How Harrison Ford’s Blade Runner performance… | Little White Lies

In Praise Of

How Har­ri­son Ford’s Blade Run­ner per­for­mance tells two dif­fer­ent stories

01 Oct 2017

Words by Chris Edwards

A man wearing a brown jacket and holding a weapon in a dimly lit room.
A man wearing a brown jacket and holding a weapon in a dimly lit room.
The actor’s bal­ance of robot­ic detach­ment and human impulse deep­ens the mystery.

Despite it being a dystopi­an sci-fi thriller with giant holo­grams, hov­er­ing cars and freak­ish­ly life­like robot peo­ple, Rid­ley Scott’s Blade Run­ner is fun­da­men­tal­ly a sto­ry about what makes us human. Its premise, in which a cop is forced out of retire­ment to hunt down four run­away repli­cants – a batch of sophis­ti­cat­ed androids – is dri­ven by pro­found exis­ten­tial ques­tions, like whether we can tell the dif­fer­ence between a real per­son and an arti­fi­cial one, and if we can have a roman­tic rela­tion­ship with a toast­er. It explores the intri­ca­cies of human nature to such an extent that even the audi­ence are left ques­tion­ing which char­ac­ters are gen­uine and which are syn­thet­ic skin sacks.

Not even the film’s pro­tag­o­nist, Rick Deckard, an android hunter played by a par­tic­u­lar­ly morose Har­ri­son Ford, can escape such spec­u­la­tion, as a pop­u­lar fan the­o­ry sug­gests he too is a repli­cant. From the 1982 the­atri­cal cut, there isn’t much rea­son to think this is true, but there have since been forty-sev­en ver­sions of the film (five ver­sions) that seem­ing­ly con­firm it. An addi­tion­al sequence sees Deckard dream of a uni­corn, care­less­ly lol­lop­ing around like some­thing that doesn’t belong in the scene. This is lat­er revealed to be a brain implant, imply­ing he was designed and prob­a­bly has fibre optic cables instead of veins. But if it weren’t for an ambigu­ous per­for­mance from Ford, Scott may not have been able to pull off this alter­ation and devi­ate from Philip K Dick’s source material.

Ford lends the char­ac­ter the ide­al amount of aloof­ness and human­i­ty to sup­port both sides of the argu­ment. The assump­tion from the begin­ning of the film is that Deckard is a human, yet his cold, stand­off­ish nature bor­ders on robot­ic behav­iour. He’s imme­di­ate­ly pitched as an out­sider, a man who aim­less­ly walks around in the rain and eats incred­i­bly bland-look­ing noo­dles. It’s an intro­duc­tion that rais­es ques­tions about his back­sto­ry, which are only part­ly answered when we learn he used to work for the police.

We join him as he’s recalled to help elim­i­nate four repli­cants who have escaped their off-world colonies and returned to Earth, an ille­gal move that will duly get them shot in the face. What Deckard has been doing between his retire­ment and this new job remains a mys­tery, but Ford plays it suf­fi­cient­ly enig­mat­ic to com­pli­cate a char­ac­ter with an oth­er­wise sim­ple purpose.

Two individuals, a man with a stern expression and a woman with a pensive look, captured in a moody, dramatic lighting.

Iron­i­cal­ly, Deckard only becomes emo­tion­al­ly warmer as he inter­acts with the oth­er repli­cants, espe­cial­ly Rachael (Sean Young), an android so intel­li­gent she could pass the Tur­ing test and then con­vince the human exam­in­ing her that they’re full of RAM. The two share a scene in which Deckard plies her with trou­bling ques­tions, like what would she do if she found a dirty mag­a­zine. Not long after this, he decides she’s human enough and falls in love with her. It’s an AI romance com­pa­ra­ble to the likes of Alex Garland’s Ex Machi­na – a pro­gram­mer some­how falls for a robot that looks like Ali­cia Vikan­der – if we pre­tend that Domh­nall Gleeson’s Caleb is also a com­put­er get­ting ideas above its station.

Sim­i­lar­ly, Ford’s por­tray­al of Deckard’s inter­nal con­flict shows us a man who knows what’s real, but can’t con­trol his feel­ings. He goes from being an exe­cu­tion­er to a sym­pa­this­er, like an apolo­getic guil­lo­tine oper­a­tor. Rachael has chal­lenged his per­cep­tion of what makes some­one human, bring­ing into ques­tion his own authenticity.

Know­ing that the repli­cants can sim­u­late feel­ings also adds essen­tial weight to their deaths, which would oth­er­wise be as emo­tion­al­ly stim­u­lat­ing as pierc­ing a can with a biro. As far as Deckard is aware, he’s nev­er killed a human by mis­take, but this is some­thing the film increas­ing­ly plays on, as he has to cor­rect­ly iden­ti­fy the miss­ing machines. In one scene, he meets a strip­per bot who could have poten­tial­ly passed for a real per­son if she hadn’t tried to choke him to death. When he shoots her, send­ing her tum­bling through lots of futur­is­tic-look­ing win­dows, there’s almost a look of sad­ness in his eyes, as if to acknowl­edge she was more than a Dyson cov­ered in skin.

Then, of course, there’s his exchange with Rut­ger Hauer’s men­ac­ing­ly named mechan­i­cal man, Roy, who is per­turbed by his rapid­ly approach­ing expiry date. Deckard is struck by the human­i­ty of Roy’s icon­ic Tears in the Rain” mono­logue, and Ford’s con­tem­pla­tive expres­sion sug­gests he sees lit­tle dif­fer­ence between the two of them.

Regard­less of which ver­sion you watch, Ford’s bal­ance of robot­ic detach­ment and human impulse ensures Deckard remains appro­pri­ate­ly ambigu­ous. It’s an incred­i­bly nuanced per­for­mance that allows the film to tell two dif­fer­ent sto­ries. To address the character’s ori­gins in the upcom­ing sequel, Blade Run­ner 2049, would only spoil the mys­tery, even if it would be inter­est­ing to find out how his hard dri­ve hasn’t crashed in the last 30 years.

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