Loving Art

BLADE RUNNER POEMS

2011-11-04T08:30:00.000-07:00

Poetry
Roy Batty - Drawing charcoal on canson paper - Copyright © Maria Henriques 2001-2004
Poems for Blade Runner

A poem for an android

I'm a ghost;
the black wing of god
has touched me
like a sinfony
in the hours where
the midnight is flying.
I sleep quietly
and I can see
in that wing my own shadow
without any doubt,
diferent.

Lagos/2/30/02

The android

The fire is burnning out there
my heart is waiting the morning star
again.
Certain perfumes of Autmn,
little green flowers growing.
The fire is burning out there
and I´m waiting the rain
as thouse perfumes are burning.

The Runner

Such a beautiful bird
dancing so close to my hand
my little flying colour,
my little soul of Runner
my electric dreams
inside your heart, I'm burning.

My love

your pain is my pain,
your hope is my hope
your dreams are the same
and your love
is my love,
your incredible blue eyes
are the expression of angels
walking trough all the skies
near your soul
made of passion;
and my love
is your love,
my lovely child so sweet
sleep embraced by those angels
they will protect your dreams.

I know what you feel my friend,
the loss of someone
is loosing all the world.
I had my share of desert too
and all the crying I've done
didn't destroy the pain,
but I'm thinking of you baby,
try to forget those shadows of sorrow
think about love
about the birds flying
and think about her smiling
and dancing arround
with the stars and the clouds.
And look at the sky
trying to see all future
of a new love inside
a new soul,rare and beautiful.

Blade Runner

all the dark
lights in the streets of America
were black shadows
iluminate dark works,
all the red blood
of never ending creatures
is screaming and crying
in the fears of night.
Dreams of peace and love
lost forever:trash,
between the killers hands
like little toys of dark.
All the streets of America
lost from the paradise
only murderers survive
into those streets of lust.

Rachel

Me,
a memory from a photograph
a little girl
lost into her mother's
arms.

Me,
a person with no soul
a memory from the past
a little shadow
crying
into those arms of dust

and you,
my love,
my other body and mind
another child inside me
trying to reach the skys.

Me,
my feelings,dreams and hopes
my fantasies,my lost things,
my love.
Forever lost
into the arms of future
into the lost black
holes of my own.

The replicants

Your eyes
lost
into the black rain
you
humans
you
replicants.

Anywere your body goes
you are running like strangers
of dust
and inside all the corners
you are alone and dying.

Your eyes
made
of all blue of blues
your
heart
made
off all golden lights.

Everywere you are going
they are waiting in the dark
and you fight
and you cry
until the rain goes by.

Zhora

The beautiful serpent
falls
into the arms of night,
the speed of the assassins
made her little heart
stop,
the rain is there
over her
covering her blood,
hiding it.
And her body,
lying over there
into the pieces of glass.
No more a little slave,
no more a little serpent
her human eyes are closed
by the cold assassin
hands.

Priss

Who am I?
Who are you?
Only questions my love
only pieces of me.
Our love is there,
waiting,
acrobatic,
inspiring.
But the price
is so high
we must first die.
Me,a doll of love
trying to reach your arms
you,my lost love
so kind.
Who are you?
Who am I?

Sebastian

I make my friends
from my dreams
and my wishes
my madness creates my paradise;
I do not care
about the natural plan
I walk alone
between nightmares
and souls.
I live alone between
my fantastic creatures,
my little toys
made of blood and design,
my little dolls
so sharp into my eyes.
Seeking my company
made of
loneliness
and gold.

Deckard

I'm born to kill
to run like a puppet
of blood.
Like them ,I run
searching a place
of calm
but the inocent blood
is calling me
tonight.
I raise my hand
and I fire the gun,
I kill and I cry
all those humans
of sand.
And the sounds
of the dead
of all those lost spirits
running away with me
like a marble of shadows
all those sounds
that I killed.

Roy Batty

I'm your Savior
your lost God
your friend,
you brought your gun
over me
and you killed.
My lost love
is there waiting for me
under the rain
who brought you into my way.
Im your Spirit of Gold
the Morning Sea,
the Green into the Mountains,
the next step.
The eternal story of Love
and compassion
that made us die
to reach the memories dreams.

Time to die

I look in the eyes of my death
what I see there is an ancient world crying
where millions of stars are burning and singing
an angels of fire are dancing with flowers,
I´m sitting above
a thousand million stars,and God out there
look inside of my eyes
like a serpent of gold
inside millions of fires.

To this set of poems i have given the name "Poem for Blade Runner" they have been created under the influence of this special movie.
All the poems has been writen since the year 2003 and some of them are published in my poetry book "A Viagem Nas Palavras - Love Nature (poems for Starfish) ".
They are already present in several websites of my own under pseudonyms.

This poems have been also published into the Rutger Hauer Official site but I ve decided to taken them and myself out due to coprights infringments.

The copyright of all my poetic painting and illustrative work is:

Portuguese Authors Society (SPA) Copyright © Maria Henriques 2001-2004

"When used by authors, a pseudonym is also called a pen name or (in French) nom de plume. This is an English expression: in France, such an alias is more commonly termed a nom de guerre, or "name of war".
Authors use pseudonyms for a variety of reasons; for example, to experiment with a new genre, with reduced risk of upsetting regular readers. Occasionally, it is to avoid overexposure; Isaac Asimov once had three short stories in one issue of a magazine; the editor introduced two pseudonyms, to avoid readers becoming suspicious. In other cases, it is simply to protect the author from persecution following unpopular opinions."

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.

Web Essays on Blade Runner

2011-02-16T04:26:00.001-08:00

Web Essays on Blade Runner

"Is Blade Runner a Misogynistic Text?" by Simon H. Scott

"Skirting the Edge": Costume, Masquerade, and the Plastic Body in Blade Runner By Francesca Myman

Go to 2019: Off-World for a complete list of web essays available on Blade Runner

Transcription of Blade Runner -- Lovingly accurate typescript of every word in film, including voice overs and background
On-Line Blade Runner Magazine and Web Ring -- Pages of pictures and quotations explaining production details; web ring contains links to 48 more sites.
2019: Off-World (Blade Runner Page) -- The closest thing to a definitive collection of Blade Runer materials. Has links to FAQs, discussion groups, image archives, web essays, scripts, sounds, news, and artists associated with the movie.
Internet Movie Data Base -- Hyper-linked filmography plus all kinds of links
Blade Runner FAQ --

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Knowledge and Mortality

2011-02-16T04:25:00.001-08:00

Knowledge and Mortality
in Blade Runner and Genesis 2-3

by Kyle Keefer
Eckerd College

"We are sinful not only because we have eaten of the Tree of Knowledge, but also because we have not eaten of the Tree of Life.” - Franz Kafka

Abstract

Definition of humanity's limits is a paramount concern for both the Hebrew creation myth of Genesis and the film Blade Runner. The film works as an interpretation of the biblical account by presenting replicants as having gained knowledge without being able to extend their lifespan. In this sense, they have abilities and limits that parallel those of the first man and first woman in Genesis.

Introduction

[1] The moniker most often applied to Genesis 3:1-24 in the Christian tradition is "the fall of man.” Thinkers from Augustine to Luther to, perhaps most persuasively of all, Milton, describe the dynamics of this story in terms of humanity's failure to follow the will of God and of the subsequent disgrace that accompanies such disobedience. Milton calls the Eden story a "fortunate fall” because Adam and Eve's failure allows for later redemption through the work of Christ.¹ In most interpretations throughout Christian history, human action only matters as a counterpoint to God's action. In other words, while "the fall” story purportedly centers on humans, most reflections about this story are must more theological than anthropological.

[2] It seems clear that Ridley Scott's Blade Runner draws from the Genesis account. Many interpreters have seen correspondences between Scott's film and the biblical text, and I do not mean to recapitulate those parallels.² My argument is much more specific. The film can be viewed as an interpretation of the Genesis story in which the focus turns from the character of God to the nature of humanity. Although the film alludes to issues concerning divinity, especially with the portrayal of Eldon Tyrell, deity plays a muted role. Scott's film reads the biblical text as a discourse on humanity rather than an exposition about God's interaction with humanity. In what follows, I first present a reading of Genesis 2-3 that asks about the myth's depiction of humanity and then come back to the film to see how it uses the Genesis story in its own investigation of human existence.

The Two Trees of Genesis

[3] "Of the tree of knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it, you shall die” (Gen 2:17). What's at stake in Genesis 2-3 is the truthfulness of this statement. Yahweh says it in 2:17, Eve repeats it to the serpent, with slight variations in 3:4 (she adds the admonition "nor shall you touch it” and takes out "in the day that you eat of it”).³ The serpent blatantly contradicts it, saying, "You will not die, for God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil” (3:4b-5). In order to put this rhetorical conflict to the test, Eve does eat the fruit, and, in the aftermath, it seems that the serpent was closer to the truth than Eve and God were. Her eyes are opened, she does not die, and she becomes more like God. The "fall story,” undoes the apparent blissfulness of Eden, where Adam and Eve walk naked without shame. While the eating of the fruit usually has been read as a degeneration of the human condition, one could argue - especially when comparing Adam and Eve to replicants - that chapter 3 presents a more desirable status of humanity.

[4] In chapter 2, Adam and Eve experience an existence not too far removed from that of half-aware automatons. The logic of the text tends to be difficult to delineate, and the Hebrew narrative remains deliberately ambiguous, but one can trace some broad outlines of Eden-life. Some of the distinctives of chapter 2 only become clear when put into conjunction with Yahweh's speech in chapter 3, so it is necessary to bounce between the Eden story and the Fall story.

[5] Chapter 2 closes with a statement that exemplifies the innocence and bliss Adam and Eve display: "And the man and his wife were both naked and they were not ashamed” (2:24). Obviously sexuality and lack of inhibition loom large in this characterization, and Augustine was not wrong to find hints of sexual trangression in chapter 3 as Adam and Eve clothe themselves to cover their nakedness.⁴ To sidestep the question of sin for a moment, how one can valorize the innocence expressed in 2:24? What can innocence mean if Adam and Eve do not know good from evil? Or how can "not ashamed” have positive connotations in the absence of cultural norms that serve as the framework for shame?

[6] The first two humans have remarkable child-like qualities. They resemble toddlers, who show no qualms about jogging around the back yard naked and who tend to eat any food or semblance of food put near them. One can imagine an analogy to Adam and Eve's situation in Eden, thinking about them as children. Suppose a parent were to lay out a smorgasbord of good, healthy food and put in the center of the table an enticing cake. Just before leaving the room, the parent says that the child can eat everything on the table except for the cake. Should the child eat the cake, the parent will severely punish the child. Few parents, I suppose, would be astonished that, upon their return, the child dug into the cake.

[7] What makes the Genesis story so difficult to understand, however, is that this analogy ultimately breaks down, given that Eve knows that eating the fruit breaks a command and will have undesirable consequences. Unlike the child with the birthday cake, she engages in reasonable discourse concerning the prohibition. Whereas the child might fear the consequences and yet cannot weigh the benefits of instant gratification against the detriments of punishment, Eve hesitates not because of fear but because she knows she must obey. A strong implication of the text, though, is that while Yahweh has told the humans that they will die, they cannot possibly understand the full implications of death. Eve, then, remains a paradoxical moral agent. She fully understands what she must not do but has not gathered the ability to comprehend the underlying positive reasons for obedience.

[8] After Eve and Adam's disobedience, the text devolves into a cacophony of denials, rationalizations and blame.⁵ Yahweh curses all three earthly characters - Adam, Eve, and the Serpent--for their various roles in what Yahweh clearly perceives as a punishable act. Given Adam and Eve's marginal status as moral agents, though, I would argue that these punishments harsh and almost vindictive.

[9] The story ends with Adam and Eve's expulsion from the Garden of Eden. Traditionally and popularly, Yahweh's barring of Adam and Eve from the garden has been viewed as their ultimate punishment. The text, however, gives a very different reason for Yahweh's action. Once Yahweh realizes that Adam and Eve have eaten, he scrambles to set a limit on their mortality. "See, the man has become like one of us, knowing good and evil; and now so that he may not reach out his hand and also take from the Tree of Life, and eat and live forever…” (Gen. 3:22, translation mine). The ellipsis captures the incomplete sentence in Hebrew. Since the humans have gained knowledge, they seemingly have made it half-way to godhood. The only item left to complete their transformation into deity dangles on the Tree of Life. This tree appeared in 2:9, and grows in the middle of the garden, seeming close to the Tree of Knowledge. Although Yahweh had not previously barred the humans from eating from the Tree of Life, the situation has changed since their eating from the forbidden tree. In an almost panicked voice, Yahweh realizes the danger and takes quick action to bar the possibility of humans' securing immortality. Once the humans have left Eden, Yahweh places a flaming messenger at the door to make sure that his realm - the immortal one - stays secure.

