[3.3]
When I first saw this sci-fi classic more than fifteen years ago, I’m sure it was on some crummy VHS tape, and I was not pleased. I felt the same about 2001:A SPACE ODYSSEY, but when I rewatched that on the big screen, it became a revelation. Rewatching BLADE RUNNER (the “Final Cut” version, for those keeping note), I’m still not won over, though I can respect its tone, visual stylings, and attempt at a futuristic soundtrack. Ridley Scott immerses us right away in the gloomy, rain-filled alleys of the built-up monstrosity that Los Angeles has become, and while it looks slightly dated 35 years later, the effects are still pretty impressive and the imagination daring. If anything should be praised from this film, it’s the creative production design and costuming, which works overtime to blend a gritty dystopian vibe with a nostalgic take on 40s-era Hollywood glamour, with a bit of punk thrown in for good measure. The classic Hollywood vibe is important, especially as it works with the chiaroscuro lighting and design elements (just look at the old fashioned venetian blinds in LAPD headquarters) to create a throwback to noir cinema (and while BLADE RUNNER is hailed as a leading neo-noir, I’m wondering where its production ranked in relation to BODY HEAT, which feels like a more traditional starting point for the noir revival). The slow, creeping camerawork often works well with the murky colored lights and shadows, and it is interesting to see the early emphasis on the blue and orange color scheme that dominates now (though this film also has a heavy helping of a sickly green glow).
Now, the disappointing: the music by Vangelis, while praised by some, is hard to take, even accepting it’s 80’s kitchiness. It can’t be ignored because it’s nearly omnipresent, an almost integral part of the story. Because of the emotional void that fills most of the scenes, the musical cues are there to guide us, make us feel, and it just doesn’t work. The tinkling bells, the droning synth melodies, it just becomes so irritatingly obvious, that it’s call for attention distracts completely from the film (and horribly dates it, to boot). Perhaps Scott thought the score needed to work overtime because the script itself doesn’t give us much to work with. Out-of-the-game Rick Deckard is dragged back into the blade runner business when his old boss needs him to track down four escaped replicants who have made it to earth. What do the replicants want on earth? One is hiding out as a stripper, so I guess she just wants a normal life, while three others are plotting to try and reach their ‘maker’, Eldon Tyrell, presumably so that he can keep them alive (it’s never quite clear what the replicants want). Pretty simple set-up, except where the motivational stakes are concerned. Why is Deckard so easily convinced to come out of retirement? What are the replicants trying to do? Why are the humans so threatened by them, and if they can bio-engineer them, why don’t they have a better failsafe installed in the androids (and are they machine or clone or what?) to remove them or track them or whatever. For a world that has gone off and colonized other planets, it just doesn’t make a whole lot of sense that they can create nearly-human slave labor, but haven’t bothered to put anything into them that would allow more complete control (other than the arbitrary four-year lifespan). It’s a silly concept when one thinks to hard about it, so I found myself trying to shut out the logic behind anything, and just enjoy this as a noir (I mean, how ridiculous was the plot of THE MALTESE FALCON, after all? It’s more about character and mood than story).
Where Ridley Scott seems to fail is in his ambitions to make this story about something. The themes are heavy, dealing with xenophobia, classism, and the meaning of human identity. And yet, while it makes sense in a noir to have Deckard fall in love with the replicant Rachael (a toned-down femme fatale, as she’s never really threatening), it comes off as oddly unnatural in this film. Sean Young is fantastic as Rachael, imbuing her with a chaotic interior, as she struggles to understand her place in the world as a replicant, after being told that all of her memories are fake, implanted. Her eyes betray all the fear and confusion of the revelation, while her man-made exterior behavior remains cooly aloof. This is matched by Harrison Ford’s rather stoic and grim portrayal of Deckard, who doesn’t seem to care or love anyone, even Rachael (which makes his ‘love’ for her that much stranger). When Deckard forces himself on Rachael, it comes off as practically rape, with Deckard flexing his human power over this slave-girl, and it’s the kind of scene that comes right out of a colonialist fantasy. As she tries to leave, he slams the door forcefully and pushes her around, commanding her in what to say. It’s uncomfortable and while this kind of macho behavior is more forgivable in the ‘40s films, it feels unsettling in a 1982 movie, especially when there are no repercussions for Deckard, and he is pretty much excused for his actions because, in the end, he shows that he loves her.
For our main ‘villain’, the replicant Batty (Rutger Hauer) is a strange character. Hauer’s strong Aryan build and foreign accent help sell him as a bio-engineered strongman (though thinking it over now, why were unattractive, paunchy replicants like Leon ever built anyway? Why give them all unique features? Anyway…). His dialogue and performance, however, are all over the place. At times threatening, at times leering, and always right on the line of camp, Hauer is the chaotic ball of emotional energy that doesn’t seem to fit at all with the rest of the tone of the film. Especially in the final climactic battle between Batty and Deckard (which goes on far far too long), Batty spouts off some farcical faux-philosophy (the much-loved ‘tears in rain’ monologue) and then dies, after saving Deckard. Batty never had a change of heart, but confesses to Deckard that he wanted to make him feel fear (that was the whole reason for the final battle?). There are definitely interesting things to think about, in regards to memory and being, but the film muddles through this and then leaves us with eye-rolling sci-fi opera nonsense like Batty’s death monologue and then equally ridiculous final line (a direct echo of an already delivered phrase, no less): “It’s a shame she won’t live, but then again, who does?”
burning retina 