small discrepancies exist in most science fiction, and they don’t
really matter, as long as the science fiction world remains true to
itself once the parameters have been established. Though there are those
who would disagree, science fiction should not be ultimately about the
science, but about the thematic explorations permitted by whatever
imaginary setting the author has chosen. What matters is whether the
story yields answers that resonate as universal truths.
Blade Runner may contain discrepancies, but it is a sophisticated and
complex film, memorable both in style and substance. It’s important in
the development of cinema, too, because it is the first identifiable
“cyberpunk” movie. Cyberpunk, a sub-genre of science fiction whose
stories usually feature computers and/or cybernetics, came into its own
with William Gibson’s 1984 novel, Neuromancer, in which Gibson writes
about things called “the net” and “cyberspace.” Although William Gibson
himself admits that he knew nothing about computers, he is credited by
many with inspiring the development of the internet into what it is today.
Blade Runner doesn't feature computers, but it does have cybernetic
organisms (androids, or “replicants”), and it shares with Neuromancer
and most cyberpunk a grim vision–a future world ruined by capitalism run
amok. In the year 2019, corporations seem to have replaced governments.
Earth is an environmentally degraded mess that people can’t wait to
abandon in favor of off-world colonies. Note, for example, how J.F.
Sebastian (William Sanderson) is the only resident of his apartment
building. The only people left on Earth are the wretches who can’t
afford to leave and those who profit by exploiting them.
More than anything, the setting and visual style of Blade Runner
influenced cyberpunk–a genre which culminated on film recently with The
Matrix. But the style of Blade Runner was itself strongly informed by
the classic film noirs of the 1940s. The setting may be futuristic, but
it is typical noir: the city at night. Director Ridley Scott chooses
darkness whenever possible, even during the daytime, and employs classic
noir contrasts between light and darkness–light shines through window
blinds, for example, and casts bar-like shadows against a character’s
face. Blade Runner is also a detective story. Like in a film noir,
Deckard (Harrison Ford) works his case in a seedy underworld and falls
for the femme fatale. Deckard’s hard boiled narration in the original
theatrical release (deleted from the Director’s Cut), reminiscent of a
pulp novel, is another explicit feature of the noir genre.
Fear and paranoia is the essence of film noir. Such movies were most
popular in the 1940s and early 1950s, when rapid technological advances
after the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki led to the chilliest
era of the Cold War. Despite the economic boom, the omnipresent threat
of nuclear annihilation instilled a sense of collective dread.
Similarly, when Blade Runner was released in 1982, Reagan’s Second Cold
War was underway, and the United States was at the tail end of a
protracted economic recession, in which being eclipsed by Japan as the
world’s economic superpower seemed like a real possibility. In Blade
Runner’s future, Japanese businesses and culture have overrun Los
Angeles, and the world in general is a bleak, inhospitable place.
Virtually all animals have died, leaving lonely humans to design and
build artificial creatures for companionship. Classic noir suggests that
increased industrialization breeds alienation, and in the
hyper-industrialized world of Blade Runner, this is especially true.
Individuals are cogs, helpless and lost in their urban environment.
If it had to be described with a single word, the film noir mood is best
defined as claustrophobic. Scott’s visual motifs enhance this mood.
Everywhere, we see eyes, creating an atmosphere of constant
surveillance, like in Orwell’s classic novel 1984. After the opening
credits we see the flaming smokestacks reflected in an eye; eyes are
used in the emotion test to detect replicants; the replicants visit Chew
(James Hong), a genetic engineer who “only does eyes,” and before
killing him, Roy Batty (Rutger Hauer) remarks, “If only you could see
what I’ve seen with your eyes.” Later, Roy puts out Tyrell’s eyes. Scott
also uses images of fans, also common in noir. In most cramped, polluted
urban noir landscapes, the fans are required for ventilation. They are a
visual symbol of the oppressive environment from which they provide a
barely adequate source of relief. (Similarly, fans would later be used
in Alan Parker’s Angel Heart as an ineffective remedy against the heat
of Hell itself.)