[10] Most interpreters, as I mentioned earlier, see Genesis 2-3 as a lesson about the broken relationship between Yahweh and humanity. It is equally concerned, as I have tried to show, with defining human limitations. This myth of origins places humanity squarely between the animal and godly realms. Unlike animals, humans communicate directly with Yahweh, and by eating the fruit they have attained God-like knowledge of good and evil. To keep them from moving beyond this middle status, however, Yahweh gives them mortality. Humans cannot eat from both trees. If one reads the story not as an act that bequeaths heinous consequences to the heirs of the first couple but rather as definitional of human capabilities, it presents an insightful commentary about human nature. Humans are circumscribed by moral knowledge combined with an awareness of mortality. The combination of these two define, at the very outset of the Hebrew Bible, both the capabilities and the limits of humans.

[11] To see the power of this narrative and what traditional interpretations miss by focusing on the fall, one can fruitfully engage in a counterfactual (or rather, countermythical) imaginative exercise. What if Adam and Eve had never eaten the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge? Would we still recognize them as humans? Probably not. To live in a world unaware of the vicissitudes of good and evil would be unrecognizable as human existence. Suppose they had eaten from the Tree of Life while abstaining from the Tree of Knowledge? Then, not only would they live in ignorance, they would do so in perpetuity. Again, such an existence would be completely foreign to any understanding of lived humanity. They would be, at best, replicating a human experience. Given these countermythical musings, one cannot imagine that Edenic life could be a paradise that many humans would either want to or be able to vicariously experience.

Blade Runner as Reworking of the Genesis Myth

[12] As I stated at the outset, parallels between the characters in Blade Runner and in the Bible abound. But much variation exists in different writers' drawing up these parallels. Roy has variously been seen as a Christ figure, a Satan figure, and Adam. Depending on which of these one chooses, Deckard functions as Adam or a disciple. Either Rachel or Pris could fit the Eve role, and Tyrell stands in for Yahweh.

[13] The problem with any of these allegories is that they constrain the narrative of the film or relate only to particular episodes. Roy explicitly identifies with Lucifer when he paraphrases Blake to Dr. Chew ("Fiery the angels fell…”) and fits with some traditional pictures of Satan in his torture of Chew and his taunting and tempting of Deckard. By the end of the film, he has moved beyond Satanic qualities and explicitly alludes to Jesus by driving the spike through his hand. Neither of these typologies, though, plays a prominent role in the majority of screen time, and they seem rather minor points of contact. The same could be said for any other biblical typology one might proffer. If, however, Scott's film serves as an interpretation of Genesis 2-3, the bounds of allegory are loosened, and the strictures of one-to-one correspondence do not act as a constraint on the film's narrative.

[14] I would argue along with Stephen Mulhall that the film is "obsessed” with the question of human nature, "obsessed in the way the leader of the replicants is obsessed with his quest for life, for a life which is on a par with that of human beings.”⁶ Like the Eden story, what's at stake for each of the characters in the film is the wrestling with what being human means. But more specifically, like Adam and Eve, humanity finds itself in the dialectic between knowledge of good and evil and the strictures of mortality. My analysis of the film, building upon my comments about the Genesis myth, will look at the characters of Roy, Deckard, and Rachel, all as beings that must struggle in between these two poles.

Roy

[15] Roy most obviously follows the paradigm for human existence presented in Genesis. As a replicant, he, like Adam, is created at the pleasure of another (Tyrell Corp.) and his function is to obey the commands (or programs) of the one who created him. Both the epigraph to the film and the replicants themselves designate Roy, Pris, etc. as slaves, which makes their situation more desperate than that of Adam and Eve, but like Adam, their function is to serve. In this sense, all the replicants are Adamic. Not only are they Adamic in their place in a hierarchy, they also have no parentage to learn from. In the opening scene of the film, Leon fails the Voigt-Kampf test when questioned about his mother. Like Adam, he has no mother, no human progenitors to inculcate him into humanity. By leading the replicants to Earth, Roy acts out his quest to test the boundaries of his creator's strictures.

[16] Somewhere on his journey, Roy gains knowledge. His closing speech, often quoted, fills in the knowledge he has gathered in hindsight: "I've seen things you people wouldn't believe.” But clearly this knowledge, while enlarging his awareness about the universe fails to satisfy his true desire--more life. The scene in Tyrell's bedroom highlights not only the striving for life but the terrible burden knowledge brings. Soon after Roy enters, he crassly accosts Tyrell by saying, "I want more life, fucker.” But in an abrupt shift, just before he weeps and caresses Tyrell's head, he confesses, "I've done questionable things.” The bold assertion for life runs parallel to an awareness of the disobedience of such an assertion. Roy's final speech ultimately designates him as a human in bringing together knowledge and immortality. When says, "Time to die,” he recognizes that humanity equals mortality.⁷

Rachael

[17] If Roy's humanity depends upon his coming to grips with mortality, Rachael's dilemma centers upon the ramifications of knowledge. Unlike Roy, she has knowledge thrust upon her after Deckard administers the Voigt-Kampff test. That test resembles the test that Adam and Eve face with Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil in Eden. One possible motivation of Yahweh is to experiment with Eve and Adam to see what they will do. When Tyrell urges Deckard to test Rachael, he, like Yahweh, wants to determine how well his creation will succeed. Because it took Deckard 100 questions to ferret out that Rachael was a replicant, Tyrell finds her impressive. However pleasing such results might be to Tyrell, they are devastating to Rachael.

[18] Deckard's question after the test is instructive, "How can it not know what it is?” Knowledge of good and evil, in both the film and in Genesis, is equivalent to self-knowledge. For Rachael, finding out that she is a replicant makes her question all her previous thoughts about her past and her existential status. Paradoxically, after finding out that she is a replicant, Rachael begins to gain a greater humanity. After she shoots Leon, she and Deckard return to his apartment and she is visibly upset by the experience. Deckard tries to comfort her by saying, "Shakes? Me too. I get 'em bad. It's part of the business.” To this Rachael responds, "I'm not in the business. I am the business.” This conversation demonstrates that one's origin as a replicant is irrelevant to the ability to act humanly. This conversation, and the film in general - like Genesis - argue against free will as a defining characteristic of humanity. The programming of Rachael, similar to the programming of Adam and Eve, does not prevent a replicant from deciding to become human.

Deckard

[19] Ridley Scott, to the delight of bloggers everywhere, admitted that he viewed Deckard as a replicant. This seemingly answered the question that many viewers of the film had pondered since the director's cut was released in 1985. But Scott's revelation of Deckard as a replicant undercuts the complexity of what makes humans human, especially if one views the film as an interpretion of Genesis. The film's portrayals of Rachael and Roy as replicants who become human, further mitigate against taking Scott's comments too seriously. To say that Deckard is non-human just because he was built as a replicant defines humanity physiologically and thus shallowly. At issue here is an existential, not a physiological definition of humanity, and thus the question of Deckard's humanity cannot be decided on the grounds of whether he was built as a machine.⁸

[20] So where does Deckard stand with regard to knowledge and mortality? Unlike Roy and Rachael, Deckard does not have one particular moment when he undergoes an epiphany concerning either self-knowledge or mortality. He does, I argue, gradually enhance his understanding of both, though. In each of his encounters with the replicants - Zhora, Leon, Pris, and Roy--he faces the threat of death in varying degrees. The two fights he has with Leon and Roy, moreover, involve explicit dialogue about facing death. In almost the same language, Leon and Roy force Deckard to face the question of how it feels to life as a slave and have death lurking at any moment. The fight with Leon seemingly has no emotional effect on him. Death for Deckard simply means termination. As he makes clear to Rachael, he does not kill replicants, he terminates skin jobs. By the film's end, however, his pathway moves him much closer to Roy. The final scene does not need a voiceover to intertwine the humanity of those two characters. Scott fades from a shot of Roy's just-expired body filling the left half of the screen to Deckard's thoughtful prone body on the right side of the screen. With that fade, Scott highlights that both have moved toward humanity in that final encounter.

Conclusion

[21] Viewing Blade Runner through the lens of Genesis not only highlights the film's obsession with human nature but it also gives defining characteristics to human nature. Reading Genesis with Blade Runner as a companion "text” allows one to read the Genesis story not so much as a "fortunate fall” but rather as a myth that provides a glimpse of both the curse and the blessing that humanity has inherited. This is not an inheritance stemming from sin but is simply the constitution of the human creature. To become fully human - and not "more human than human” - involves embracing the results of eating from one tree but never tasting the other.

Grouped Notes

FILM CREDITS

Blade Runner

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Postmodernism, and the Owl of Minerva

2011-02-16T04:24:00.002-08:00

Blade Runner, Postmodernism, and the Owl of Minerva

Excerpt from the opening pages of - Jay Clayton, "Concealed Circuits: Frankestein's Monster, the Medusa, and the Cyborg," Raritan 15 (1996): 53-69:0

The owl of Minerva spreads its wings only with the falling of the dusk.
G. W. F. Hegel, 1821

In Ridley Scott's Blade Runner, a techno-thriller set in the permanent twilight of Los Angeles in 2019, an owl perches in the main offices of the Tyrell Corporation, creators of the cyborgs that have set the story in motion. In a nice visual allusion, this owl takes flight through the penthouse suite, passing in front of a wall of plate glass windows, behind which a brilliant orange sun is setting. Since its first release in 1982, Blade Runner has been taken by critics as a vision of a particular historical epoch, the period many people today are calling postmodernism. Its portrait of ecological disaster and urban overcrowding, of a visual and aural landscape saturated with advertising, of a polyglot population immersed in a Babel of competing cultures, of decadence and homelessness, of technological achievement and social decay, has appeared to many people as prescient. By bringing Mary Shelley's story of the creation of an artificial human into the era of genetic engineering and new reproductive technologies, the film succeeded in crystallizing some of the fears, uncertainties, and desires that surround the coming of the postmodern. Curiously, this updated story is a better replication of the original than any of the adaptations that gesture toward the period of the novel, including Kenneth Branagh's recent version, which pledges fidelity in its very title, Mary Shelley's Frankenstein (1994).

Blade Runner conveys the advent of a new age by the paradoxical means of marking its end. The flight of the owl is one of many apocalyptic touches that define for the viewer the limits of a period, the far end of an epoch just now getting underway. Hegel's words from my epigraph refer to the wisdom that comes only with hindsight, the retrospective understanding available at the end of an epoch. But the film's use of the owl is not exhausted by this insight. There is something more in the image, something that unsettles this venerable sign of closure. One can identify the extra feature in a number of ways--as irony, parody, self-reflexivity, the simulacrum--and each of these labels invokes a familiar conception of postmodern art. Like other contemporary texts, the film relies upon a gesture that it simultaneously dismantles.

Before indicating how the film pulls off this trick, I want to say that my purpose is not to catalogue the deconstructive strategies of postmodernism. That task, useful as it once was, has been performed often enough. My purpose, rather, is to look at the relation of postmodern theory to the history that makes it possible. I shall argue that postmodern theory is enabled by the exclusion of one set of historical connections and reliance on another, very different set of historical links. The circuits that make this theoretical creature go, so to speak, are not the only circuits etched in the recent past.

The owl has spread its wings, though. What has the power to deconstruct so evocative an image? A monster, of course. But at first the viewer is unaware that a monster has entered the scene. As the bird settles serenely back onto another perch, a handsomely dressed woman strides into the room, introducing herself with a question: "Do you like our owl?" Dekard, a police officer played by Harrison Ford, has come to Tyrell to examine one of its new generation of cyborgs. "It's artificial?" he replies. Still advancing, the woman answers, "Of course it is." The camera lingers on her face, forging a link between owl and woman. The implication that both are equally artificial flickers to consciousness before being submerged in a more powerfully sexual suggestion--that both are property, objects to be bought and sold. "Must be expensive," Dekard comments, the innuendo audible in his voice. The camera remains focused on the woman's face. "Very," she replies, then adds, as if to underline the association, "I'm Rachel."

The image of the owl is destablized in at least three ways-- as artificial creature, as commodity, and as woman--which in the film's terms turn out to be the same way, as monster. These three complications are significant because they represent places where postmodern discourse reveals its affiliations, establishes its links to a particular version of the past by writing the history of its break with that past. Artificial life, commodification, and gender are some of the principal contact points, where lines of force intersect and where energy is relayed from one system to another. They are places, in other words, where the transfer from modernity to postmodernity is accomplished. Book after book explores one or more of these contact points to demonstrate postmodernism's break with a stable conception of identity, say, or with the universality of reason. Such highly charged nodes, however, can have multiple effects. They can also be places where wires cross, short circuiting the system, interrupting the standard flow of current.

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Visions of Chicago's future, from 'Blade Runner' to

2011-02-16T04:24:00.001-08:00

September 10, 2009

Visions of Chicago's future, from 'Blade Runner' to George Jetson; an engaging but uneven exhibit marks the Burnham Plan centennial

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From today's print edition

There's more chaff than wheat in a new exhibit about the future of Chicago, but I still recommend that you see it, if only for the sheer fun (or dread) of contemplating some truly out-of-the-box visions of the future.

My favorite in the sunny, George Jetson genre of future-casting comes from architects Brad Lynch and David Brininstool (below). They envision public vehicles powered by an umbrella of magnetic energy that would float over the city, freeing CTA land for green space. Sounds like a full-employment act for air-traffic controllers.

