This may be the last ever post on this blog, start the New Year as you mean to go on, but like all New Year's resolutions, there is no guarantee that this one will be adhered to; like as not, it will go the way of all my previous New Year's resolutions and fall into dust by mid-January. However, there is a small chance that this might actually be the last and so I would like to finish on a brief 'examination' of that most singular of films; 'Blade Runner'. I have touched briefly on this before in respect of Rutger Hauer's performance as Batty, the replicant (in 'Rutger, Ladyhawke and live at Rockpalast' in March 2010) but I have never before attempted a 'considered' opinion of the film in its entirety; as one of my favourite films ever since its release, and even more so following the release of the "Director's cut", such casual abandon is no longer to be borne.
From the days of Ridley Scott's nostalgic, freewheeling bicycle in the 'Hovis' bread TV ad, a homage to simpler times and the uncomplicated joys of childhood, whatever the hardships (Hovis ad here), I have had a sneaking admiration for Scott's work in film; he rarely disappoints, although his works can often seem interminable and painful (for your buttocks) to sit through. His films have a tendency to be intensely visual, the setting, landscape are almost like a character in the film; from the claustrophobia of 'Alien' to the wide open spaces of 'Kingdom of Heaven' and 'Thelma and Louise', while still possessing that essential element of any film, a good story. Blade Runner not only has the feeling of oppressiveness and spacial tightness that is essential to Phillip K Dick's tale of a dystopian, poverty stricken future as nature gives way to the man-made but manages to pile Ossa on Pelion with the permanent night, the rain and the smoke (smog). At a 'private' viewing of the film for Dick, he was heard to remark about how such a film might be possible; not in a technical sense but the question of what did Scott use to plumb the depths of his (Dick's) personal vision.
Presenting the future visually creates enormous problems for film-makers; you cannot go to a suitable location, found by extensive (and time and money) consuming expense, without a time machine. In an era of plastic, fake-seeming, 'in awe of the technolgy' CGI, Blade Runner appears as an honest attempt to present a dystopian view of Los Angeles in 2019, using 'in camera' effects wherever possible and, to my mind at least, makes even the 'effects shots' that you know are 'effects shots', somehow more real. In part, this has to be laid at the door of the then inadequate technology, Scott was not averse to CGI in 'Gladiator' to re-create the Coliseum, but, I think, it was primarily out of a desire to make the visual experience for the cinema goer as 'authentic' as it is possible to make it. A similar aesthetic pervades Christopher Nolan's reboot of the 'Batman' franchise; despite the preponderance of CGI in 'fantasy-type' movies, 'live' action predominates.
As much as setting is a character is, it is Scott's willingness to let actors 'do their job' which imbues the film with so much of its magic. Darryl Hannah's vision of Priss, the 'pleasure replicant', all sex and no depth, with eyes like Nosferatu's, hair like someone on 'a very bad hair day' and a gymnastic, and violent, ability that only partially prepares Deckart, the Blade Runner, for his ultimate 'showdown' with Batty, the leader of the 'replicants, was inspired. Hauer's Batty and his portrayal of a character, programmed to the nth degree, who somehow manages to go beyond his programming and becomes, in many ways, more human than human; the release of the dove creates a poignancy at the instant of Batty's death that is again, truly genius of the first order; Hauer has done nothing since which even approaches this level. Joanna Cassidy, a women, in real life, that you would be well advised to be frightened of, no matter how large you were, a mixture of promiscuity and raw power, as Zhora; a killing machine wrapped up in the quiet seductiveness of a lover. Eddie Olmos, so wonderful as Adama in 'Battlestar Galactica, who devised his own 'vernacualr' to best reflect the 'patois' of urban living, despite its incomprehensibility to movie-goers (and without sub-titles). And Harrison Ford as Deckart, an actor that I have long suspected to be better and more adept than he is usually portrayed; to choose such an actor, fresh from his vainglorious roles as Han Solo and Indiana Jones, as the Phillip Marlowe, film noir, cynical Blade Runner is as inspired as it is surprising, box-office appeal notwithstanding.
Finally to Sean Young; an actress who has not come close to achieving the depth of emotion, the uncertainty of who exactly you might be, the bewilderment of those scenes in Deckart's apartment, in this, her first 'starring' role in a movie. Wooden, yes, in places but she has an 'innocence' about her which conveys much more than an accomplished actress could ever attain. She has real 'innocence, not feigned, not acted, not pretended; if you doubt me, look again at the 'seduction scene'. In casting Sean Young as Rachel, Scott liberally smeared the icing on the cake of a 'great' movie.
In many respect, the film was so far ahead of its time as to be incomprehensible. Even now, Scott seems prepared to pander to the whims of an incredulous (largely American) public by not releasing the original cut (4 hrs) of the movie. A movie with all of the subtleties retained; a movie to rival the novel with its intricacies; a movie to rival 'Citizen Kane' with its viewpoint, its depth; a movie to expand the consciousness; a movie which you could laud until the cows came home, even if they didn't. That movie will only be shown in the privacy of Scott's own domicile. More's the pity, I say.
Blade Runner is a personal vision of the future, as personal as Phillip Dick's was, couched in visual terms, which Dick was only able to broach in linguistic terms, words. And yet, it is a vision that speaks to us in a way that 'Battlefield Earth', 'Transformers', the 'Star Wars' saga, even Lynch's 'Dune', does not; that is the enduring legacy of a film, surpassed by technology, surpassed by fashion, surpassed by the very people that we are. Is this not the fate of anything 'old', 'past its sell-by date'. Just look at Homer. How relevant is he?
I have, by necessity, passed by a lot of people, who made 'Blade Runner', what it is. Syd Mead, a futurist to possibly surpass all futurists; Jordan Croneweth, the cinematographer, who despite his illness, managed to record on film Scott's bizarre vision on how the film should look; William Sanderson, the actor, who rises above his diminutive stature as 'J F', hopelessly besotted by the replicant, Priss,, and who is subsequently killed by another replicant, or so we assume, Batty; finally the guys, and possibly gals, of the 'special effects' company that shot the 'model' shots, it was one company, I believe. Truly, and most assuredly, a remarkable achievement.
I am only able to compare Blade Runner with one film, such is my ignorance, a film so disparate as to almost beggar comparison; 'Ai no Corrida'. A film long banned in western cinemas for its 'sexual content', she eventually, after a tumultuous affairs, cuts off his penis,sticks it it her mouth and runs through the town with it but it is has the same claustrophobic and the ever-decreasing sense of space of Blade Runner has; qualities that that film (and 'Alien') has. (Fair turned my stomach, did that; Bobbitt with teeth!)
At the very end of days, at the very end of time, or space, itself, Blade Runner is what I would want to see at the very end; not 'To Catch a thief or 'North by North West;'; not 'Kagamusha' or 'Ran', not 'Casablanca' (maybe, I err there), not 'Metropolis', not 'Citizen Kane', not 'Toy Story', not 'Das Kabinett des Dr Caligari', not the entire seven series of 'Star Trek; the next generation', the tales of Data notwithstanding; not 'The day the earth stood still' (WITH Michael Rennie), not 'Forbidden Planet'. No, 'Blade Runner; for giving me so much pleasure, and thought; as Jorge Luis Borges as once thought, merely a plenitudinary of possibilty.
Thank you Ridley!
Footnote: Walking down my road quite late yesterday evening (around 10:30pm) in search of baguettes, I was struck by how quiet it was for New Year's Eve, save for the occasional firework, despite the fact that most of the maisonettes, around 40 or so, appeared to be occupied. Is the celebration of New Year now the sole province of the young?
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