Blade Runner

Amid the rumours, speculation and theories concerning Blade Runner it’s possible to forget that behind the legend lives one of cinema’s most enduring and influential science fiction films. Based on Phillip K Dick’s Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep, Ridley Scott’s masterful movie has been dissected, debated, re-cut and reinterpreted numerous times in the thirty years since its initial release. Thankfully, despite all this, it hasn’t aged a day.

The story is relatively straightforward: Harrison Ford is Deckard, the titular Blade Runner. He is assigned to hunt down five replicants who have illegally returned to Earth from their off-planet work assignment. These replicants are advanced cyborgs, manufactured by the Tyrell Corporation to provide slave labour on colonised planets. They are created as fully formed adults, implanted with artificial memories of their ‘pasts’ and have the capability to develop human emotions and desires – a four year life span prevents this becoming problematic. The replicants Deckard is hunting are wise to their inevitable demise and, led by the charismatic Roy Batty (Rutger Hauer), attempt to extend their lives by forcing the reptilian Tyrell (Joe Turkel) to re-programme them.

The futuristic world Ridley Scott creates in Blade Runner is one which has been hugely influential. Dozens of sci-fi films over the last thirty years have attempted to replicate the grimy, rain-soaked visuals - which owe a huge debt to classic film noir. There are a few flying cars hovering in the gloom but, by and large, the future looks eerily reminiscent of today’s neon-lit cityscapes. The non-specific sense of place is accentuated by the unnamed city’s residents – Deckard spends an awful lot of time hanging around at noodle bars and there are numerous accents, languages and nationalities represented.

The key to Blade Runner’s enduring appeal, however, is its central question: what does it mean to be human? It’s a theme which is explored from numerous angles and leaves the audience with plenty to ponder. Is Deckard himself a replicant? Is he retiring replicants or killing them? Is Roy Batty the most human character on display? He’s certainly more human than Deckard’s robotic love interest – Sean Young is far too wooden to convincingly portray the most advanced and sophisticated replicant ever designed.

Rutger Hauer, on the other hand, is magnificent. His Batty is the most fully-formed character on screen, a complex and charming combination of shimmering menace, fierce intellect and childlike naivety. His famous closing speech is powerfully poetic and delivered beautifully by an actor at his peak. Deckard, on the other hand, is something of a cipher. Harrison Ford is a hangdog lead, lending the character a convincing air of bruised weariness. He’s actually lured out of retirement early in proceedings and it shows – he’s more than a little rusty and is regularly battered and bloodied in the pursuit of his prey – not least in his climactic showdown with Batty.

A review of Blade Runner really can’t do it justice. With each subsequent viewing it reveals more of itself, and its intricacies have been disseminated endlessly since its release. A quick Google search reveals the depth of interest and discussion attached to the film – interest which has been rekindled since Ridley Scott revealing that a sequel is in the offing. Let’s hope it doesn’t disappoint in the way Prometheus did.

THE IMDB TOP 50 CHALLENGE #16 Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back

My review of Star Wars: A New Hope brought mixed feedback. Whilst some people threatened to eradicate me from their lives, others agreed that the film has aged badly and is overrated. Almost everyone, however, expressed the view that The Empire Strikes Back is the best of the original trilogy. And they were right. But that’s hardly a huge achievement.

Following Luke Skywalker’s (Mark Hamill )destruction of the Death Star, the rebels are found hiding on the ice planet Hoth – and attacked by Darth Vader’s (James Earl Jones) evil Empire. In the confusion, Luke flees to the Dagobah system to be instructed in the mysterious Force by legendary Jedi master Yoda (Frank Oz). Meanwhile, Han Solo (Harrison Ford) and Princess Leia (Carrie Fisher) seek refuge with Han’s old gambling pal Lando Calrissian (Billy Dee Williams) – only to be ambushed by the Empire shortly after...