Birds are also a common motif in Blade Runner. Nothing represents
freedom quite as well as a bird in flight, and nothing represents
imprisonment quite as well as the same bird caged. However, different
birds appear at different times, each serving a different function. Roy
refers to “shores burning with the fires of a hawk,” a bird known as a
hunter and predator, perhaps meant to represent Roy himself. Instead,
the dove released by Roy when he dies symbolizes peace and, perhaps, his
soul. Much earlier, near the beginning of the film, there is an owl in
the lobby of the Tyrell Corporation. It’s a bird known for its large
eyes (again, a symbol of watchfulness), and it is also mechanical. As it
flies across the lobby, its image is juxtaposed to that of Rachael,
looking like a flawless china doll as she walks out to meet Deckard. The
message is obvious: the owl is artificial; Rachael is artificial. (Owls
are also a symbol of wisdom, of course, which suggests that the
replicants are in some respects wiser than humans; more on that below.)
Deckard isn’t sure at first that the owl is artificial. He must ask.
After all, the owl is much more real-seeming than the statues of birds
also found in the Corporation’s lobby. Those are the artificial birds;
surely this flying feathered creature is a living thing. This contrast
introduces the key conflict of Blade Runner. Can a replicant be a
conscious, living creature, or is it just a machine? What’s the
difference between a replicant and a human being? In other words, what
defines life? It takes Deckard an unusually long time to determine that
Rachael is a replicant. “More human than human is our motto,” comments
Tyrell. A background advertisement during the climactic scene between
Roy and Deckard echoes Tyrell’s remark. It advertises TDK, which makes
blank video and audio tapes. Tapes are used for duplicating–or perhaps,
replicating–and the slogan reads, “TDK–so real.”
Are the replicants alive? The empathy test used by Deckard helps to
answer to this question. It is designed to detect replicants by
measuring their emotional responses. This is done by tracking the
dilation of their pupils as they answer a series of questions. Pupil
dilation is affected by emotions. Therefore, one would expect to find
variations in pupil size in a human subject and not in a replicant.
Interestingly, however, the replicants’ emotional responses during the
test seem strong–stronger, in fact, than those of a human being–and
that’s what gives them away, not their lack of emotion. Consider how
upsetting the test questions are to the replicant Leon (Brion James) in
the opening scene. A hypothetical situation in which he refuses to
assist a helpless tortoise greatly distresses him, and, in response to a
seemingly innocuous question about his mother, Leon murders his
interrogator.
Why the extreme response? As Dr. Tyrell (Joe Turkel) explains to
Deckard, “[Replicants] were designed to copy human beings in every way
except their emotions. The designers reckoned that after a few years
they might develop their own emotional responses.” They become like
young children or developmentally disabled humans when they experience
anger or frustration, and don't know the proper ways of dealing with
strong feelings. Perhaps this is why Pris (Darryl Hannah) feels such
affinity for the developmentally retarded J.F. Sebastian (in addition to
the other more obvious reason, his medical condition that causes
“accelerated decrepitude”).
Once the unnaturally strong replicants experience emotions, they become
volatile and dangerous. Therefore, Tyrell has incorporated a fail-safe
device into the replicants: a four-year life span. Tyrell is also
experimenting with memory implants. Artificial memories of a childhood
and adolescence provide built-in experience in handling emotional
reactions–they supply maturity, in other words. Moreover, a replicant
with artificial memories would not know that it is a replicant. Unlike
Leon and Roy, Rachael is such an experiment, which is why Deckard has
such a difficult time establishing that she isn’t human. Because she
believes herself to be human, she is far more convincing.
In addition to their emotions, the replicants’ search for their Tyrell
is further evidence of their sentience. For millennia humans have
posited the existence of a god or gods that are responsible for creation
and give order to their seemingly random lives. For almost as long
humans have questioned their gods. Various answers are found in
different religious texts, but there are very few who claim to have
known God directly–to have spoken to him, or to have experienced the
divine. Unlike humans, Roy knows exactly where his creator is. Tyrell
lives in a building on Earth that closely resembles one of the Toltec
pyramids at Teotihuacan, in Mexico–a visual expression of Tyrell’s
godhood. Tyrell later refers to Roy as “the prodigal son,” further
underscoring his status as father and creator.