As for the dark, "Blade Runner" take on tomorrow, the prize goes to architect Joe Valerio (above). He gives us 22nd Century downtown Chicago, most of it covered in a transparent blanket that resembles a giant piece of Glad Wrap. Heat trapped under the skin would be exhausted through massive solar towers. This would make a great stage set for a sci-fi flick. It's just not very useful to us today.

And so it goes in this engaging but uneven exhibition, titled "Big. Bold. Visionary. Chicago Architects Consider the Next Century" and curated by Chicago architect Edward Keegan. On view at Chicago's Tourism Center Gallery, the show gives local architects a chance to make their voices heard during the centennial of Daniel Burnham and Edward Bennett's influential Plan of Chicago. Some of the architects, it would be charitable to say, took the opportunity more seriously than others.

Keegan has done a nice job organizing the material, which was donated by more than three dozen firms, into six categories: the lakefront, big plans, towers, catalysts, public spaces and transportation. His wall-text is commendably jargon-free. But the exhibit suffers from the presence of a blaring video featuring Mayor Richard Daley (what else would you expect at a city venue?) The video repeats endlessly and makes focusing on the material a challenge. And the stuff itself is all over the map.

In the "not worth your time" category are materials that architects seem to have pulled out of their file drawers and model shops, apparently more interested in marketing themselves than in thinking deeply about the future of the city and region. Other plans convey strong ideas -- you just wonder if they're the right ones.

Architect Stanley Tigerman would get rid of, or (to use his euphemism) de-accession, some low-density neighborhoods while pushing for higher-density living along Lake Michigan and the Chicago River and making way for urban farming. The architect, presumably, does not live in a neighborhood that would be de-accessioned. Far better are proposals that would plant seeds of rejuvenation in troubled neighborhoods. Architect Linda Searl (left) suggests placing temporary structures housing police annexes, convenience stores and day-care centers on vacant lots. She calls them BIGA (Burnham Ideas Generating Action) after the fermentation starter used in baking bread.

Such modest interventions make sense and not only because they would address a weakness of the published Burnham Plan (as opposed to drafts, which were more attentive to the city's neighborhoods).

One of the reasons the Chicago Plan is celebrated today is that it was carried out piecemeal. We should be grateful that Chicago did not get everything Burnham and Bennett wanted, most notably a gargantuan, domed city hall that anticipated Albert Speer's megalomaniacal visions for Hitler's Berlin.

Plans that accept the framework of the existing city, but transform it, are often preferable to sexy, attention-getting drawings that suggest wholesale change.

Such intelligent incrementalism is evident in a downtown riverwalk plan by Phil Enquist of Skidmore, Owings & Merrill, which would stretch the handsome riverwalk that opened this summer from State Street to a big waterfront public space at Lake Street (above).

Smart additive architecture is also on display in a design floated by Keith Campbell of the Chicago office of RTKL for a new pier at 18th Street that would serve as a bookend to Navy Pier (left). Unlike Navy Pier, however, this pier, containing marinas and a farmers market, would be part of the real city, not a tourist trap.

Nonetheless, big plans are irresistible to Chicagoans, and the show offers some compelling ones. Robert Benson of 4240 Architecture would replace the elevated tracks with a transit system consisting of green structural supports, equipped with wind turbines, that would extend like croquet wickets throughout the city (below) The trains would be nearly silent, but the system would send a loud message, making its green design visible, the wall text says, "in order to move the souls of the general public through beauty."

That's a capital idea, which fulfills Burnham's admonition to make big plans that have the magic to stir men's blood. Now if we could just come up with the billions in capital necessary to turn it into reality.

"Big. Bold. Visionary. Chicago Architects Consider the Next Century" appears at the Chicago Tourism Center Gallery, 72 E. Randolph St., through Oct. 4. The exhibit is a collaborative effort of Chicago's Department of Cultural Affairs and the Burnham Plan Centennial Committee.

Posted at 07:31:03 AM in Burnham Plan Centennial

Future retrospection: Blade Runner's sets

2011-02-16T04:23:00.001-08:00

Future retrospection: Blade Runner's sets

by Jonathan Meades

It is a truism that representations of the future (and, indeed, of the past) are more indicative of the era they are made than the era they are made about. Characteristically they lift a couple of aspects of the familiar (present) world and stretch or heighten them, or distil them into caricature. Ridley Scott insouciantly adheres to this procedure just as Verne, Wells (whom Oscar Wilde called 'a scientific Jules Verne') and Huxley did before him. His cinematic precursors obviously include Fritz Lang, whose Metropolis was all Sant 'Elia and New York and arch expressionism; William Cameron Menzies, whose Things to Come was Art Deco laid on with a trowel; and Charlie Chaplin, whose Modern Times was a technological cartoon.

Thus Scott's idea of Los Angeles 40 years hence in Blade Runner is a salad of past styles, by which I mean pre 1982 styles. This is cute, clever and predictable: his future, like every other ever posited, is the present only more so, a reflection in a distorting mirror, a reflection which, alas, is presented with such thorough humourlessness that you must assume that it is meant to be taken seriously. The quasi-cultural fragment of the early 1980s that Scott has chosen to exploit is the craze for exhuming the (fairly recent) past. He evidently reckons that in 2019 in LA this 'copyist' urge will be even stronger than it is today.

Scott, who (all too clearly) began his career as a designer for television, rummages with promiscuous (or 'post modern') abandon through the store of the world's architectural gestures. He does not oblige himself to achieve what have hitherto been the predominant characteristics of utopian and dystopian cities homogeneity and consistency. Of course a consistency is imposed on the film by the manner in which it is shot: the constant rain, the range of tiresomely ingenious devices that disorientate the spectator, the facetiously world-weary narration that the protagonist delivers and, most of all, another echo of 1940s private eye movies, the 'atmospheric' lighting. Light is always indirect beamed or diffused or reflected which makes it 'atmospheric'. So, on to the stylistic salad that is given this hefty dressing, as colourful and crude as something out of a Kraft bottle.

The first man to be hauled on for a thunderous round of applause is the late John Martin. Martin died 128 years ago last 17 February on the Isle of Man, having given a lifetime to devising exuberantly fantastical (and unrealized) architectural improvements, and to composing equally fantastical apocalyptic canvases that earned him a place in the British pantheon and the sobriquet 'Mad'. Scott is living testimony to the truth of T. S. Eliot's maxim that 'great poets don't borrow, they steal'. Scott, in the nicest possible way of course, exhibits the influence of Martin. He is not the first film maker to do so; D. W. Griffith and Coppola in Apocalypse Now trod before him, but they were mere pickpockets beside Scott's sledgehammer and stocking mask blagger. However, he is the first to capture photographically the grandiose blowsiness that Martin did so well in paint. This is no puny achievement: Martin's Michelin Man buildings, with their swollen columns and rustication like folds of fat, look splendidly tawdry in the film.

The next to collect laurels must be American 'Borax' designers, Bel Geddes, Loewy, people like that. Scott gives the OK to streamlining, and why not. There is a fair bit of unrestructured moderne to be glimpsed in the shadows. And what else? There is classicism of the Edwin Cooper sort; a soupçon of the Milan railway station manner; some purposeful chunks of Archigram stuff; and a wondrous interior peopled by brightly clothed tumbling dwarfs who look as though they are the pets of an ideal madman in Naples, 1800.

There is also a lot of Hong Kong (neon and noodles, not Norman Foster) since for some reason Los Angeles is full of Chinese: I suspect some point about inner cities was being made but the script is not wildly lucid. Finally, there is a very large building that recalls the insaner sort of public housing schemes in outer Paris. I note that Arthur Drexler described such a scheme as having the look of a 'twenties set for a German film'. And what happens in this extravagant illusion? Actors decorate it: the Word is not something in which Scott is much interested. The titular hero has to track down and kill robots that are supposedly indistinguishable from humans. The film is so bereft of emotional resonance, so wanting a moral dimension that the humans seem no less robotic than the real robots. Scott is the veteran (and victim) of 3000 advertising films. Here he has nothing to sell and all the time in the world to sell it. The art is in his props; it's all wrapping and no gift.

Since long before the advent of cinema there has been an exchange between architecture as building and architecture as imagined ideal. This exchange has not been entirely felicitous. Approximations to the paradisiac landscapes of the seventeenth century are one thing, doltish attempts (not peculiar to Paris) to emulate the nightmare city of Metropolis are quite another. When the exchange is in the opposite direction the imaginary drawing on and synthesizing strands of the real the results, even if they are disappointing, are unlikely to be harmful. Imagined architecture is like its twin in every aspect save two rather vital ones: it is not public art and it is not functional. Imagined architecture is never quite in earnest; it is chimeric, fun, sublime. Do not copy.

1982

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The Afterlife of.....

2011-02-16T04:22:00.001-08:00

April 14, 2009...2:30 am

The Afterlife of Paper

Jump to Comments

I’ve caught up with a number of movies and television programmes from the past few years in one gulp – Frost Nixon, Good Night and Good Luck, Helen Mirren’s The Queen, the 1998 X Files movie, some episodes of The West Wing - in which the glamorous urgency of ensemble journalism practiced by networked television stations and newspapers is used as a Greek chorus, giving summary and background information and reflecting the ordinary person’s response to the behaviour of the Gods and Goddesses. It’s astonishing to me how quickly the newspaper has become a distant artifact, almost as antiquated as the stone tabloids of the ancient Greeks.

I’ve seen every version of Blade Runner: the first one in 1982 at the cinema, and then on video or DVD each of Ridley Scott’s recalibrated, burnished versions. I saw the 2007 version a couple of weeks ago on DVD and was astonished at how much paper is in the movie. The police chief has stacks of paper reports teetering on his desk and dinged-up file cabinets in his office. The replicants carry bundles of photographs that illustrate their implanted “memories”. Harrison Ford grabs a newspaper and sits on a curb while he’s waiting for a seat to open up at the counter of the noodle bar. He’s in the fused metropolis of San Angeles in 2019 but in reality, in 2009, print editions of the Los Angeles Times and the San Francisco Chronicle and perhaps the entire news organisations, might disappear in a matter of weeks.

The massive power blackout in Sydney last week started me thinking about the evolutionary advantages of paper and why all of the paper in Blade Runner might be our real urban future and not an ironic editorial touch (like the Converse sneakers in Sofia Coppola’s Marie Antoinette). Because of the meagre battery life barely use my iPhone as a mobile communications device. I wish I could hotwire a solar battery to my iPhone and have it run the music player and a local am/fm radio tuner. I wish there was a local newspaper that ran emergency procedures and contacts in every issue that I could keep around the house.

In San Angeles in 2019 only the physical form of the newspaper may be familiar. The unreliability of communications systems due to wild, wild weather and the rot or incompatibilities of communications infrastructure, the breakdown of government investment in nationally orchestrated community news services, and the extinction of global news franchises may create a new life for the community newspaper. The news may be hyperlocal, covering a radius of perhaps just a few city blocks with papers manufactured in copy shops in each neighbourhood. The feature stories may discuss globally important issues and events through a dense interweaving of international sources from research and analysis funded by a co-op of universities, foundations, community donations and micropayments from the newspapers. If failed power systems knock Outside.in’s buzzmap offline, each edition of the community newspaper may print-off and run the up-to-date lists of community services with contact numbers and emergency procedures that are embedded into Outside.in’s storymaps.

blade runner theme

2011-02-16T04:21:00.001-08:00

BBC Review

Blade Runner is still one of the best soundtracks to one of the best films of all time.

Chris Jones 2007-12-13

In 1982, director Ridley Scott released one of the greatest science fiction films of all time: Blade Runner, based on Philip K Dick's dystopian novel of humanoid robots (replicants) and a Chandleresque hero (the 'blade runner' of the title) whose job was to hunt them down and eradicate them. As much as Scott's film relied on its rain-drenched nightscapes and neon-glazed city sprawl to reflect the existential angst of Harrison Ford, it also succeeded due in no small part to the score by the former Evangelos Odysseas Papathanassiou. Besides his work on the score for Chariots Of Fire, Vangelis' most lauded film work resides here.

For 12 years following the film's release, a dispute between the composer and auteur kept the synth-drenched score off the shelves. Much joy heralded its original release, yet it was incomplete, missing many cues and extras. Now, with Scott's painstaking ten-year overhaul of his 25th anniversary print now complete, we get the whole thing and more.

This 3 cd set is both a delight for fans of the Greek keyboard meister’s work and for anyone who wants a primer on how exactly to make cinematic music evocative, emotive and above all still stand up on its own. Long a feature on many a late night groover’s chill-out playlist, Vangelis' work here resides on just the right side of the line marked 'new age'. The synthesizers at once convey icy alienation and also, strangely, the entire dilemma of a human in a world inhabited by machines with emotions. This is especially true on the fantastic ''Blade Runner Blues'', and on the album’s most famous track, ''Love Theme'', where Harrison Ford and Sean Young overcome the man/machine divide to the strains of a wailing saxophone.

The masterstroke is to include the dialogue that fits each key scene. For instance we get ''Tears In The Rain'' we get Rutger Hauer's finest moment ('Attack ships on fire…' etc) as he slides into non-existence on the roof of a crumbling downtown hotel. And then there's all the stuff we missed out on the first time around. It’s every bit as good.

