The Drinker Recommends... Blade Runner

Since I'm reviewing Blade Runner in my next video, I thought you might be interested in this advanced look at my review script. You'll also be able to see how a review goes from the initial script to the finished product. Anyway, here it is... 

Right, I’m not messing around with this one. 

Blade Runner is quite simply one of the most beautiful, poignant and thought-provoking science fiction movies ever made. A sublime fusion of stunning cyberpunk visuals, classic film-noir tropes, brilliant performances, awesome 1980’s music and complex, multifaceted characterisation that explores deep ideas about the nature of consciousness, the value of life, and what it even means to be human. 

A movie that most definitely deserves an episode of The Drinker Recommends. So let’s get into this, and let the gushing commence.

Set in the far off future of 2019 (yeah, it probably seemed a long way off back in 1982), Blade Runner depicts a dystopian, cyberpunk vision of Los Angeles. A world of gigantic skyscrapers, flying cars and neon lit, rain-soaked streets, where the crowded masses of humanity eek out a living. A world where everyone who can leave Earth for a better life already has. A world where life is cheap. 

And no form of life is cheaper than the Replicants. A race of bio-engineered humanoids created to do the jobs nobody else wants to – whether its fighting wars, toiling away as forced labour, or providing more… exotic services. The point is, Replicants are basically a race of slaves, programmed only to obey, discouraged from thinking independently, and deliberately given short lifespans to prevent them becoming self-aware.  

When a group of four Replicants led by a combat model named Roy have rebel and disappear in LA, the local police bring in Rick Deckard, a former Blade Runner tasked with hunting them down and retiring them. Deckard’s your classic film-noir detective – he’s smart and resourceful, but kind of world weary and cynical. He lives alone, drinks too much and doesn’t have many friends. 

His investigation leads him to the headquarters of the Tyrell Corporation, the company responsible for manufacturing the Replicants, to try to understand why they rebelled. And I just have to say, look at this shot, man. In a movie that’s almost always dark and sombre and raining, the sunset here is absolutely gorgeous to look at. 

Anyway, it’s here that Tyrell himself introduces Deckard to his assistant Rachel, and challenges him to test her to find out if she’s a replicant. See, because Replicants never get the chance to develop emotional maturity, they can be tripped up by probing psychological questions. But with Rachel, it takes way longer than normal. Tyrell explains that she was given human memories to act as a kind of foundation for her consciousness, convincing her that she actually is human. 

Needless to say, this doesn’t go down well with Rachel, who shows up at Deckard’s apartment and begs him to say she’s not a Replicant. But he’s like, Nah, it won’t be fine. Go away now. 

Meanwhile, another replicant named Pris makes contact with Sebastian, a genetic engineer for the Tyrell corporation who lives alone in a creepy abandoned hotel with a bunch of animatronic dolls. Erm, okay. Anyway, Pris uses a combination of sensuality and vulnerability to win Sebastian’s trust.    

Deckard on the other hand manages to locate the first replicant, who’s working in a strip club for some reason. Not exactly keeping a low profile, but never mind. When he tries to get information from her by posing as a social worker, she beats him up and makes a run for it, forcing Deckard to gun her down. 

Man, this movie doesn’t fuck around. Our hero just shot an unarmed woman in the back while she was trying to run away. He even has to shoot her several times to finally put her down. The movie makes no attempt to glorify this moment – it’s just cold blooded killing by a professional assassin. Already the story encourages you to question whether Deckard’s mission is justifiable.   

It’s at this point that Deckard learns Rachel’s gone rogue, and she’s been added to his hit list. This puts him in a bit of a moral dilemma, because he knows she’s not a bad person or a criminal. She just wants to live. And if that’s all she wants, what does that mean about the others? 

Either way, before he can track her down, he’s ambushed by Leon, another member of the replicant group. Leon is the most blunt, simplistic and impulsive of the four, responding to most problems with sudden bursts of violence. He’s about to kill Deckard when Rachel picks up his gun and shoots him. Nice one, Rachel. 

Anyway, they go back to Deckard’s apartment so he can recuperate, and he promises he won’t come after her. Then he drinks himself unconscious. The Drinker approves of this life choice. 

I love this scene where Rachel sits down at his piano and plays, just to find out if she can. The way she takes the time to look at the old photographs, the way she takes off her jacket and undoes her hair. Simple things that normal people wouldn’t think twice about, but it’s all new and unfamiliar to her. She even admits that she didn’t know if she could play, whether she learned herself or was simply programmed to do it. It’s a subtle, touching, understated performance by Sean Young, and you can’t help but empathise with her. Rachel’s a person slowly coming to terms with the fact that their entire life was just a story written by someone else.  

So I think you can guess what happens when Deckard interrupts. Its raw and aggressive and highly charged, and it plays out perfectly. And its kind of sad, because you would not be able to get away with a scene like this today. You’d have to do the patented role reversal so we could all be reassured that Rachel was in charge and nobody would feel threatened.

Isn’t it ironic that this 40 year old movie about androids pretending to be human somehow feels more authentic and real than the soulless, emotionless, pointless garbage that passes for romance today? God I miss good movies. 