When they meet, Roy asks the same questions that humans have longed to
ask God. Why did you create me? Why did you design my life to be so
brief? Can you not show mercy? Can you not make things better? Roy has
reached the point in his development where he is wrestling with the same
existential issues with which humans struggle. Alas, nothing can be done
about his four-year life span. Frustrated by losing his last hope of
changing his fate, Roy gets even by killing Tyrell, freeing himself of god.
Rachael’s implanted memory of baby spiders hatching and eating the
mother spider foreshadows the result of Roy’s meeting with Tyrell, which
serves as a warning not to use technology and science to play god.
Tyrell’s creation, a sentient being designed only to make human life
more convenient, has destroyed him. The replicants are only seeking a
place in the world, to be accepted and fit in, and to increase their
life span to a normal human length. They do not kill unprovoked. They
are on a quest for life, not death. For this, they are considered
dangerous, and they are hunted and killed.
It is the humans who have a greater disregard for life. They have
destroyed their own world; they exploit each other, and, except for the
child-like J.F. Sebastian (whose innocence only highlights other humans’
deficiencies, and whose solution for loneliness–literally making
friends–contrasts with the manufacture of replicants to suit more
distasteful needs), they show no compassion for one another or for the
replicants Captain Bryant (M. Emmett Walsh) callously refers to as “skin
jobs.” This is not true, however, of the replicants, who protect each
other, fall in love, and grieve.
Who is more “human,” the humans or the replicants? Like another
unnatural, emotionally immature (and therefore dangerous) creation, Mary
Shelley’s Frankenstein, the replicants are ironically the more noble
creatures, vilified and destroyed by those who misunderstand them. They
are also slaves–note the heavy irony in Deckard’s question to Zhora
(Joanna Cassidy), as he is posing as a member of the Committee for Moral
Abuses, “Have you ever felt yourself to be exploited in any way?” The
replicants' fight for freedom, not unlike the struggle of slaves
throughout human history, is seen as dangerous and subversive by their
masters. “Aren’t you supposed to be the good man?” Roy asks Deckard. By
whose twisted definition is Deckard the good guy and not a ruthless
murderer?
By the time Roy has disposed of Tyrell, Deckard has “retired” all Roy’s
companions, and Roy’s four years are almost up. Roy faces imminent death
alone. His first instinct is to avenge his friends by killing Deckard
before he dies himself. But Roy has a change of heart at the climactic
moment. Having accepted his fate, Roy discovers an appreciation for life
that goes beyond the basic instinct for self-preservation. With
Deckard’s life in his hands, Roy spares him, exercising compassion that
Tyrell did not possess. In the last moments of his life, Roy has
achieved emotional maturity and is now fully “human.” His outward
appearance has similarly changed. When Roy first appears, he looks
inhuman with his chiseled features and bleached hair, but at the end he
is wounded and bleeding, no longer a too-perfect physical specimen.
In his eloquent final words, Roy both mourns and celebrates his
remarkable but brief life. “Look at what I have done in just four
years,” he seems to be saying to Deckard. “Do not waste this gift I am
giving you.” As Deckard listens to Roy and watches him die, a look of
understanding dawns in his eyes. Only then does Deckard fully appreciate
that the replicants are conscious, living beings. Only then does he
grasp the brutality of what he has done to other replicants. Deckard’s
perspective has completely changed from the beginning of the movie, when
he comments to Rachael (before discovering she is a replicant herself),
“Replicants are like any other machine. They’re either a benefit or a
hazard.” “Have you ever retired a human by mistake?” Rachael challenges him.
Rachael continues to challenge Deckard’s prejudices–for that is what
they are–throughout the story, laying the groundwork for Deckard’s
revelation. When Rachael visits Deckard’s apartment after the empathy
test, for example, he cruelly informs her that she is just a machine–one
of Tyrell’s little toys. Then, when she is visibly upset, he insults her
by lying and saying that he was just making a bad joke. Deckard
immediately regrets it. As Rachael stands in his apartment completely
vulnerable and disillusioned, Deckard begins to see her in a different
light. He begins to feel pity, and he also finds himself drawn to her.