The only slightly strange note is struck on the somewhat extraneous third disc, where the bearded one gives us 'music inspired by the film'. It’s not that it's bad, it just jars with the completeness of the other two discs. But Blade Runner is still one of the best soundtracks to one of the best films of all time. Vangelis' proto-electronica remains beguiling and essential. It's every bit as important as that new DVD…

do androids dream with......

2011-02-16T04:16:00.000-08:00

Today, a double feature: back-to-back reviews of Blade Runner and its source, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? These aren't so much reviews as the notes I took after watching and reading.

Philip K. Dick: Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?

The best Dick I've read so far-- a fascinating read, suspenseful enough that I read the whole damn thing in one setting, thought-provoking... everything you could ask of sf, plus it's damn weird.

Dick is preoccupied with metaphysics. Many sf writers are, but they're just playing; this stuff is real for Dick. Famously, Dick had an experience of God, or the divine, or something; and spent the rest of his life trying to understand what had happened. (That's good sf and good theology right there: we encounter an alien or divine intelligence, and our brains explode. If you can understand your god, that's a good sign he or she is a fantasy...)

You see this in his treatment of 'Mercerism', for instance. Any other writer would set it up as a fake, and we often suspect Dick is doing so as well-- the banality, the silly name, the feeling that we've seen this sort of satirical prole-religion before, even the inevitable unmasking. But Mercer turns out to be real; the unmasking doesn't unmask everything; you can even wonder if Mercer turns out to be God, playing his own divine trick on the tricksters who set up the false cult.

And the animals. You'd never guess from Blade Runner that half the book is preoccupied with animal husbandry. It's just plain odd, and yet gives a real sense of a parched, ruined future.

The central science fictional idea, however, is the androids (Dick never calls them replicants), and the central concern is their humanity. (That always is the central concern with robots, going back to R.U.R.) Dick sets up the conundrums expertly. On the one hand the androids are merciless killers; on the other hand Rachael behaves with a touching irrationality. The androids are maladroit in their role-playing (such that one can hardly believe that it's as difficult to detect them as the plot demands); at the same time, the dehumanizing nature of Deckard's job is driven home, and there's an unsettling reference to the pre-Civil War South. We simultaneously root for Deckard and for the androids.

The most original and chilling part of Dick's treatment is the cat-and-mouse game played by the android manufacturers and the police. It's very '60s, really: distrust of big companies, as well as confidence in the idea of global law enforcement, came easily back then.

(You have to wonder why, given the myriad ways sf has envisioned things going wrong, so many sf fans are libertarians. It's as if the writers have wracked their brains to come up with mind-bending and disturbing ideas about our possible futures; and the readers come along for the phasers and spaceships. Whee! Zap! Zoom!)

Admirably, Dick had a good sense, way back in 1968, of which human abilities would be easy and hard to replicate that still holds up today. Duplicating human intelligence won't be a problem-- the androids are smarter than we are. The body's capabilities will also be no problem-- artificial blood, artificial vaginas, artificial bone marrow-- merely technical puzzles. But emotions will be trickier; and empathy, that impure and complicated thing; and even the desire to live when reason tells us there is no hope, a drive bred into us during eons in which to survive and reproduce again was the greatest goal.

One surprise, by the way, is that the book doesn't lay much stress on the possibility of Deckard being an android. There's a hint of it in the marvelously confusing scene where Deckard is arrested by the false cops, and in the scenes with the other bounty hunter, Phil Resch (if we suspect him, we might as well suspect Deckard). But we don't return to this theme; Dick is more interested in the devastation that overcomes Deckard over the killing of increasingly humanlike creatures.

Ridley Scott: Blade Runner

This is the first time I've seen Blade Runner since it first came out, and the first time I've seen the "Director's Cut" (notably, without the voiceover). Initial thought: it's a good movie, but damn is it dark in there.

It's dedicated to Philip K. Dick, without betraying for a moment any real interest in what a Dick novel is like. It explores precisely one idea from the novel-- whether you can tell androids from humans, in a world where the police want to be able to and the manufacturers do their best to make it impossible. But it leaves out the weirdness of Dick, including bits (such as the alternate police force) that would have contributed to this theme.

I think Blade Runner was the one of the first sf films to realize what sf films can and should be... which is, not ideafests, in the way of good written sf, but celebrations of visuality and atmosphere. They should show us worlds and sights that we could never have experienced or imagined. Do you remember the plot of Blade Runner, or the philosophical points made by the replicant sociopath, Roy? Perhaps; but what you certainly remember is the atmosphere-- endless night and rain, canyons of streets, the huge pyramid housing the Tyrell Corporation, blimps passing overhead bearing inscrutable commercials, the battle in the warehouse, Pris's spray-painted eyes, Rachael's photographs.

Yeah, yeah, there's 2001. But who the hell understands 2001? It's remembered for being the first sf film with convincing special effects... the prototype for sf films that deliver visually.

The one thing that got a bit old, on this viewing, was the darkness. It's stunning and all, but it becomes almost a joke... "It's too light in here," Deckard says at one point... when we're already in a twilight glow. I began to feel that Scott cared more for his noir moments than for the ideas behind the world, or for simple plausibility. (How could Sebastian and Tyrell have failed to see a mate two moves away?)

Without the voiceover, it's also damned tricky to follow. I'm still not sure I can explain the snakeskin... I suppose it must have been explained at some point that it was left behind in an attack, but I don't recall, and it makes Deckard's adventures seem anarchic. You never can really follow the logic in Raymond Chandler, either, but at least each move seems motivated at the time.

Curiously, it's not as fully imagined a future as I remembered it being. You never get any real feeling for how this world works. There's lots of Japanese imagery, and no hint why; no hint of what the "colonies" mean or why super-intelligent 'slaves' are needed; no idea of what all these people in the streets do for a living, or what they feel about replicants. Scott has admirably conceived what the world looks like, and that's it.

Now I really want to see Brazil again, and The Fifth Element. They really picked up where Blade Runner left off: creating not just plausible-looking realities, but varied, amusing/creepy, and well-lit ones.

--M.R.

AN ANALISYS ON BR

2009-10-30T06:35:00.000-07:00

kenmat.tumblr.com/.../blade-runner-2-jpg

The Parting of the Mist

Film History: Blade Runner

Joseph M. Reagle Jr.

"I've seen things you people wouldn't believe...Attack ships on fire off the shores of Orion...I watched c-beams glitter in the dark near the Tanhauser Gate. All those moments will be lost...like tears in rain." - Roy Batty.

The conflict between the blade runner Deckard and the off world replicants is the central force of Ridley Scott's Blade Runner. This conflict not only provides the means of narrative movement, but the philosophical and symbolical stimulation that engages one's mental and visual appetite.

The argument that makes the above conflict interesting is the possibility that Deckard was that which he had to kill: a replicant. This argument has been posited by many critics of the film, and has further intensified my understanding of the film. In this paper I will not only use the great body of criticism to defend this argument, but present a theory of my own: that Deckard's nemesis, Roy Batty, knew that Deckard was a replicant.

The likelihood of Deckard being a Replicant has always been an overt possibility in the film. Rachael, a replicant whom Deckard administered the Voight-Kampff test to, asks him if he himself has ever taken the test to find out if he is truly human.[*] The question goes unanswered, but further elements of the film make the silent answer all the more apparent; such as those noted by Philip Strick:

Four replicants have arrived in the city - Pris, Zhora, Leon, and their leader Roy Batty (Rutger Hauer) - and Deckard has to deal with them. Minutes later, Bryant describes how six replicants ("three male, three female") hi- jacked a space shuttle back to Earth, and one of these has since been killed during a break-in at the Tyrell Corporation headquarters. Which leaves five.[1]

Further, the great importance of visual and memory design within the film leads us to find that Deckard is not much different from those whom he hunts.[2] ("How does it feel to live in fear?") The replicants rely on photographs and implanted memories to bolster their nascent and fragile emotions. After Deckard tells Rachael that her photos and memories are merely copies of those that belong to Tyrell's niece, he falls asleep amidst his own childhood photographs.

Perhaps the most important aspect of the recently released director's cut is the footage of Deckard's dream. He dreams of a unicorn. This is directly referenced at the ending in which another blade runner, Graff, leaves an origami Unicorn outside Deckard's door to signify that he is allowing Deckard to escape with Rachael. By this inclusion, Scott lends weight to the "Deckard as a replicant" concept by implying that another blade runner knew Deckard's dreams. Nor was Scott above playing with words as seen by the fact that Deckard "retires" (kills) Replicants, after he himself is brought back from retirement.[6]

The above interpretation of Deckard has led to much discussion concerning the nature of Deckard's relations with the replicants and especially Roy Batty.

First, I shall consider Deckard's relationship with the other replicants. In a grotesque way it is one of melding, marriage, and death. Deckard finds himself in love with Rachael, a replicant he should kill. Later, he seeks out Zhora and approaches her as she showers in order to protect her from "lewd and unsavory persons" and "dirty holes". This sexual context is a pretext to determine whether she is a replicant. She flees, and he chases and kills her in the slow scene of shattering glass and blood. When Leon attempts to avenge Zhora's death, Rachael kills Leon, further indebting Deckard to Rachael.

The scene in which Deckard kills Pris is important as well, as seen by David Dress's interpretation:

Later, Pris, who knows Deckard is coming, puts on a long veil and hides among the dolls in J. F. Sebastion's apartment. As Deckard sees her and starts to remove the veil, like a bridegroom approaching his shy bride, she attacks him. She performs two lightning-like flips, leaps high in the air and lands on Deckard's shoulders, crushing him between her thighs.[3]

Hence, with Deckard's relations to the other replicants seen as one of marriage or the incorporation of that which he kills, we can further consider his relation with Roy.

Roy has often been interpreted as a Christ/Anti-Christ figure, and there is much evidence to support such an interpretation: Roy visits his father Tyrell atop Mt. Olympus to confess to his creator, he pushes a nail through his own hand in order to feel pain and "life", and when he dies, a white dove ascends from his still body.

Considering Deckard in the same light, we see that Deckard is possibly not "human" as well, but a replicant. One who has risen from the dead (retirement) with definite human qualities, so as to be the Son of Man and Replicant. This union is accomplished knowingly by Roy, forging Deckard through the fires of a harrowing battle. Through this, Roy tries to communicate his life experiences, and the importance of life before his own flame extinguishes.

Of course, the question of how Roy knew about Deckard need be asked. Aside from the possibility that Deckard could be one of the "missing" two replicants, who could have known Roy before Deckard's mind was reprogrammed by Tyrell Corp., a previous scene acts as the precedent for a more likely theory. Off screen Deckard is able to read Rachael's detailed files on her inception date, and the source of her memories. If Graff had access to such files on Deckard (as seen by the unicorn) it is probable that Roy would have seen similar information on Deckard as he searched for information on himself after he killed Tyrell.[6]

Hence, the riveting ending is not a simple chase by which a replicant chases a human, but a melding. A further transference (marriage/sex) between Deckard and Roy as seen by Roy's playful exhortations for Deckard to live:

Come on, Deckard, show me what you're made of.
Proud of yourself, little man? My turn.
I'm going to give you a few seconds before I come. I'm coming.
Four, five, try to stay alive. Come on, get it up!
Unless you're alive you can't play. And if you don't play
. . . [you're dead]. Six, seven, go to hell or go to heaven.

Considering this, it is arguable that the conflict I mentioned, is a dialectical process by which Deckard and the other replicants merge super-human abilities with human frailty and life. In the final scene, Roy further prepares the way for Deckard, by transforming into a dove, which parts the black fog that has permeated the film. This final action allows Deckard and Rachael (Adam and Eve) to part from the clouds as well, to an unpolluted garden; taking the memory of Roy's tears, so as not to be lost in the rain.

Bibliography


1. Strick, Phillip. "Blade Runner Telling The Difference:
 Does the director's cut show that Deckard is a
 replicant?"  Sight and Sound. (12/2/92) p. 8.

2. Deutelbaum, Marshall.  "Memory/Visual Design: The
 Remembered Sights of Blade Runner" Literature/Film
 Quarterly  (17.1) 1989 : 66 - 72.

3. Dresser, David. "Blade Runner. Science Fiction &
 Transcendence" Literature/Film Quarterly  (18.1) 1990 :
 172 - 178.

4. Morrison, Rachela. "Casablanca Meets Star Wars: The
 Blakean Dialectics of Blade Runner" Literature/Film
 Quarterly  (18.1) 1990 : 2 - 9.

5. Slade, Joseph. "Romanticizing Cybernetics in Ridley
 Scott's Blade Runner" Literature/Film Quarterly  (18.1)
 1990 : 11 - 18.

6. Discussions between Madeleine Jarolimek and Joseph Reagle
 Jr.


_______________________________
* David Dresser also commented on the fact that Deckard's ex-
 wife referred to him as "sushi -- cold fish", and in the
 narration Deckard says, "Replicants weren't supposed to
 have feelings, neither were Blade Runners."3

  Madeleine Jarolimek suggested that Deckard is the
 "restored" version of the replicant who attempted to
 attack Tyrell Corp. headquarters.6

images of blade runner

2007-11-19T05:44:00.000-08:00

2007-11-19T05:43:00.000-08:00

My Mother??.....

