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Harrison Ford hangs on for dear life in Blade Runner |
Director: Ridley Scott
Cast: Harrison Ford (Rick Deckard), Rutger Hauer (Roy
Batty), Sean Young (Rachael), Edward James Olmos (Gaff), M. Emmet Walsh (Harry
Bryant), Daryl Hannah (Pris Stratton), William Sanderson (JF Sebastian), Brion James
(Leon Kowalski), Joe Turkel (Dr Eldon Tyrell), Joanna Cassidy (Zhora Salome)
Everyone knows Blade
Runner surely? And everyone has a viewpoint on its central mysteries. Why for
a film largely ignored on release? Because as well as being tight and engaging,
this is a rich thematic film, crammed with mystery and enigma. And there are few
things more engaging than a film that succeeds in being as open to
interpretation as possible.
In 2019 a dystopian, polluted Los Angeles is a launch pad
for the wealthy to head out into the new colonies in the stars. Off-world, the
unpleasant tasks are carried out by artificial humans known as replicants.
Replicants are banned from returning to Earth – but a group of five led by soldier
Roy Batty (Rutger Hauer) have come to Earth looking to extend their
pre-programmed limited lifespans (no more than five years). On Earth, Rick Deckard
(Harrison Ford) is reinstated as a Blade Runner, an agent whose job is to
‘retire’ (i.e. kill) replicants on Earth. Deckard is reluctant, having an
increasing distaste for his work, but begins to hunt and eliminate the
replicants.
Blade Runner may
be one of the most influential science fiction films ever made. Its look and
style influenced virtually every other dystopian future you’ve seen in any
other film since. Tall, run-down buildings. Overbearing corporate advertising.
Flashing neon lights. Terrible weather. Everything dark all the time. Poverty
and degeneracy on every corner. You’ve seen it in every dystopian future since.
Visually, the film is a landmark, a testament to Ridley Scott’s graphic
artistry.
But that wouldn’t be enough for Blade Runner to last the course. When released it was perhaps too
elliptical and hard to categorise – equal parts dystopian thriller, noir
detective story, sci-fi morality tale, dark romance – for audiences to really
understand. Certainly the studio didn’t. After disastrous test screenings, it was
re-cut. So began a fable of slice and dice that made Blade Runner perhaps second only to Brazil in the annals of re-versioned films.
The release included an overtly “happy ending” (bizarre
images of our heroes driving into a blissful countryside, totally at odds with
the rest of the film) and a disengaged voiceover from Harrison Ford that eradicated
all the film’s subtlety. This was the only version for 10 years until a
“Director’s cut” was released. This removed these elements, retooled scenes and
introduced the famous “unicorn dream” sequence (of which more later). Fifteen
years after that, Scott finally found the time to work on a “Final cut” which presented
the film as Scott had intended it – with all its mysteries and questions intact.
Has there been any other film with so many different “official” versions?
Anyway, was it worth the struggle? Certainly. While you
could argue it is predominantly a triumph of style, Scott laces the film with a
sense of mystery and profundity that makes it a rich and rewarding viewing
experience. It’s a trim detective thriller that also questions the nature of
humanity. It is a perfectly formed
elliptical mystery, an archetypal cult film that engrosses the viewers to such
an extent that 30 years later there is still a healthy debate about what the
film means.
Humanity is =the key issue. The human characters are functional,
cold, distant and unengaging. The hunt for the replicants (who are basically
slaves) is brutally and unremorsefully executed. The replicants have been
designed to learn and grow but cruelly had their lives capped to stop them
taking advantage of this. Their world is polluted, tawdry, soulless and lost.
Meanwhile, the replicants exhibit far more (whisper it)
humanity than the aloof human characters, ]despite the fact we are repeatedly reminded
they cannot feel empathy. Clearly this is not completely true. And, the film
argues, if an artificial human can display loyalty, fear, love, anger and pain,
what actually is the difference between that and a “real” person. If a
replicant can only be identified after dozens of questions in a test, can they
really be that different from a human being?
