 Blade Runner (1982) The film's visual presentation of the future has become the template for virtually every sci-fi movie since, at least the ones set on Earth. The cool thing about it is that instead of offering us shiny suits and monorails, Blade Runner shows us overcrowding, old beater cars, and just a lot of scumminess … it's how the future probably will look. And yeah, it has flying cars, but they're not "Hey, look at these flying cars!" flying cars, as in The Fifth Element or any of the innumerable Blade Runner ripoffs to come out over the years. Harrison Ford gives a mushmouth performance as the drunkard bounty hunter of the title, and it's refreshing to not have him saddled with obvious attempts at quotable movie catchphrases ("I have a bad feeling about this," "I hate snakes," "Swallow the Ford Sword™, Calista," etc). The rest of the cast meshes perfectly, including several people who otherwise tend to annoy me (Edward James Olmos, Daryl Hannah, Sean Young). Particularly good are Rutger Hauer (who deserves a HUGE comeback, incidentally), M. Emmet Walsh, William Sanderson, and Brion James, perhaps the cinema's all-time best character actor. Each set piece is unique and captivating, and they flow together flawlessly. Seeing the film again for the fourth or fifth time (the last time being the theatrical release of the director's cut in like 1991), I was struck by how classic it all is – it's one of those movies that justifiably will be watched for decades and held up as one of the best. The director's cut, by the way, seems to have supplanted the original version, which I only vaguely recall at this point – it had cheesy narration to bolster (and render unsubtle) the noir elements, plus a Hollywood-studio ending. It its current state it is graceful, understated, downcast, brave, and amazingly prescient. Particular kudos to Vangelis for the music, which manages to evoke the smoke and toughness of 40s noir while simultaneously sounding 2019 and 1982 with dreamy, swirly synths. Further kudos to Rutger Hauer's final monologue, about the best and most beautiful piece of screenwriting ever done – and brilliantly played. Anti-kudos, though, to the weird early-era DVD transfer, which offers a shoddy print and perhaps the most ghetto title screen ever committed to videodisc. Maybe someday Criterion will treat the world to a DVD edition as beautiful as this perfect film deserves.
Review by Paul Pantaloons |