2006-07-22T01:17:00.000-07:00

MY MOTHER??
I WILL TELL YOU ABOUT MY MOTHER!.....

2005-09-21T22:46:00.000-07:00

2005-09-21T22:39:00.000-07:00

MY MOTHER??
I WILL TELL YOU ABOUT MY MOTHER!.....

2005-09-21T22:38:00.000-07:00

2005-09-21T22:36:00.000-07:00

2005-09-21T22:35:00.000-07:00

BRYANT
She's not with you?

DECKARD
Who.

A pause.

BRYANT
Take a number. Canapt 1700, tenth
floor, Villa Vita District, Olympia
South.

DECKARD
Got it.

BRYANT
Okay, here it is. Eldon Tyrell, his
family and half his staff were just
massacred. The cat is about to get
out of the bag. Pressure is
definitely on. The Nexus program
is terminated. When you finish
there, locate Nexus designated Rachael
and retire.

Deckard says nothing.

BRYANT
If you don't, we will. It has to
be total, Deckard. That's an order
from as high as it comes. Got it?

DECKARD
Yeah. I got it.

BRYANT
Go.

He hangs up the receiver and gets up. She watches him
from the bed. The gun goes into his belt. He loads
the ankle job and straps it on. She watches every move.

RACHAEL
Why do you call it retire, why
don't you call it murder?

DECKARD
Because it's not.

RACHAEL
Don't you think anything that can
suffer deserves to be considered?

DECKARD
Andies only simulate suffering --
if they're programmed for it.

RACHAEL
Do you think I simulated what
happened between us?

DECKARD
No, I don't.

Without looking at her, he puts on his jacket.

He's standing in the middle of the floor with his back
to her. He turns and they're facing one another.
Neither of them moves.

DECKARD
Don't leave here. Don't open the
door, don't answer the phone.

RACHAEL
What difference will it make?

DECKARD
Just wait here.

He goes to the door.

RACHAEL
You know what I think?

DECKARD
What?

RACHAEL
That some of the folks around here
are more programmed then me.

He has to laugh.

RACHAEL
You know what else I think?

DECAKRD
What?

RACHAEL
This was the best day of my life.

He turns and goes through the door.

INT. SEBASTIAN'S APARTMENT - NIGHT 94

Sebastian is putting his work table in order, but his
mind is not with it and his hands are trembling.

Batty, Pris and Mary are on the other side of the room
talking: their voices low.

MARY
Let's go while there is still
time.

BATTY
Where?

MARY
Anywhere.

Batty smiles.

BATTY
What's the point?

MARY
Not to be trapped.

BATTY
You underestimate the trap, Mary.

Sebastian has almost reached the door.

BATTY
Where are you going, Sebastian?

SEBASTIAN
Just thought I'd...

BATTY
No, you stay here with us. Out
last night together.

They all watch.

Sebastian walks away from the door.

BATTY
Think of yourself as a light, Mary.
Shine before you're turned off.

She's too fragile for that logic, but it appeals to
Pris. She and Batty hold a look that burns.

Sebastian is by the window.

SEBASTIAN
Someone is coming here.

Batty goes to the window and looks down.

BATTY
One man.
(he smiles)
He must be good.

MARY
Then go get him.

BATTY
That wouldn't be very sporting.

Sebastian looks ready to bolt. Batty puts an arm
around him.

PRIS
I want to do it.

BATTY
Okay, but don't kill him. Save a
little for everybody. A
masterpiece.

A pause.

BATTY
Turn out the lights, Pris.

EXT. SEBASTIAN'S APARTMENT - NIGHT 95

In the dim, nocturnal light, Deckard crosses into the
courtyard fronting the building and stops. He looks
around. Nobody there, just silence.

He comes closer to the building and stands in the sha-
dows off to one side of the entry.

His head jerks up to the SOUND OF CRASHING GLASS.

Sebastian comes hurtling down and explodes into the
pavement thirty feet below.

Deckard's eyes move up the line of descent, the shat-
tered window on the next-to-top floor.

INT. SEBASTIAN'S APARTMENT LOBBY - NIGHT 96

Not much to see, But Deckard misses none of it as he
crosses the floor and positions himself in the spot of
least exposure. He looks around. Elevator and stair-
well.

Close to the wall, he moves towards the elevator, keep-
ing an eye on the stairwell door.

Stepping to one side, he hits the button. The elevator
door slides open. He reaches in, presses a button and
as the doors slide shut, Deckard slips a pen between
the doors, jamming the operation.

Deckard's shoes and soundless as he quickly crosses the
lobby floor. He pauses a moment in front of the stair-
well door, then pushes it open and:

INT. STAIRWELL, SEBASTIAN'S APARTMENT - NIGHT 97

Steps into the dark on the other side. Suddenly he
spins, dropping to the floor, and FIRES three times in-
to the figure hovering to his left.

The man is hanging off the floor, his arms locked into
the railing, neck broken -- with three holes in his
chest... but he was already dead.

Deckard stares at the corpse. It's Mr. Deetchum, the
old watchman. That RUSTLING SOUND are rats who were
feeding on him, scampering for safer places, Deckard
gets to his feet.

The stairway rectangles ten stories up. As his foot
touches the first step, a raw, terrified SCREAM shatters
the air. It came from below. It's the cry of a young
girl -- it GROWS TO A PIERCING SHRIEK AND ABRUPTLY
STOPS. Deckard ejects the half-used cartridge from his
laser, inserts a fresh one and quiet as the silence,
descends the basement stairs.

INT. BASEMENT - NIGHT 98

At the bottom he faces a corridor. The FAINT HUM OF
MACHINERY comes from the double doors at the far end.
The HUM BECOMES A RATTLE by the time he gets there.
Each door is fitted with a small window. Deckard
steps to the side and peers through.

INT. GYM - NIGHT 99

It's a gym. The mirror-lined walls are cracked and
tarnished, the equipment atrophied from lack of use.
The heavier barbells have sunk into the floor. Two
weight-reducing machines are flapping and grinding away
like idiots. Deckard's eyes stop on the woman.

She dangles a few feet off the floor, hung by the
shoulders through rings suspended from the ceiling.
Her head is slung forward, her body limp and slightly
swaying.

Deckard pushes open one of the doors until it touches
the wall. Slowly, he advances toward the hanging figure,
keeping an eye on the mirror to cover surprises from the
door. He's not breathing hard. His heart isn't pound-
ing. Deckard's in his element.

Close enough to look up into her face, he stops. It
isn't grisly death that causes the reaction in his
eyes. It's the innocence of her angel face.

It's not something he has time to consider. In the
mirror behind him, he sees the door starting to open.
Deckard spins. He shouldn't have. Pris' legs snap up,
crack the laser out of his hand and clamp around his
neck.

Slowly, the door swings closed, but Deckard doesn't
notice. His carotid artery is no longer sending blood
to the brain. He jerks up his foot and reaches down.
As his fingers close around the ankle laser, Pris'
fingers close around his wrist. Deckard's hand opens
like a flower. The laser drops to the floor as his
eyes roll back into his head.

PRIS
Naughty, naughty.

She lets go, but before he can fall, she rams a foot
into his back. He's propelled fifteen feet across the
room, slams into a machine and falls to the floor.
Pris flies off the rings and comes at him.

Deckard reaches out to pull himself up, but she's al-
ready there. Not too hard and just in the right place,
she kicks him in the stomach. He goes back to the
floor, gagging for air. Oh-so-precisely she reaches
out with a long index finger and flips the switch on
the machine.

It's a flab eliminator with a vibrator belt. Normally
an innocuous piece of equipment, but the motor housing
on this one is missing. Lots of GRINDING METAL. A
bad place for flesh and bone.

But that's where Deckard's hand is going. An eight-
year-old against a full-down man. In two more seconds
his hand will be ground round. Deckard tries to pull
his hand loose. It won't come. He yanks hard, but
it's welded in hers.

His face is twisted and strained as he raises a leg,
wedges his foot against her chest and pushes with all
his might. The hold breaks. They topple back. Deckard
hits the floor gulping to catch his breath. Pris is up
and coming for him again. She hovers over him. Deckard
rolls out of the way as she comes down like a pile
driver.

Reflexively Deckard raises his arm to protect himself.
Pris just smiles, takes hold of his foot and drags him
across the floor. She doesn't like to leave a piece of
work unfinished. They're going back to the machine.

He goes by a weight-stand of dumbbells and grabs hold.
It doesn't stop him. He's sliding over the floor like
it was ice, weight stand in tow.

Pris gets to the machine, yanks his foot up and forces
it toward the opening. Deckard sits up, a five-pound
dumbbell in his hand, and clobbers her in the back. It
knocks her off balance, but she doesn't let go of his
foot. She hooks out with a fist but misses. He gets
her with a roundhouse in the face.

She goes to the floor and Deckard's up, the dumbbell
over his head, coming down with it. Fighting for her
life now, Pris drives a foot into his chest. It lifts
him off the floor. He flies back across the gym and
lands in a heap.

No more games. Pris is furious and moving fast. She
rips a steel bar out of the wall and, holding it over-
head, charges him like a samurai. As she comes down
for the kill, she freezes.

Deckard landed near the laser. He crawls towards it.
As in a nightmare, it takes forever. But he gets there.

He reaches out and grabs the laser, rolls over and
takes careful aim. She charges towards him, screaming
her rage. He FIRES as she comes.

The shot amputates her left arm at the shoulder, but
her hand doesn't let go of the bar. It dangles crazily
in front of her as she charges forward.

He PUTS THE NEXT ONE through her neck. Pris hiccups a
rope of blood as she flies through the air and crashes
next to Deckard. Dead.

He lies next to her, chest heaving. Slowly he rolls
over and gets to his hands and knees. Panting, he stag-
gers to his feet and stands over her, swaying slightly.
The sound that escapes his throat is raspy and dry. It
might not sound like a war cry, but it is.

INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT 100

Laser in hand, Deckard kicks open the swinging doors
and walks into the corridor, a dangerous man.

INT. STAIRWELL - NIGHT 101

Deckard arrives at the main floor landing, checks his
loads and continues up the stairs. He's going to shoot
the next thing that moves and find out later if he was
right or wrong.

INT. STAIRWELL - SECOND FLOOR - NIGHT 101A

On the next landing he throws the door open. His eyes
move down the hall, looking for prints in the dust.
None. He continues up the stairs.

INT. NINTH FLOOR - NIGHT 102

On the ninth floor he finds what he's looking for.
Footprints coming and going from a door halfway down the
hall. He stops to the side of it and listens. Silence.
Deckard FIRES three quick shots through the door. If
somebody were on the other side of it, they aren't now.

He kicks the door open and dives through head first
and hits the floor in a roll, POURING FIRE into the
far corners of the room but the room is empty. There's
a kitchen bar, a closet and a bedroom door, both
closed. Deckard's breathing is the only sound. No
response from either door.

Maybe it was a sound, maybe intuition, but suddenly
Deckard twists around and FIRES several shots into the
closet. The smouldering door slowly creaks open.

Mary is huddled in the rear of the closet. Her hand
out like somebody about to catch a ball but afraid of
it. In her other hand she clutches a button-eyed
monkey. Her face is bewildered, frozen in fear, her
body riddled with holes. No recognition gap here.
Deckard SHOOTS her through the neck to make sure. Mary
falls to the floor, like a puppet with her strings cut.

Deckard backs away from the pathetic figure in the
closet and sits on the sofa, unable to take his eyes
off her.

Deckard lays the laser down next to him, holds out his
hand and looks at it. It's steady. He drops it in
his lap, closes his eyes and leans back.

A TAPPING from the ceiling. Deckard looks up.

A KNOCK -- with the proverbial DOUBLE RAP at the end.
A pause. Deckard jumps out of the way as the ceiling
gives in. Chucks on concrete and plaster hit the
couch where he was sitting. The hole is a couple feet
in diameter -- beams cracked through, exposing the
apartment above. Silence. Deckard wipes the plaster
dust from his eyes and mouth, then whispers:

DECKARD
Hello, Roy.

INT. STAIRWELL - NINTH AND TENTH FLOOR - NIGHT 103

Deckard comes out onto the landing. Taking his time,
he climbs the steps to the next floor, the last floor.
He SHOOTS the hinges out of the big stairwell door,
pushes it with his foot and it comes down with a BANG.
The REVERBERATIONS turn into silence. The corridor is
empty.

INT. CORRIDOR - TENTH FLOOR - NIGHT 104

Moving fast but cautious, he passes each door until he
gest to the apartment above Sebastian's. Slowly he
turns the know and pushed open the door.

INT. APARTMENT - TENTH FLOOR - NIGHT 105

Except for the hole in the middle of the floor, there's
nothing to see. Back against the wall, he moves to-
wards the bedroom, but stops at the NOISE. It sounds
like the HOOTING OF AN OWL and it's coming from the
hallway.

INT. CORRIDOR - TENTH FLOOR - NIGHT 106

Deckard looks around the corner of the door down the
hall. Batty's at the other end. Except for jockstrap
and gym shoes, he's nude.

BATTY
You wanna play?

Deckard FIRES. Batty's fast. He ducks into a doorway.
Pops out again.

BATTY
Not very sporting to fire on an
unarmed opponent. I thought you
were supposed to be good. Aren't
you the man?!