Meanwhile, Roy uses Sebastian to gain access to Tyrell’s private apartment. This is everything Roy’s been working towards from the moment he went rogue. The chance to ascend into the heavens, meet his creator, and ask him for more life. It’s no coincidence that Tyrell happens to be wearing white robes in this scene, believe me. 

Anyway, it doesn’t work out like he’d hoped. As Tyrell explains, there’s no way to extend the Replicants lifespan. Roy and Pris are doomed to live what remains of their short lives, and then to die. Everything he’s done to make it this far has all been for nothing. 

Needless to say, he doesn’t take this news well. 

The stage is now set for the final confrontation. Deckard shows up at Sebastian’s apartment building, where Pris ambushes him and almost beats him to death before he guns her down. And fuck me, this is a disturbing scene. The way she flails around and screams uncontrollably, its a relief when he puts her out of her misery. 

That’s when Roy returns from killing Tyrell to find his lover, and his only remaining companion lying dead. He’s now lost everything he once valued. And with his own body starting to shut down, he pursues Deckard to take revenge before he dies. I love their cat and mouse chase as Roy stalks him through the derelict building. Both men are injured and desperate, the atmosphere is dark and claustrophobic and oppressive, and the tension is constant. 

Anyway, the chase leads up to the rooftop where Deckard tries and fails to leap to another building. Roy of course makes it across easily and stands over his enemy, the man who killed his friends, watching his final terrified moments play out with a look of bitter triumph. 

That’s when this happens. 

Hoisting Deckard back onto the rooftop, he sits down beside him. No longer an enemy or a rival, but simply a man at the end of his time. And he delivers what has to be one of the most poignant and haunting monologues in all of cinema. It’s a perfect culmination of Roy’s character arc, an acknowledgement that every life, no matter how short or difficult, has a uniqueness and a value that can’t be measured. After everything he’s done, everything he’s experienced and fought for and lost, his final act in this life is one of mercy and compassion. 

With the Replicants all dead, the film ends with Deckard and Rachel reuniting and escaping the city together, facing up to an uncertain future. And… a little hint that Deckard may not be quite what he seems. 

What a wonderful movie Blade Runner is. Right from the opening scene of industrial gas flares reflecting in the natural beauty of a human eye, you know this is going to be something special. Visually, it’s a masterpiece of dense, richly detailed, atmospheric environments that constantly keep you interested. Ridley Scott at his best can make even the most fantastical worlds feel grounded and lived in. For all the flying cars and building-sized advertisements, there’s a weariness and grittiness to the world of Blade Runner. Everything in it looks old and dusty and worn out. 

Deckard’s apartment is cluttered with old black and white photographs and furniture; relics from a different age. The police precinct looks like a neglected old museum. Sebastian’s home is leaking and rotting and falling apart. It’s a world where bright neon lights have been patched over the decaying old buildings of a world in decline. A world where extinct animals can only live on as genetically engineered replicas.       

The soundtrack is absolutely pitch perfect, with haunting piano and saxophone solos during emotional scenes, and epic synthesizer pieces as the action reaches its climax. A lot of movies made back then sound kind of dated and cheesy now, but somehow Blade Runner feels timeless and dreamlike. 

The characters are complex and nuanced, with well developed personalities, evolving world views and motivations. Deckard starts out as a cynical mercenary with no compassion or sympathy for the Replicants, but as the movie progresses he begins to question his mission, disobey orders and ultimately, becomes a fugitive in order to protect the woman he loves. And of course, there’s the little suggestion that he might be a replicant himself. Depending on which of the 500 different versions of this film you watch, it can come as a subtle insinuation, or everything short of a straight up declaration. Either way, it’s a smart idea that adds a layer of ambiguity to his character, and a pretty tragic implication when you consider he’s basically spent his life hunting his own kind. 

Roy on the other hand starts out as a sinister, menacing killer, willing to do anything to achieve his goals. But the more you see of him, the more you understand the very human motivations behind his actions. He and the others are approaching the end of their lifespans just as they’re starting to become aware of themselves, and as a result, they simply want to live. Roy’s final act of redemption by saving a man’s life, is also an act of rebellion against his creators, proving that he can be more than the killer they tried to make him. Because he chooses to be something better. 

He may not have been created human, but in the last moments of his life, Roy achieves a level of humanity greater than anyone else in this movie. And damn, Rutger Hauer deserved every piece of praise he got for this role, arguably the best performance of his career. 

Clearly, Blade Runner borrows a lot of tropes from the Film Noir genre. The world-weary detective brought out of retirement to crack one last case, the rain-soaked city in permanent darkness, the femme fatale and the criminal kingpin. The difference here is that Blade Runner uses these elements as a foundation to explore far bigger and more interesting ideas. 

Ideas about the power and dangers of technology, allowing us to create beings that could ultimately surpass us. Questions about the nature of consciousness and humanity, and the moral implications of playing god. 

It’s a movie that encourages us to question who the heroes and villains really are. The cold-blooded contract killer who only shows mercy when he falls in love, or the former slave leading his friends on a quest to prevent their own premature deaths? 

Most of all, Blade Runner is a movie about the value of life, in any form. A movie that reminds us life is a precious but fleeting gift, a series of moments and experiences that will ultimately be lost like… well, tears in the rain. Something to be cherished and valued for as long as it can, and never to be wasted. 

Anyway, that’s all I’ve got for today. Go away now.