348 - Blade Runner review

Ridley Scott's "Blade Runner" is arguably the greatest film ever made about what it means to be human, and we learn the lesson from those who aren't. It's a deeply moving human tale cloaked in a sheen of grimly gorgeous film noir, itself covered in a veneer of gorgeous science-fiction.

It stars Harrison Ford in what was certainly not his most famous role but easily the most debated. Ford plays Rick Deckard, a "Blade Runner" operating in Los Angeles of 2019. His job is to find and "retire" replicants, which are a species of humanoids genetically created to serve particular functions (combat, strength, assassination, entertainment). Retirement, of course, is a euphemism for kill. This might be simpler if the replicants were simply robots or thoughtless machines, but on the contrary, they're at least as intelligent as and much more physically capable than normal humans.

Deckard tracks the replicants through Los Angeles of the future, a rain-soaked dungeon of neon lights and dilapidated buildings, of fire-breathing industrial complexes and grinding poverty. The scenery suggests that dreams of a technology-fueled utopia are nonsense, as the advances in machinery have done little but to obliterate the environment to the point where only millionaires can afford animals not brewed in a vat. The film's visual effects and set design are second to none, the rare work where even just our small glimpse of the fictional dystopia allows it to feel so alive and full of history that it breathes.

Deckard falls in love with Rachael (Sean Young), an employee at the Tyrell Corporation, the entity that produces replicants. She's a replicant herself, but doesn't know it. In a scene that demonstrates Deckard's own robotic lack of empathy and compassion, he recites her own memories to her, casually plunging her existence into terrifying uncertainty. But if one can be a replicant without knowing, what does that say for the supposedly human heroes?

The replicants Deckard pursues are escapees from space colonies searching for the secret more life, as their own life spans are programmed to cut out after 20 years. They're led by Roy Batty (Rutger Hauer in his career-defining performance), a devious creature who stalks through the city doing as he pleases, seemingly only beatable by his own ticking clock. He is followed by Pris (Daryl Hannah), an assassin who doesn't seem like she could harm an insect, Leon (the late Brion James), a brutal beast that isn't as dumb as he looks, and Zhora (Joanna Cassidy), whose death causes Deckard to reconsider the morality of his task. How often throughout history have we given ourselves the right to abuse and exterminate life at our convenience?

Hauer's brilliant performance is filled with the contradictions. Roy represents something strange for an antagonist; he's vicious yet gentle, wise but childlike, violent but possessing the greatest respect for life of any character. He's ostensibly the villain, and often behaves as such, but we sympathize with him as much as we do Deckard. Roy might murder, but he does it in an attempt to save his own life, while Deckard does it for the money.

When Roy and Deckard do finally meet, they do battle in a way that is less about action than it is about sadness and understanding. A film professor of mine once told me that he thought that the culmination of their confrontation, where Roy describes his incredible experiences in a shattering manner, might be the best moment ever put to celluloid. He might be right. What a marvelous thematic device "Blade Runner" employs, that we might learn a lesson about the preciousness of our time in this world through a machine. After all, what are we as people vessels of organs and electrical signals that interpret our surroundings and react accordingly? Couldn't we conceivably be labeled machines, too? Like us, the replicants burn out, are scared of that fact, and want to enjoy and experience life before they do.

Released in 1982, "Blade Runner" has since been released in no less than four different versions, not including the work print available on the recent DVD release. This turns the film into a case study about the difference between story (the chronological sequence of events) and the plot (the way pieces of the story and connected and presented to us). All versions essentially have the same plot, but their stories are potentially entirely different. At least that is if you want it to be. The great thing about art of any kind is that once the artist has ceased his or her work, we can make it our own to interpret as we see fit. Sure, the people involved in the production of "Blade Runner" have their explanations, but what do we care? They're just the filmmakers; we're the viewers, and once we view and treasure the film, it belongs to us.

5 out of 5