The makeup on Batty's face is somewhere between a Coman-
che warrior and a transvestite. The immensity of his
insolence awesome -- the muscles of his body are swol-
len, trembling from the thrill of it.

BATTY
This is how we do it up there, lad!
Come on!

In a blue of lightning-like action, Batty whips down the
hall, zigzagging off the walls towards Deckard so fast
that Deckard gets only three SHOTS off before the blur
crashes through the wall on his left with a laugh.

Deckard stands there a moment -- digesting the impact
of it, then edges up to the gaping wall. Batty is be-
hind him.

He knees Deckard in the back and slaps him in the head.
Deckard goes to his knees, then over on his face.
Batty kneels next to him.

BATTY
Not hurt, are you? You better get
it up or I'm going to have to kill
you. Unless you're alive you can't
play. And if you don't play, you
don't get to be alive.

Deckard's eyes are closed, mouth bleeding. He exhales
and makes and effort. He slides his hands up even with
his chest and starts to push.

BATTY
That's the spirit.

Like a matador, Batty walks away. By the time Deckard's
on his feet, Batty's disappeared through one of the
doors.

Deckard wipes the blood from his mouth, bends down and
picks up his laser, reloads and looks down the hall,
towards the jeering voice.

BATTY'S VOICE
Come on, Deckard, show me what you
got! I'm right here on the other
side of the door. But you gotta
shoot straight 'cause I'm fast!

Deckard gets to the door, BLASTS it, kicks it open and
FIRES at Batty. But it's only the reflection of Batty.

INT. ROOM - TENTH FLOOR - NIGHT 107

The full length mirror on the other side of the room
SHATTERS. Batty's next to him, grabs Deckard's hand
and steps in closer.

BATTY
Straight doesn't seem to be good
enough.

They're face to face.

BATTY
You don't have a chance, do you?

In an exaggeration of weary disappointment, Batty drops
his head to the side.

BATTY
Looks like I'm gonna have to scale
it down for you. Give you a
handicap. I won't run through any
more walls. Okay? I promise to
use the doors. Okay?

Deckard stares back at him, but doesn't respond. Sud-
denly fury storms through Batty. He throws Deckard out
the door, knocking him down, grabs him by the collar
and rams his head into the wall.

BATTY
Come on, let's use that brain!

INT. TENTH FLOOR CORRIDOR - NIGHT 108

He drags him down the hall, on his knees and bangs his
head into the wall again.

BATTY
Think! We need a little
resilience around here!

He yanks him further and bashes his head again.

BATTY
Where are those balls of yours?!
Let's see a little bravery!

The storm passes.

Deckard hangs in Batty's hand like a bag of laundry.

BATTY
That was irrational of me -- not
to mention unsportsmanlike. Won't
happen again.

He drops him.

BATTY
I'll be down the hall when you're
ready.

Betty walks off and disappears through one of the doors.

Deckard gets to his knees, leans against the wall a mo-
ment, then punches it with his fist.

On his feet he's a little wobbly. Holding his breath
so he can hear above his own breathing, he listens. No
sound. No sign of Batty. The laser is laying nearby.
He doesn't bother.

Deckard is backing down the hall, quiet as he can. He
had a job to do. He would like to have done it, but
he's not insane. He gets to the landing and turns.

On the first step down, he stops. Batty's on the land-
ing below, looking up at him.

BATTY
Where you going?

He wait a moment for Deckard's answer.

BATTY
No cheating. A promise is a
promise. I'll honor the
handicapped, but we gotta play on
the top floor. You go get your
laser gun now. And I'll give you
a few seconds before I come.

Deckard turns back into the hall. Batty smiles.

Deckard's running down the corridor.

BATTY'S VOICE
One!

Halfway down the hall he finds his laser.

BATTY'S VOICE
Two!

Deckard darts into the nearest door. The apartment
above Sebastian's, with the hole in the floor. Deckard
considers it.

BATTY'S VOICE
No fair jumping through holes. You
might get hurt doing that! THREE!

Deckard dashes back into the hall, chooses another door
and goes in.

INT. TENTH FLOOR APARTMENT - NIGHT 109

His eyes skim over everything, looking for an advantage.
He throws open a door. The bathroom. The plumbing is
dismantled, walls stripped, revealing brick, nails
protruding. Too small.

INT. TENTH FLOOR STAIRWELL - NIGHT 110

Batty's coming up the steps.

BATTY
Five!

INT. TENTH FLOOR APARTMENT - NIGHT 111

Deckard's looking for a corner -- a place that covers
the angles. He chooses the far side of the room with
a line to the door.

INT. TENTH FLOOR HALL - NIGHT 112

Batty's coming down the center, listening at the doors.

BATTY
Six!

INT. TENTH FLOOR APARTMENT - NIGHT 113

Deckard's crouched in the corner and aimed. He looks at
his hand. It's trembling.

BATTY'S VOICE
Seven!

INT. TENTH FLOOR HALL - NIGHT 114

Batty's standing in front of a door, listening.

BATTY
Oh, I wonder where he is. Not in
here, I don't think. Eight!

He goes to the next door.

BATTY
Maybe here. Doesn't sound like
it. Nine!

Batty moves to the next. The door to Deckard.

INT. TENTH FLOOR APARTMENT - NIGHT 115

Deckard's crouched lower, holding his breath -- talk
about a hair trigger... Silence. Batty's FEET are heard
CREAKING AWAY. Deckard looks around. Runs a hand over
the wall behind him. Batty's FEET COME BACK. A pause.

BATTY
Ten!

The door explodes!

A shape hurtles across the room. Deckard pivots, fol-
lowing it with RAPID FIRE. It's a TV. He spins back.
but Batty's already on him. He gets one SHOT off be-
fore Batty's got his hand. There's a hole over Batty's
right eye. Blood running down his face, dripping on
Deckard. The right side of his face isn't working too
good. The corner of his mouth doesn't quite shut --
his voice comes out slurred, a little hollow.

BATTY
One point for you.

The would doesn't minimize his omnipotence, just makes
it more malignant. He throws Deckard against the far
wall. Deckard FIRES. Hits Batty in the shoulder.

BATTY
Ho ho! Try it again!

He comes at Deckard, jerking back and forth, a cobra in
fast motion, faking, weaving, yelping with excitement
as Deckard tries to get a shot, FIRING AWAY until his
laser's empty. Bloody and crazed, Batty pushes up
against him.

BATTY
What's wrong? Don't you like me?
I'm what we've made!

INT. TENTH FLOOR HALL - NIGHT 116

He's backing Deckard out the door. Deckard trips and
falls. There's fear on his face. The strength is gone.
Something is starting to crack.

BATTY
What's wrong? Aren't you a lover
of Faster, Bigger and Better?!

Deckard's pedaling backwards over the floor.

BATTY
It's time to die.

Deckard throws the laser at him. It misses. Batty
throws his head back and laughs. A one-eyed colossus
about to eat the world. Suddenly he stops. His eye
moves over the wall.

BATTY
Ah!

He reaches out and pinches something. His lips compress
as he yanks it out of the wall. It's a ten-penny nail.

He holds it out to Deckard and drops it. Deckard
catches it.

BATTY
That's for you.

One side of Batty's face smiles savagely.

BATTY
Stick it in your ear and push.
If that doesn't work, try the
eye.

Deckard stares at the nail in his hand, then up at
his executioner.

BATTY
Believe me, it'll be better
for you than what I'm about
to do.

Batty watches him, hoping the stimulus might inspire
his victim to more action. It doesn't look like it.

BATTY
Well?

Deckard springs to his feet and bolts. But instead of
going for the stairwell he turns in the first available
door.

INT. TENTH FLOOR APARTMENT #2 - NIGHT 117

Provocation accomplished. Batty smiles and walks lei-
surely towards the door. Deckard's terrified scream
and the SOUND of GLASS CRASHING stop him. Batty speeds
up and moves into the room.

The window pane is splattered, curtains sucked out,
bellowing in the wind.

BATTY
Crap.

He walks up to the window. Deckard comes away from the
wall, inching up behind him, laser in both hands, aimed
at the base of Batty's skull. Batty starts to lean
over, but even before his eyes see the pavement, he
knows. He spins...

Deckard FIRES again. This one goes home. Batty falls
like he was poleaxed, hits the floor dead weight.

Deckard starts to tremble. His arms go limp as his
head tilts back and he closes his eyes. He can breathe
again.

On the floor, Batty's hand is crawling toward Deckard's
ankle.

With the unsuspected abruptness of a man slipping on a
banana peel, Deckard comes down. Face knotted in hor-
ror, he EMPTIES THE LASER in Batty's body -- but the
hand holds on. With a screech of frustration he drops
the laser and like an animal claws at Batty's dead
fingers -- but the fingers are welded shut.

Deckard starts to crawl, pulling Batty behind him. He
struggled through the door and stumbles to his feet.

INT. TENTH FLOOR HALL - NIGHT 118

Deckard plunges down the corridor dragging Batty along.
He falls, gets to one foot, falls again and crawls the
last couple feet to the stairwell.

INT. TENTH FLOOR STAIRWELL - NIGHT 119

Groaning, he tugs and pulls, hauls and heaves Batty's
body to the edge of the landing. He pauses for breath,
then lays back, wedging his feet against Batty's shoul-
ders and pushes. Inch by inch the body goes over the
edge. Then all at once it drops. But the hand holds
and the weight of the body takes Deckard with it. As
Deckard slides over the edge, he grabs hold of the
railing.

Deckard's hanging three hundred feet over the basement
floor, supporting himself and Batty's corpse -- almost
four hundred pounds of stress on his fingers.

With his free foot he chops away at Batty's hand, try-
ing to break it loose. But it's not working. Deckard's
fingers are starting to slip.

His face is a mask of agony as he wedges his heel over
Batty's thumb. With the help of gravity and everything
he's got in his right leg to push with, he pushes. The
thumb breaks loose. Batty falls.

The SOUND OF HIS BODY HITTING BELOW sounds good, but
Deckard doesn't notice. He's in an awkward position.
He must reverse the way he's facing to pull himself up.
He lets go with his right hand and crosses it over the
left. Then turns the left around so he's got an over-
hand grip.

Like a man doing his last pull-up... the one that can't
be done, Deckard pulls himself up, throws a foot over
the edge and grapples and heaves and wiggled himself
onto the cold solid steel of the stairwell landing.

And lies there, body jerking spasmodically, slowly
clenching and unclenching his cramped hand, but it's
his burning cheek against the cool metal he's most aware
of.

Dizzy, hot, lungs on fire, he stands -- and putting one
foot in front of the other, Deckard descends the stairs.

EXT. SEBASTIAN'S BUILDING - DAWN 120

Slowly the door pushes open and Deckard comes out into
the morning. The sun isn't yet risen, but the sky has
begun to pale. It's a brooding gray stew of a dawn not
very pretty, but even though he can't show it, Deckard
is glad to see it.

For a moment he tilts his head back and takes some
breath, then walks across the courtyard towards the
street, so dead on his feet he hasn't the energy to
fall.

Deckard slumps into the shelter of his car. The col-
lapses on the front seat.

INT. DECKARD'S BEDROOM - DAWN 121

In a corner of the dimness Deckard sits slumped on a
chair, facing the pearly gray light of the window. The
only SOUND in the room is the soft steady BREATHING
that comes from the bed.

Quietly he gets up and walks over to her. Rachael lies
sleeping, one delicate arm exposed from under the sheet.

Deckard stands there, bettered and grim, staring down
at her.

Moments go by and finally he sits gently on the edge of
the bed.

Rachael opens her eyes, and looks up at him, she smiles.

EXT. COUNTRYSIDE (MONTAGE) - DAY 122

Deckard's car is skimming over the narrow highway. He
and Rachael in the front seat. Except for the occasion-
al glance, their faces are still and quiet in the cold
shine of an icy dream.

The clouds overhead are soft and swift.

DECKARD (V.O.)
She wanted to go to a place I knew.
Out of the city. Like one of those
pictures she saw. Where there were
trees but no buildings.

Rachael's face in the window watching the woods stream
by.

DECKARD (V.O.)
We had a good time. She told me a
funny story and I taught her a
song. A song about monkeys and
elephants. And it made us laugh so
hard we couldn't sing.

EXT. WOODS (MONTAGE) - DAY 123

Deckard and Rachael walking. The land lays white and
hushed before them.

Down an aisle of maples and beeches. The frosty light
slanting through the clean, hard limbs.

The crisp, blue-white snow underfoot melted through in
spots exposing soggy patches of rich brown earth.

Rachael stops and faces him. Her lips are parted, her
warm breath turning the cold air to vapor. Looking
lithe and fragile by these barren-rooted trees, she
stands in the crisp white snow looking at Deckard.
Nothing in her retreats, even now her eyes insist on
knowing.

EXT. WOODS - DAY 124

Deckard walking over the snow. Alone. He walks slowly,
mechanically through the cold, unaffected by it. His
gaunt face, empty of expression except for the tears
running down his pale cheeks.

But for the SQUEAK of his wet shoes over the crusted
snow, there is no sound. And Deckard recedes into the
silence of the freezing white landscape.