Questions about this coalesce around Deckard. If the film has
remained such a part of cultural discussions, it’s partly because of the fun of
theorising about his true nature. Is he a replicant? Scott’s insertion of
Deckard’s unicorn dream (implying the origami unicorn left by Gaff at the
film’s end shows Gaff knows Deckard’s dream, meaning the dream is an implant in
an artificial mind) very much suggests so. There is a case to be made either
way, both of which work.
Deckard’s ruthless replicant hunt is deliberately juxtaposed
with their own warm feelings. Deckard grows in humanity and reluctance as the
film progresses – is this him becoming more human, or is it is humanity
emerging? His coldness and reserved hostility contrast with the vibrancy of
Batty, Pris and the replicants. In many ways, he fits in as the quintessential
human in this world – a vague discomfort with what he is doing, but no real hesitation
about continuing. Thematically, it makes more sense if Deckard is human – that
he represents dehumanisation (and gradually realising it) while the replicants
become more human.
However, clues are sprinkled throughout that Deckard is not
what he appears. His distance from other characters. The treatment he receives
from his co-workers. The photographs that fill his apartment (replicants enjoy
photos as it gives them a sense of a past). His bond with Rachael. His
relentlessness – and the fact that he is clearly considered expendable by the
police. Then there is the rich irony: the best way of hunting down replicants
is to create a hunter replicant. Either way, it’s a debate and conversation
that sustains the film – and allows multiple interpretations of every scene.
It’s a debate that feeds into the main theme of the film:
humanity, free will and our God complex. Batty, the dying replicant searching
for new life, confronts his maker – a distant, arrogant man with no interest in
his creation. And kills him. But Batty feels more human than any other
character. He shows more affection, frustration, anger and grief than anyone
else. His last words (the famous “tears in rain” speech) had such cultural
impact because it has such poetic joy and depth to it. They are lines enthused
with a desire to live, a romantic vitality. It’s the most poetic moment in the
film and it comes from someone who isn’t “real”. What more sign do we need that
the replicants are human? If we can create poetry in a machine, does it stop
being a machine?
Empathy is the quality the replicants are judged on – but as
we see replicants dispatched with little sense of regret, and then witness
Batty and Leon’s grief for their fallen comrades, or Pris’ ease with man-child
Sebastian, the lack of empathy from humans is all the more clear. Deckard is a
fascinating character as he falls between two stools – either a human who has
buried empathy, or a replicant discovering empathy. Strange and disjointed as
the relationship between Deckard and Rachel is (and there is an uncomfortable
moment where Deckard gets too physically forceful) it fits into this – are
these two artificial people discovering the ability to bond? Or is it an
emotionally stunted human finding himself drawn towards someone who feels more
real than the other humans?
What makes the film work is that it doesn’t hammer home,
these issues. It allows us to make our own minds up. It frames the action
within a noirish detective thriller, laced with mood and awesome visuals. It’s
sharply and sparingly written, with real intelligence. For all its discussions
about humanity, it does feel at times a cold film – but it’s so rich in
suggestion and implication that it doesn’t really matter. Yes you could argue the
implication and playful suggestion imply more depth than actually exists, – but
the film gets away with it, because it works so well.
Rutger Hauer gives easily the finest performance as Batty
(he allegedly wrote the famous speech on the day). Batty is the most vibrant
and dominant force in the film, who goes on the most engaging emotional arc.
For me the dark secret of the film is Harrison Ford is slightly miscast– he’s
aiming for moody, Bogartish disillusionment, but he comes across more disengaged
(he’s strikingly better in Blade Runner
2049). I think Ford struggled with the character – it’s a role better suited
to a John Hurt or James Caan, rather than Ford’s more conventional (if world-weary)
magnetism – he’s not a natural fit for a bitter cynic. Olmos, Cassidy, Walsh,
Sanderson and James give strong support.
Blade Runner is a
visual triumph and a rich experience. Its story is compelling, but the real
richness is the thematic layers under its skin. Scott created a film open to
interpretation, and that’s what really grabbed the imagination. It marries
mystery with curiosity and avoids pretension, becoming intriguing and
engrossing. Scott has rarely made a film with such intense ideas and poignant
confusion before. You could argue the final cut leans too far one way in the
central mystery, but there is more than enough eerie richness under that –
helped by Vangelis’ unsettlingly grand score – to keep people viewing and
talking about it for another 30 years.
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