Empire is certainly a more mature film than its predecessor. There is a dark streak running through it, and some of the original’s more cartoonish characters have been replaced by more menacing and multifaceted characters like Boba Fett (Jeremy Bulloch) and Lando Calrissian. There remains an element of camp silliness, though, in the form of the ultra annoying C3PO (Anthony Daniels). Yoda is slightly less irritating, but it’s very difficult to take him seriously as a great warrior when he can’t even construct a sentence correctly.

Luke’s struggle with the ‘dark side’ is also hard to swallow. Thanks largely to Mark Hamill’s limitations as an actor, his rage and anger are more akin to teenage petulance. As a result, it’s impossible to imagine him succumbing to his darker urges – and even harder to imagine him as an evil, Vader-like figure.

His showdown with his father is, of course, a classic film moment. Their light sabre duel is beautifully choreographed, there is a genuine sense of danger (not least when Luke’s hand is chopped clean off) and it ends with one of cinema’s most famous revelations. The howl of anguish which follows it is, sadly, utterly unconvincing. Hamill really is awful. 

Happily, the same cannot be said of Harrison Ford. His charismatic presence is (again) the best thing in the movie. His sarcastic wisecracking brings the whole enterprise back to earth; his cockily arrogant relationship with Leia crackles with electricity and his fraught friendship with Lando is entirely believable. If only George Lucas had built his films around the most interesting character he created.

As it is, Empire is full of memorable moments, one iconic battle and one of movie history’s finest improvised lines (Han’s presumptuous “I know”). It’s darker and dirtier than A New Hope, but is still a deeply flawed film which relies entirely on the notion that Luke is ever tempted to follow in Darth Vader’s footsteps. Unfortunately, that never seems likely. Not only that, but Lucas wraps up far too many loose ends ahead of Return of the Jedi, patronising his audience by leaving very few unanswered questions.

THE IMDB TOP 50 CHALLENGE #18 Star Wars: A New Hope

As a kid, I had a lot of Star Wars toys. As an adult, I can’t really remember what the appeal was. Perhaps it was the dire prequels which soured my affections for the franchise? Perhaps it was George Lucas’ shameless attempts to monetise it? Or perhaps it’s just growing old? Whatever it was, I certainly don’t share the love many of my friends and peers do for Luke Skywalker and The Force.

For the uninitiated, the story is essentially a space Western, with the evil forces of Darth Vader (the voice of James Earl Jones and the body of David Prowse) gathering power for an attack on the universe’s more civilised life forms. A rebel alliance, led by the semi-mythical Jedi Knights must put a stop to this by pooling their powers and facing evil head on.

Watching the film again, it was impossible to ignore its many obvious flaws. The opening act features huge amounts of clunking exposition: not content with a written credit sequence, numerous characters talk at length about the state of the galaxy and the destructive power of the Death Star. This mightn’t be so bad but it’s extremely pedestrian and the dialogue is honkingly bad. It seems that Sir Alec Guinness is the only actor aware of this – his tongue seems to be firmly in his cheek.

The worst speech comes from the movie’s most irritating character. Camp android C3PO (Antony Daniels) is required to do the speaking for two, talking for R2D2 as well as for himself. He’s clearly designed to be a busybody and a jobsworth, but does his camp preening really need to be so wordy and so irritating? The film’s lead protagonist, too, is more than a little annoying. Luke Skywalker is meant to be a naive youngster, but Mark Hamill’s acting talents extend little further than whining and moaning like a spoilt child. There’s little wonder his post Star Wars career was largely unsuccessful.

Thankfully the film is saved when Harrison Ford turns up as Han Solo. He’s a world weary gambler with a huge debt, a big hairy friend and a clapped out space shuttle. Employed by Luke and Obi Wan Kenobi to transport them across the galaxy, his wisecracking and sexual tension with Princess Leia (Carrie Fisher) bring a welcome dose of reality to proceedings.

Sadly, the further Star Wars gets from its initial release date, the less realistic it becomes. The action takes place largely on genuine sets and the alien characters are people in costumes – for the most part. Unfortunately, George Lucas has been unable to resist the temptation to fiddle and faff with his creation, going back to retrospectively add CGI into the mix. It’s wholly unnecessary and destroys some of the charm and solidity the film initially held – not least in a badly misjudged scene featuring a newly slimline Jabba the Hut.