EXT. HIGHWAY - NIGHT 125

Deckard's car, solid, THROBBING, GUNNING along like
some metal animal. Headlights piercing the dark of the
long, flat road. WHISTLING speed of air and tires spin-
ning THRUM. And then silence. And the silence
astounded by the CRACK OF A GUN.

INT. CAR - NIGHT 126

Deckard is behind the wheel, face in shadow, eyes star-
ing straight ahead.

DECKARD (V.O.)
I told myself over and over again,
if I hadn't done it, they would
have.

I didn't go back to the city, not
that city, I didn't want the job.

She said the great advantage of
being alive was to have a choice.
And she chose. And a part of me
was almost glad. Not because she
was gone but because this way they
could never touch her.

As for Tyrell -- he was murdered,
but he wasn't dead. For a long
time I wanted to kill him. But
what was the point? There were too
many Tyrells. But only one Rachael.
Maybe real and unreal could never
be separated. The secret never
found. But I got as close with
her as I'd ever come to it. She'd
stay with me a long time. I guess
we made each other real.

And the ruby lights of Deckard's car disappear into
the darkness.

2005-09-21T22:33:00.001-07:00

SEBASTIAN
I'd be happy to mention it to him.

BATTY
Be better if I could talk to him
in person. But he's not an easy
man to get to.

SEBASTIAN
No.

BATTY
When do you deliver your project?

SEBASTIAN
This afternoon.

Batty leans forward and looks right into Sebastian's
eyes.

BATTY
Will you help us?

There's no way Sebastian could say no, even if he
wanted to.

SEBASTIAN
Yes.

Pris sits up smiling. Mary sighs a breath of relief
and Batty leans back nodding in gratitude.

BATTY
I'm sure glad you found us,
Sebastian. What do you think,
Mary?

MARY
I don't think there is another
human being in this whole world
who would have helped us.

BATTY
Pris?

Pris gets up and comes to Sebastian and kisses him.

That has a lot of impact. Sebastian looks around try-
ing to keep the tears from coming.

BATTY
You're our best and only friend.

SEBASTIAN
Thank you.

INT. DECKARD'S APARTMENT BEDROOM - DAY 81

Rachael is lying across the bed in one of Deckard's
shirts, her chin over the edge, her eyes moving around
the room. Deckard lies next to her. Looking like a
man who died a voluptuous death.

RACHAEL
When was the last time you cleaned
this place?

DECKARD
Hmmm?

RACHAEL
Have you ever cleaned your
apartment?

DECKARD
Don't be fooled by appearances.

RACHAEL
It appears to be dirty -- why don't
you get somebody?

He rolls over to admire her legs.

DECKARD
Because they would ruin the
arrangement.

He kisses the back of her thigh.

RACHAEL
They could clean around the
arrangement.

DECKARD
I don't like people snooping around
my stuff.

He kisses her other thigh, gets up and goes into the
bathroom.

DECKARD'S VOICE
There's a vacuum in the front room
closet is you wanna give it a try.

Rachael lies there a moment, then gets up and goes into
the front room and opens the closet door. The vacuum is
not easy to get to, but finally she wrestles it out. As
she starts to plug it in --

DECKARD
Oh no, don't do that.

He's wrapped in a sheet, watching her from the doorway.

RACHAEL
But if I don't plug it in how can
I...

DECKARD
Never mind the plug, just go
through the motions.

RACHAEL
But then how can you...

DECKARD
I don't like the noise. Just
practice. Practice makes perfect.

She stares at him like he's nuts.

DECKARD
I'm serious. Go ahead. Show me
how you would do it.

Reluctantly she makes some half-hearted passes with the
thing.

DECKARD
How about under the couch there.
Come on.

She bends over to get it. Deckard pulls up a chair and
sits down with his chin in his hands. She looks back
at him.

RACHAEL
This feels stupid.

DECKARD
Good for a smart girl to feel
stupid. Part of your education.

She drops the vacuum and sits on the floor. Deckard
gets up and comes towards her. Her eyes travel halfway
down his sheet and she leaves.

RACHAEL
You're sick, Deckard.

DECKARD
I never felt better.

EXT. TYRELL PRESERVE - DUSK 82

Mansion and opulent grounds. Sebastian's humble truck
parked among richer relations, including a spinner and
a 1928 Dusenberg.

EXT. TYRELL MANSION - DUSK 83

The den. It contains a collection of big game trophies,
and among all this sits Sebastian very straight and
proper with an "egg" the size of a basketball in his
lap.

Old Hannibal Chew was right, the rich make you wait.
Sebastian stands and carefully makes his way between
the trophies to a window with a view of the grounds.

EXT. TYRELL MANSION POOL - DUSK 84

Tyrell's young WIFE sits on the diving board watching
her husband in the pool with their youngest TOT. And
two older LADS swim around trying to outdo each other
for their dad's attention.

From the sidelines an old servant pauses to watch the
fun, then continues with a tray of mugs towards the
house.

EXT. PLATEAU - DUSK 85

And beyond on a plateau overlooking the grounds, a
figure stands watching, waiting like a bird of prey.

EXT. TYRELL PRESERVE - DUSK 86

On a gravel path between shrubs of winter roses, Tyrell
turns to observe the last quiet light over his kingdom.
The moment is sweetened by the LOW PLAINTIVE BELLOW of
one of the animals.

He strolls by an old gardener who tips his cap, pro-
ceeds up the steps and into his mansion.

INT. TYRELL DEN - NIGHT 87

Next to a tray of cookies and milk, Sebastian sits pa-
tiently with the "egg" in his lap. As the door opens
he gets to his feet expectantly. It's STYLES, Tyrell's
bodyguard. He could play the Giant in Jack and The
Beanstalk.

STYLES
Okay, I'll take that now.

Sebastian would rather put it in the boss's hands, but
Styles takes it and is almost through the door when
Sebastian stops him.

SEBASTIAN
Wait!

He almost forgot.

SEBASTIAN
Can't fly without the pilot.

Sebastian hands him a little box. Styles stuffs it in
his pocket and shuts the door behind him.

EXT. TYRELL PRESERVE - NIGHT 88

Motionless and monumental, six buffalo stand like stat-
ues in the grass. Suddenly they swing their shaggy
heads to watch something pass.

In the dark silence Batty stops to look at the curious
beasts and then moves soundlessly towards the mansion.

INT. TYRELL DINING ROOM - NIGHT 89

It's a medieval-sized hall. The piece de resistance is
an 18th Century, English painting of an Arab stallion,
gleaming like coal over the CRACKLING fireplace.

The entire family is seated at the table which glitters
for the festive occasion. Presents gathered around the
oldest child.

Styles hands the "egg" to Tyrell. A hush falls over
the table. This is Dad's big present. Tyrell sets is
down before the boy.

IAN is a fresh, slim lad who is ten today. He looks up
at his father, then, beaming, pries open the "egg's"
hinged lid. Tyrell's hand goes to his pocket and the
griffon steps out of the shell.

IAN
Oh!

Basically an avian invention, it has wings and plumage,
the head of an eagle, the body of a lion and weighs no
more than eight pounds. It cranes its neck and testing
its balance, stands on one leg and then hops to the
edge of the table and into the air.

The littlest tot claps her hands as the griffon beats
its wings rapidly and rises towards the ceiling. Turn-
ing in a forty-five degree, it suddenly drops into a
dive.

Delighted, the children shriek and scream as the griffon
swoops over their crouching heads and sails the length
of the hall -- its silhouette flickering briefly over
the ancestral portraits of the Tyrell clan.

Reaching the end of the room, it banks sharply and
flies back towards the table, cups its wings, spreads
its tail and comes in for an awkward landing. They're
laughing and clapping as it waddles down the table and
knocks over a glass and stops in front of Ian.

IAN
Papa! Did you make this?

TYRELL
No. We can make man, but not a
griffon.

He bends down and kisses his wife.

TYRELL
Have to give the cottage industry
a chance too.

Pleased he excuses himself and heads for the den.

INT. TYRELL DEN - NIGHT 90

Tyrell comes in and sits behind his desk. Sebastian
hands down the invoices. Tyrell glances over them and
writes out a check.

He looks up to hand it over when he sees Batty against
the wall, by the door. For a fraction of a second he's
shocked, but recovers fast.

TYRELL
A friend of yours, Sebastian?

SEBASTIAN
Yes, this is someone who wants to
talk to you, Dr. Tyrell.

Batty smiles.

BATTY
The name is Batty. Roy Batty.

TYRELL
Oh?

Very slowly Tyrell's hand moves towards the back side
of the desk.

BATTY
To act without understanding could
lead to the very thing the act
seeks to avoid.

What's in Batty's eyes completes the warning. Tyrell
decides to heed it.

BATTY
A little talk it all I need.

Tyrell looks at Sebastian. Considers consequences.
Back to Batty.

TYRELL
Would you like to talk in private
then.

Batty thinks it over.

BATTY
Yeah. It might be better if we
talk in private, Sebastian. Why
don't you go home.

TYRELL
Here's your check, my boy. Thank
you.

SEBASTIAN
Thank you, Dr. Tyrell. I'll see
you later.

He slips out closing the door behind him. Opens it
again and sticks his head it.

SEBASTIAN
Was everything okay?

TYRELL
Just beautiful.

He's gone.

If Tyrell is scared he's doing a good job of concealing
it.

TYRELL
I'm surprised you didn't come to
me sooner.

BATTY
It's not an easy thing to meet
your maker.

TYRELL
And what can he do for you?

BATTY
Can the maker repair what he makes?

TYRELL
Would you like to be modified?

BATTY
Had in mind something a little more
radical.

TYRELL
What's the problem?

BATTY
Death.

TYRELL
I'm afraid that's a little out of
my...

Batty cuts in with a whisper.

BATTY
I want more life, fucker.

TYRELL
Come here.

Batty walks forward.

TYRELL
Sit down.

Batty does.

TYRELL
The facts of life. I'll be blunt.
To make an alteration in the
evolvement of an organic life
system, at least by men, makers
or not, it fatal. A coding sequence
can't be revised once it's
established.

BATTY
Why?

TYRELL
Because by the second day of
incubation any cells that have
undergone reversion mutation give
rise to revertant colonies -- like
rats leaving a sinking ship. The
ship sinks.

BATTY
What about E.M.S. recombination?

TYRELL
We've already tried it -- ethyl
methane sulfonate is an alkylating
agent and a potent mutagen -- it
creates a virus so lethal the
subject was destroyed before we
left the table.

Batty nods grimly.

BATTY
Then a repressor protein that blocks
the operating cells.

TYRELL
Wouldn't obstruct replication, but
it does give rise to an error in
replication, so that the newly
formed DNA strand carries a
mutation and you're got a virus
again... but all this is academic
-- you are made as good as we could
make you.

BATTY
But not to last.

TYRELL
Put it this way. Rolls Royces are
made to last -- as least they were.
But I'm afraid you're a Ferrari.
A high strung racing car -- built
to win, not to last.

Batty smiles bitterly.

TYRELL
Also you're too valuable to
experiment with.

BATTY
I am?

Tyrell can't help a flash of pride.

TYRELL
The bast of all possible androids.
We're proud of our prodigal son --
glad you're returned. You're quite
a prize.

Shoulders hunched, Batty looks down, an uncharacteristic
note of guilt in his voice.

BATTY
I've done some questionable things.

TYRELL
Also extraordinary things.

BATTY
Nothing the God of biomechanics
wouldn't let you in heaven for.

They share a laugh. In spite of himself, there's a look
of relief in Tyrell's face as Batty extends his hand.
Tyrell takes it and they shake. The reverence in Bat-
ty's eyes caused Tyrell a fatherly smile. The smile
turns into a growl as he feels the bones in his hands
crack. Before the scream comes out of his mouth, Batty
stifles it.

Tyrell claws at the iron fingers, but they're sinking
into his face. Placing his other hand behind Tyrell's
head, Batty squeezes them together and squashes the
man's head like a melon. The mess is not small.

Palms up, like a surgeon, Batty walks to the drapes and
wipes off the gore and without looking back, strolls out
of the room.

INT. TYRELL - HALL TO KITCHEN - NIGHT 90A

Styles is coming down the hall. He sees Batty coming
towards him. Styles looks at him curiously, this is not
one of the guests. As they close, Batty smiles.

BATTY
Could you tell me where the
bathroom is?

Styles doesn't get a chance to answer. Batty's hand has
torn into his crotch. The man is lifted off the floor,
up the wall and held a moment. Whatever is encased in
his pelvis is pulverized. Batty lets go. Styles hits
the floor. He died of shock. Grinding his teeth, Batty
continues towards the SOUNDS OF THE FESTIVITIES.

INT. DINING ROOM - NIGHT 91

The birthday cake has arrived, the candles lit. They're
waiting for Dad. Mrs. Tyrell looks around to find Batty
observing from the doorway.

A little startled, a little curious, but ever the cor-
porate wife, she smiles.

MRS. TYRELL
May I help you?

Batty smiles back and shakes his head in mock regrets.

INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT 92

In the sink the faucet is on. The water pink with
blood. Batty is washing his hands.

A portly maid emerges from the pantry. Batty looks up.
She stops, embarrassed at being caught. Her eyes no-
tice drops of blood on the floor and follow them to the
door. When she looks back, Batty is right in front of
her.