Deckard initially can’t accept that he is attracted to a replicant.
Uncomfortable with his own emotions, he treats her roughly, trying to
provoke what he views as a human response. This is not Rachael’s fault,
of course. She has clearly exhibited emotions that can be described as
human, but Deckard does not yet fully accept her as a conscious
individual. The moment of tenderness at the piano, and later, when he is
fearful that Rachael is lying dead in his bed, show Deckard’s true feelings.
Deckard has hunted replicants all his life. His mission is to protect
humans from replicants. Yet here is a replicant who is for all intents
and purposes human. Rachael awakens Deckard’s protective instincts, and
he begins to reconsider what he does for a living. It’s not just Rachael
that causes Deckard to reassess. For example, in Leon’s apartment,
Deckard finds photographs. Why would a replicant, one without memory
implants, keep mementos of his life? It’s another sign of “humanity” in
something that is supposed to be a machine.
Of course, Deckard doesn’t enjoy hunting down replicants in the first
place, even though he has been able to live with actions until now.
Scott emphasizes the distastefulness of Deckard’s job by photographing
each death tragically instead of triumphantly. Deckard’s dispirited
reaction to Zhora death contrasts starkly with that of Bryant’s jubilant
response. When Bryant tells him that there is one more replicant that he
must retire, Deckard is even more unhappy, particularly when he learns
that Rachael is the target. In yet another irony, Deckard’s own life is
saved not once but twice in the film, both times by replicants.
Fearing that Ridley Scott's final cut of Blade Runner would be too
difficult for audiences to follow, the studio deleted Deckard’s unicorn
dream, added Deckard’s hard-boiled narration (which Ford recorded under
protest–and it shows), and tacked on a more uplifting ending that shows
Deckard and Rachael driving off into the sunset. (The Director’s Cut
ends with Deckard and Rachael leaving Deckard’s apartment and descending
the staircase to make their escape.) Deckard’s narration then suggests
that Rachael may have no fail-safe, meaning that she has a normal life
span, and the happy couple can thus live happily ever after. The studio
used extra footage from The Shining to create the dreamlike landscape as
Deckard and Rachel speed off. Though beautiful, the addition of this
footage is absurd, because we’ve been told repeatedly that the Earth’s
environment is hopelessly fouled, which is an integral part of the
story’s setting and context.
Deckard’s narration clarifies the plot, but it obscures many of the
themes. It and the deletion of the unicorn dream rob Blade Runner of its
most interesting subtext–the idea that Deckard may himself be a
replicant. The most explicit evidence supporting such a conclusion is
Gaff’s message to Deckard at the end of the movie. Gaff (Edward James
Olmos) is a police lieutenant who works for Bryant and has a habit of
making tiny origami animals and leaving them at places he visits. He
makes a chicken, for example, and later what looks like a human with an
erection, which is probably a comment on Deckard's attraction to
Rachael. When Deckard and Rachael leave his apartment to go on the run,
Rachael knocks over a tiny origami unicorn left on the floor of the hall.
The obvious interpretation is that Gaff is telling Deckard that he’s
been there, that he knows that Deckard is harboring Rachael, and that he
will allow them to make their escape. But Gaff has already told Deckard
this when he arrives at the scene of Roy’s death and says, “I guess
you’re through,” even though Gaff knows Deckard has not yet “retired”
Rachael. Gaff is then even more explicit, “It’s too bad she won’t live.”
The origami message is unnecessary unless Gaff is communicating some new
thing. Why did Gaff specifically choose a unicorn? Does he have
knowledge, somehow, of Deckard’s dreams–just as Deckard knows Rachael’s
memories? If so, there is only one possible explanation: Deckard’s
memories have also implanted.