But Star Wars didn’t become an iconic film for no reason, and despite my cynicism there is much here to admire. Darth Vader is a classic cinema villain, John Williams’ rousing score is magnificent and some of the less human characters have become iconic – especially Chewbacca. But I grew up on Star Wars and nostalgia isn’t enough to keep me interested. For newcomers, I really can’t see the appeal of the franchise at all. Sci-fi has moved on and despite Lucas’ best attempts, his film has aged badly.

THE IMDB TOP 50 CHALLENGE #23 Raiders of the Lost Ark

Despite portraying Han Solo and Bladerunner’s Deckard, Harrison Ford is most famous for his role as archaeologist adventurer Indiana Jones in his four silver screen adventures. Famously, the magnificently moustachioed Tom Selleck was first choice for the part – a casting decision which now seems utterly implausible. Perhaps stranger still, given George Lucas’ involvement in the franchise, is that the Indy films didn’t spawn hundreds of toys, branded bedding and other gimmicky nonsense – perhaps an indicator of some of the adult themes contained in the films.

Still, the Indiana Jones films were part of my childhood. I once ‘acquired’ a hand-painted, life size cut-out of Indy (which lived for many years on my parents’ hallway stairs) from a children’s play area I used to work at and only recently re-watched The Temple of Doom – a movie which, as a youngster, I viewed through the gaps in my fingers thanks to its horrifying scenes of voodoo, hearts being torn out of people’s chests and chilled monkey brain soup.

But the story began here, with Raiders of the Lost Ark. Set in 1936, Indiana Jones is an archaeologist and historian who learns that the Nazis (!) have discovered the resting place of the Ark of the Covenant – the casket ancient Hebrews used to store the Ten Commandments. In his mission to beat the nasty Nazis to the Ark, Indy travels via Tibet to pick up his ex-girlfriend before barrelling through Egypt, ancient tombs, abandoned submarine bases, islands and jungles.

Clearly, the storyline is absolutely ludicrous. It matters not one jot. To worry about the plot would be to miss the point; this is old fashioned adventuring and old fashioned filmmaking – albeit with a huge budget. Set-pieces and stunts are the order of the day here. In less than two hours the audience is treated to runaway boulders, tarantulas, chases, double crossing Sherpas, biplane escapes, villainous Frenchmen, dozens and dozens of snakes, gravediggers, booby traps and the wrath of God. Famously, it also features the most memorably one-sided fight scene of all time.

Key to it all is Harrison Ford’s brilliant portrayal of Jones. He’s a chauvinistic, stubborn and arrogant man – but still manages to be bloody charming. It’s testament to Ford’s ability as an actor that he managers to imbue the character with a wry humour – and doesn’t take himself too seriously.

Perhaps surprisingly, it’s also a film which has aged particularly well. This can largely be attributed to the excellent stunt work, set building and locations. In an era where CGI can render anything possible, movies can date very quickly as technology rapidly advances. Here, what you see on screen really happened thanks to amazingly skilful artists and practitioners who created a very real world of absolute fantasy.

The IMDB Top 50 Challenge #36 Apocalypse Now

In the 1970s, every film Hollywood produced was about the Vietnam War. Even those movies which didn’t address the conflict directly were allegories or metaphors for it: Vietnam coloured everything. Apocalypse Now has a foot in both camps: it’s a war movie rich with symbolism yet brimming with action. An art-house war movie, if you will.

Joseph Conrad’s novel Heart of Darkness was a huge inspiration for the film. It tells the story of a steamboat journey up the Congo and into the dark reaches of the human psyche. Transplanting the action to Vietnam, Apocalypse Now follows the journey of army assassin Willard (Martin Sheen) as seeks to terminate Colonel Kurtz (Marlon Brando), a rogue Colonel who has gone native and established himself as a despotic warlord.

