Review of Blade Runner (1982) by John P — 26 Jul 2014

In the annals of cinema, Blade Runner stands out as something unique. True, many have tried to imitate it, and in the thirty odd years since its release it has influenced countless movies, TV series, anime and video games to one degree or another. Yet while all of these have copied elements of it, none of them have ever captured its exact balance of sci-fi, noir, and philosophy, or replicated its unique atmosphere and otherworldly feel. And none of them had Harrison Ford in the lead and Ridley Scott in the director's chair.

For those few not familiar with the story, Ford plays Rick Deckard, a detective tasked with tracking and eliminating replicants, genetic constructs made to perfectly mimic the humans they serve. Since an incident years before, replicants have been banned from earth, upon penalty of death. But now four of them have taken that risk, leaving a wake of death behind them as they search for the key to their very existence. And it's up to Deckard to find them and stop them before they strike again.

Their leader, Roy, is easily one of the most menacing villains ever to grace the screen. He is so perfect it's unsettling. Gifted with the looks of a professional model and the body and athleticism of a champion quarterback, his every word and expression exudes keen intelligence- and unmistakable madness. He is the kind of being who knows exactly what he wants and how to get it, and he is not the type to let anything or anyone get in his way. Nor is he the only thing Deckard has to worry about.

We don't see enough of Leon or Zhora to get much of an impression of them, beyond the fact that they too are desperate and dangerous. Priss however we see very much of; in more ways than one. Beautiful, alluring, and manipulative, she's like a deadly exotic flower, drawing you in to suffocate you in her poison. And then there's Rachel, the replicant who doesn't know she's a replicant. Her demeanor, clothing, and her ever present cigarette remind one of a down and out moll in an old detective movie. Though she barely knows who she really is, she could be a useful ally to Deckard, or possibly something much more.

One of the things that sticks with you the most about this movie is the incredible atmosphere that pervades it. Like any good dystopian sci-fi or hardboiled detective movie, everything here is dark, heavy, and more than a little threatening. The LA of 2019 is crowded, dirty, and run down. Chinese writing and noodle stands are everywhere, as if Chinatown has overrun all LA. Hover cars fly over decaying apartment blocks and flashing theater matinees out of pre Giuliani Manhattan while fantastic monads and pyramids loom over the horizon like a latter day Babylon. Inside the futuristic and the antiquated vie as well in rooms filled with computer screens and electrical tubing alongside candelabras and crumbling plasterwork. And endless rain comes down in sheets over it all, running down every crevice and drenching any who brave the streets.

Everywhere neon signs, industrial flares, and searchlights illuminate the cityscape, yet nowhere is it enough to hold back the shadows which bathe the streets. For it's the shadows- both physical and metaphorical- that make the world within the film. The director and cinematographers do as many things with these shadows as the best expressionist filmmaker. They use them to alternately obscure and draw attention to faces and scenery, to heighten the sense of danger and mystery, to create harsh contrasts with the blinding strobes and searchlights. And they remind us that everything that's happening is happening within the shadows of society, the dirty underbelly unseen by the good folks safe in their homes.

And just as well that it is. For this is a world filled with violence and corruption not fit for innocent eyes, and the filmmaker's don't let you forget it for a moment, especially not in the action scenes. With slow motion and bluesy synth music, Zhara's death is as stylized and artificial as anything in Blade Runner's world. Yet at the same time it's drawn out, bloody, even traumatic. The editing and camera work aren't trying to make it look cool, they're emphasizing the fact that a desperate frightened woman is dying alone on a rainy sidewalk. To paraphrase the film's most famous line, the report may read "routine retirement of a replicant", but it won't make Deckard feel any better about shooting a woman in the back.

Yet for all its impact this scene doesn't even begin to compare with the finale. Deckard's final showdown with Roy is mesmerizing in its beauty and brutality; a demented fever dream hunt, like Most Dangerous Game blended with Olympia and German expressionist horror. Even out of his mind and with his body betraying him, Roy is the superior combatant to Deckard in every way. In a strait on fight to the finish it would all be over in an instant. But what we get instead is so much more violent, intriguing, and spellbinding. And in the end it leaves us with so many questions to ponder; about memory, morality, and what it truly means to be human.