The implication could not be clearer: Deckard is a replicant, too. And
why not? Why should human beings risk life and limb in the dangerous
task of hunting down renegade replicants? Humans build replicants to do
all their dirty work–why not a replicant policeman? Of course, the
replicant can’t know that he is a replicant, or he’ll refuse to do his
job. So, just like Rachael, Deckard is given human memories. To maintain
the illusion, they haven’t given him the inhuman strength that other
replicants have. This makes Deckard’s task of hunting outlaw replicants
more difficult, but who cares? If he’s killed, he can easily be
replaced–right? Deckard could easily have been activated shortly before
the start of the story. Deckard is not actually employed by the police
department. He’s brought in when the previous blade runner fails.
Deckard has memories of having worked for the police and having quit,
but who’s to say those memories are real?
There are other hints that Deckard may not be human. The daydream of the
unicorn is juxtaposed with his photographs on the piano, suggesting
that, like a unicorn, Deckard’s past is a myth. In addition, in the
Director’s Cut, we see red glints in some of the actors’ eyes–like
people might have in a cheap flash photograph. However, only replicants
ever display these odd red reflections–only replicants, and, during
Rachael’s second visit to his apartment, Deckard.
Then there’s an odd discrepancy. Bryant at first tells Deckard that six
replicants have escaped, and one has already been terminated. That
should leave five. But then Bryant shows Deckard profiles of only four
replicants. Where is the fifth replicant? Later, when Rachael turns up
missing, Deckard has a total of five replicants to kill again, but
presumably Rachael is not the fifth replicant Bryant originally refers
to. So who is? Bryant can’t mean Deckard, as Deckard is the hunter. The
issue is never resolved, and the discrepancy may be simply an error, but
it’s possible that it was inserted to make us think that there’s another
replicant somewhere that we should be looking for. The uncertainty hangs
over the movie, just like Rachael’s unanswered question to Decker–“You
know that test of yours? Did you ever take that test yourself?”
If Deckard is a replicant, there is an additional way to interpret
Deckard’s rough treatment of Rachael during their love scene.
Presumably, Deckard would never have experienced strong desire before.
Deckard’s passion is so strong that even the cushion of his fake
memories isn’t enough for him to process the emotion in a normal way. So
he gets rough, initially, with Rachael. This explanation is not
inconsistent with the interpretation that Deckard is uncomfortable
feeling desire for a replicant, because Deckard believes himself to be
human.
The possibility that Deckard is a replicant adds an extra dimension to
the film, but it does pose problems. For example, why would Tyrell
create replicant blade runner to hunt other replicants, also created by
his corporation? Who knows? Perhaps the Tyrell Corporation manufacturers
whatever it is commissioned to manufacture. If Tyrell Corporation
replicants are destroyed, they must be replaced with Tyrell Corporation
replicants, which means greater profits. Or maybe Tyrell is obliged to
produce replicant blade runners to reassure the government that there is
a safety net in place to take care of any problems.
Certain questions must necessarily remain unanswered because Scott
doesn’t want us to know for sure Deckard is human or replicant. Had
Scott explained everything, it would have removed all doubts, and thus
removed the intrigue of the Director’s Cut. The theatrical release is a
superior science fiction movie, but additional questions and themes
explored by the Director’s Cut makes it a masterpiece, and one of the
most talked-about science fiction movies of all time.
Wellthtsgud
>before, but it is an excellent analysis of BR. It is a bit long, but
>bear with it. I would be curious as ot the group's reactions.
I confess, I didnt read it but I skimmed it. It is long... too long for me. But
from what I gather it really dosen't add anything new although I had to pause
and think when it talked about Decks unanswered question from Rach on if hes
ever taken "that test" himself. Its obvious he never answers the question its
just i never really gave it any thought before. Did he or didnt he? In Dadoes
of course the test is administered but in BR it isnt (or is it) but of course
if we knew the outcome that would destroy the ambiguity. Never the less I
remain a DAH :-)
~RD~
Netrunner
IMHO, it is likely to be have been very carefully considered to ask
the question and not answer it. I vaguely recall the script actually
highlighting the question as significant, but the scene being scripted
as we see it. To me this is very important in establishing the
ambiguity that leads to us asking the question of whether he might or
not be and perhaps the more important questions of "What is the
difference? and "What is Human anyway?". And it isn't answered, hence
the discussions and the freedom to choose to be DAH or wrong ... ;-)
Netrunner
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