The production was dogged by problems: a near-fatal heart attack for Sheen; a burgeoning budget which almost tripled from £12m to £31m; a shoot scheduled to last 17 weeks that lasted 34; affairs; suicide threats; extreme weather and widespread drug use. That such a masterpiece emerged is almost miraculous, although it could be argued that many of the problems contributed positively to the hypnotic, hallucinogenic intensity of the film.

Although the narrative is straightforward, Willard’s quest is anything but. The journey upriver serves largely as a metaphor, allowing Coppola to "to create a film experience that would give its audience a sense of the horror, the madness, the sensuousness, and the moral dilemma of the Vietnam War." In this regard, the director succeeds completely – even the film’s flaws contribute to the achievement of his ideal.

And it is a flawed film. At times it’s overblown and absurd, chaotic and confusing. The end is inconclusive and puzzling, Brando’s dialogue is often incomprehensible and a scene featuring choppered-in Playboy Bunnies is just bizarre. But these problems are far outweighed by the majesty of Coppola’s enormous ambition.

To the sound of The Doors’ ‘The End’, Apocalypse Now opens with a wonderfully evocative sequence of whirring helicopter blades and napalm–flamed forests as Jim Morrison’s mournful vocal convinces the audience of the futility of war. In an oppressively hot and sweaty hotel room, Willard drunkenly awaits his next mission, punching a mirror and cutting himself before smearing the blood over his face: an image which will be mirrored later in the film.

Luckily, before Willard can completely self-destruct, he’s offered a mission: to take down the crazed Colonel Kurtz. He’s a decorated commander who’s gone rogue in Cambodia, setting up his own jungle militia to slaughter Vietnamese officers. Ordered to terminate Kurtz ‘with extreme prejudice’, Willard accepts the covert mission and is dispatched upriver.

Key to the success of the film is Willard’s narration. Hinting heavily at the realities of war and the confusion of the troops on the ground, he talks of killing on behalf of the US military: "There were those six that I knew about for sure, close enough to blow their last breath in my face. But this time, it was an American and an officer. It wasn't supposed to make any difference to me, but it did." Delivered in Sheen’s distant, detached monotone, the commentary provided by Willard offers an often ambivalent, sometimes confused and occasionally immoral insight into the thinking of a soldier on the ground – and in this seems to perfectly reflect the futility of the Vietnam conflict.

Willard’s journey is punctuated by several iconic and recognizable scenes, including Coppola himself on screen as part of a camera crew capturing mock footage for a TV broadcast, shouting at the soldiers, “Don't look at the camera! Just go by like you're fighting”. The irony of the first televised war being staged in such a way is difficult to avoid.

The most famous scene of all concerns Robert Duvall’s Oscar-nominated performance as Lieutenant Colonel Bill Kilgore, a lunatic commander with a violent love of surfing. Willard needs Kilgore to secure a Vietcong beachhead so he can sail his boat upriver, a mission which even the fearless Kilgore sees as too risky - until he realises the surfing in the area is magnificent. With that, a beautifully filmed flock of choppers take to the silent sky, only for Kilgore to order his troops to ‘scare the hell’ out of the Vietnamese with music: Wagner’s bombastic Ride Of The Valkyries destroys the peace as the helicopters spew rockets and bullets into innocent villagers and schoolchildren. Kilgore’s callous words of encouragement are compounded by his decision to order an additional airstrike to secure the tree line - to make the beach safe for surfing.

The claustrophobic final scenes were heavily influenced by the condition of Marlon Brando. The Hollywood heavyweight arrived on set overweight, unfit and underprepared. Retrospectively, this turned out to be exactly the right conditions to play the deranged Kurtz.

Kurtz’s horrific compound is managed with manic intensity by his chief acolyte, Dennis Hopper’s LSD-addled war photographer, who keeps Willard separate from the Colonel as long as possible. When they do finally meet, the incoherent Kurtz has clearly passed beyond rational thought: the madness of war has forced him to embrace insanity. In his vicious savagery he is the most clear minded character in the most multi-layered of films: the living embodiment of ‘the horror’ of war.