INT. DECKARD'S BEDROOM - NIGHT 93

Books scattered on the bed. Rachael sitting cross-
legged with one in her lap, looking through exquisite
shots of nature. Deckard is next to her, watching her
like a lover, like a father.

DECKARD (V.O.)
She'd never seen the great outdoors.
Never even seen books on the
subject. She went through
everything I had, and we talked.
And there were subjects we didn't
discuss and they were words we
didn't say, I couldn't say, like
death, like future, like real. But
it was hard because she was curious
and full of questions. She was
more alive than anyone I'd ever
known.

She looks up stunned by the beauty of a photo, but with
no need to comment. It's in her eyes. She stares at
him, a revelation taking shape.

RACHAEL
You and I are good friends, huh?

He considers it and she stares at him, smiling at the
wonder of it.

RACHAEL
It's so easy.

Convinced and not convinced, he nods his head. She
laughs at his solemnity. She's irresistible. Deckard's
pretty irresistible himself.

RACHAEL
Have you ever known anybody a long
time?

DECKARD
You mean a woman?

RACHAEL
Uh-huh.

DECKARD
What's a long time?

RACHAEL
Ten years.

DECKARD
Nope. Nobody could stand me that
long.

The CHIME on the PHONE next to the bed GOES OFF. He
reaches out and brings it to his ear.

DECKARD
Yeah.

BRYANT
This is Bryant. Are you alone?

DECKARD
Yeah.

2005-09-21T22:33:00.000-07:00

DECKARD
Hey! I thought you were supposed
to be taking care of me.

RACHAEL'S VOICE
What do you need?

He doesn't answer. Lies there sipping his drink.
Rachael comes in a little uncertain, a little droll,
and stands there looking down at him.

DECKARD
Don't just stand there looking at
me. It's not polite.

RACHAEL
What do you want me to do?

DECKARD
Sit.

She sits on the edge of the tub.

DECKARD
Gimme your arm.

She's wearing a short-sleeved dress. It's a long, del-
icate arm and Deckard holds it, inspecting it like a
maestro with a Stradivarius. He looks up at her.

DECKARD
You ever take a bath with a man
before?

RACHAEL
There's a lot I haven't done with
a man before.

He's got her hand in the water and had begun to soap
her arm. Starting with her wrist and running the bar
to her elbow, up and down, slow and slippery. She
watches, not quite sure of the ritual.

He pulls her closer, and runs his hand up higher, mould-
ing and pressing, working around her flesh, up and under
her arm into the privacy of her dress.

RACHAEL
You're getting me wet.

Oh, yes. For a moment Deckard stares at her like some
furry-legged satyr in rut, the fingers of his other
hand rake through her hair and into the water she comes.

INT. DECKARD'S APARTMENT - BEDROOM - MORNING 71

The bed looks like it was hit by a storm and Deckard
looks like something that was washed up in it. He's
spread out flat, face creased and puffed.

His eyes squint open, but only for a moment. His
hands are more reliable. They search over the bed,
but find it bare. He edges his head over the side,
looking around for signs, but she's all gone. He
gets up in two stages, sits and then stands. Then
sits again, resting his head in his hands.

INT. DECKARD'S APARTMENT - BATHROOM - MORNING 72

Deckard's got his face in the mirror shaving it. It's
been a long night. Nothing a new tongue and a trans-
fusion wouldn't put right. He moves a couple of inches
to the left so his eyes have a view of the tub.

INT. DECKARD'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM - MORNING 73

Deckard is on the edge of the couch with the phone on
his knees, the card with Rachael's number in his lap
and having no luck.

RACHAEL'S VOICE
Sorry, I am not in at the moment,
but if you'll leave your name and
number I'll return your call as
soon as I can.

That's not soon enough. Deckard hangs up, puts the
phone on the floor and leans back on the couch.

DECKARD
Fuck you, then.

INT. MR. DEETCHUM'S APARTMENT - MORNING 74

The rooster perched on the chair spreading its scrawny
wings, strains from the tips of its toes, crowing at
the ceiling. Between crows there's a TAPPING at the
door.

You might call this a "barnyard" apartment. There's
straw on the floor and several hens roosting against
the back wall. The front door opens a few inches and
Sebastian pokes his head in.

SEBASTIAN
Mr. Deetchum? Hello?

Nobody seems to be home except his chickens. As Sebas-
tian enters, closing the door behind him, a goose
charges out of the bedroom hissing and honking.

SEBASTIAN
Now, now, Waddles.

Seeming to recognize Sebastian as no intruder, Waddles
veers off from the attack. As Sebastian crosses the
room a pig peeks out from behind the couch.

SEBASTIAN
Hello, Wrigley.

He goes to the chickens and collects some eggs, putting
them into a bowl he's brought. He puts down the bowl
and reaching into his pocket carefully counts out the
payment and puts the money on a plate. He's about to
leave but notices there's no water in the dispenser.

SEBASTIAN
Mr. Deetchum isn't taking very
good care of you people.

Pouring from a jug on the table, he fills the dispenser
with water, scatters a little grain on the floor, gets
his bowel of eggs and leaves.

Wrigley grunts and comes out from behind the couch for
a long drink.

INT. CORRIDOR - SEBASTIAN'S FLOOR - MORNING 75

Sebastian arrives on his floor, walks down the hall to
his apartment, opens the door, walks in.

INT. SEBASTIAN'S APARTMENT - DAY 76

He turns to close door, comes face to face with Roy
Batty. Sebastian drops his bowl of eggs. Batty's
hand flashes out and catches it.

BATTY
Whoops.

Smiling, Batty hands them back to Sebastian, who is
too startled to speak.

Pris runs up and gives Batty and Mary a big hug, steps
back effusing and smiling, everybody's favorite teen-
ager.

PRIS
This is my Uncle Roy, Sebastian.

BATTY
Hello, glad to meet you.

He pumps Sebastian's free hand.

PRIS
And my Aunt Mary.

Sebastian turns and there's Aunt Mary, modest and warm.

PRIS
And this is my savior, J.F. Sebastian,
everybody.

Sebastian stands there with his eggs, bashful and ex-
cited, the hero of this little family's warm attention.

BATTY
Can't thank you enough, Mr. Sebastian.
If you hadn't come along...

MARY
We were worried to death. It's
awfully kind of you.

Sebastian is nodding and smiling.

BATTY
We're not used to the big city.
Where we come from it's not so
easy to get lost.

MARY
You certainly have a nice place
here.

BATTY
Well stocked.

Batty looks around admiringly. Sebastian mumbles some-
thing that sounds like "Thank you."

PRIS
Sebastian doesn't like to go out
too much.

SEBASTIAN
I keep a lot of provisions right
here.

BATTY
I like a man who stays put. An
admirable thing to be able to
sustain yourself in these times.
You live here all by yourself, do
you?

SEBASTIAN
Well, no, not really. There's
Mr. Deetchum, he's the watchman,
he lives on the first floor.

Everybody nods. A long pause.

MARY
We haven't found it easy, Mr.
Sebastian.

They glance around the room, waiting for Sebastian to
pick up the ball.

SEBASTIAN
How about breakfast, I was just
going to make some.

BATTY
If it wouldn't be too much of a
bother... a little bite to eat
would be...

SEBASTIAN
Oh, no bother, I'd be glad to.

BATTY
Well, actually

MARY
We're famished.

Sebastian is truly happy.

SEBASTIAN
Okay, then. You make yourselves
comfortable and I'll bring the
food right out.

He disappears into the kitchen. Batty looks happy with
the way things are going.

BATTY
Charming.

Pris comes up close. Her tone muted but demanding.

PRIS
Well?

Batty finds her attitude amusing, which makes her even
more pugnacious.

PRIS
I want to know what's going on.

There's a punitive edge to Batty's response.

BATTY
There's only three of us left.

Pris is shocked. Her whisper comes out a hiss.

PRIS
Then we're stupid and we'll die.

BATTY
Not if everybody is doing their
job here at home. How are things
at home?

A little spotted pig on the table sits up.

PIG
Home again, jiggidy jig.

They all turn and stare at the pig. Batty is delighted.

PRIS
I don't trust him. I don't think
he knows what he's doing.

The BELL-TONE from the microwave goes off in the kitchen.

BATTY
He knows what he's doing.

MARY
If he won't cooperate?

BATTY
Mr. Sebastian is a host who wants
to be appreciated. We'll
appreciate him and he'll cooperate.

INT. HOSPITAL CORRIDOR AND ROOM - DAY 77

Holden is laid out in an apparatus that resembles an
iron lung. A little above his head, facing him, is a
bank of bio-feedback lights registering body functions.

Deckard is in a chair sitting next to his friend.

Holden has lost weight, his face is grey, he can't
move his head, but he's smiling like the cat who ate
the canary.

DECKARD
How are you doing, old man?

Holden's voice is just a whisper -- the kind of whisper
that comes out of the joker at the back of the class.

HOLDEN
I'm great. I mean, I know I'm
not really great, but I feel just
great. How you like my new suit?

DECKARD
Well, you don't have to worry
about getting it wrinkled.

Holden's eyes close, his smile gets bigger and little
spasms of laughter pump out of his mouth.

HOLDEN
Don't make me laugh. It makes me
pee.

DECKARD
Sorry.

HOLDEN
Hey, it's okay. I like to pee.
So how are you doing?

DECKARD
I'm doing okay.

HOLDEN
From what I hear you're doing
great. Bryant tells me you're
going like a god damn one-man
army. Making a lot of money, huh?

DECKARD
Yeah.
(pause)
But that's what I wanted to talk
to you about.

HOLDEN
Money?

DECKARD
No. I got a problem.

HOLDEN
Let's hear it.

DECKARD
I think I'm starting to empathize
with these Nexus-sixes.

Holden giggles. Starts to laugh again. A blue light
on the panel begins to turn very bright. They both
notice it.

DECKARD
What's that?

HOLDEN
I'm taking a piss.

They wait for the light to abate.

HOLDEN
Let me ask you something, Deck.
You been having intimate relations
with one of these units?

Deckard doesn't deny it. Holden smiles like a cherub.

HOLDEN
That's what I thought... one of
the liabilities of the trade --
you has sex with your prey, old
buddy. That's bound to create
problems, unless you're a black
widow.

Deckard has to wait for him to stop giggling.

DECKARD
What about -- not sex -- but love?

Holden bites his bottom lip to keep the laugher out of
his voice, but he can't.

HOLDEN
Love is just another name for sex.
Love is sexy and sex is lovely --
I don't care what you call it, an
android can't have it.

DECKARD
These aren't just...

HOLDEN
I know what they are, Deck --
Look, maybe they can pretend to
feel, but far as the raw, hot
emotions of the old heart -- no
way.

Holden stops talking for a moment to get some air.

HOLDEN
Believe me, take it from an old
pro, no matter how good we get,
we're never gonna make an
artificial anything that can
feel. It's a contradiction.
You might as well go fuck your
washing machine.

Holden laughs, Deckard doesn't.

HOLDEN
Just go out there and keep up
the good work.

Holden's whispers have become harder to hear.

HOLDEN
Got to save it, Deck, I'm getting
sleepy. It's been good talking
to you.

Deckard stands.

DECKARD
Thanks.

But he's already asleep. Deckard stands there a moment
looking at him, then walks out.

INT. DECKARD'S APARTMENT - DAY 78

He's sitting on the couch, glum, contemplative.
There's a SOUND. His eyes move to the door. Those
locks are opening again. Rachael comes in. Looks
surprised to see him. Him too.

RACHAEL
I told you I'd come back.

DECKARD
You did?

RACHAEL
You didn't hear me. You were
sleeping.

He likes that.

RACHAEL
Are you glad I'm here?

He is. She's spunky. Hasn't seen this place in the
daytime. Pleased, he watched her move around the mess.
She spots a little framed photograph. Picks it up.
It's a man with a shotgun and a boy holding up a quail.

RACHAEL
Who is this?

DECKARD
Me and my dad.

RACHAEL
Where is he?

DECKARD
Dead.

RACHAEL
Oh.

She puts it down and comes to him.

RACHAEL
How come you're not on the job?

DECKARD
I am. Part of my job is to sit
on a couch and try and figure
things out.

RACHAEL
How are you doing?

DECKARD
Not too good.

She sits next to him.

Pleased as hell, they both sit there staring straight
ahead. He looks at her. She looks at him.

RACHAEL
What do people do in the afternoon?

DECKARD
If they are smart, they take
naps.

INT. DECKARD'S BEDROOM - DAY 79

They're under the sheet. Rachael is on her back, look-
ing at the ceiling, hair sprawled like sea grass over
the pillow. Deckard lies next to her, a man studying
a treasure.

RACHAEL
Do you dream?

DECKARD
Yeah. Sometimes.

RACHAEL
I wish I could.

His hand moves over her shoulder.

DECKARD
Wishing is a kind of dreaming.

His hand goes under the sheet.

RACHAEL
I mean asleep.

She feels good. He moves closer.

RACHAEL
Did you cry when your father
died?

DECKARD
Yeah.

RACHAEL
That's another thing I can't
do.

He kisses her lightly on the cheek.

RACHAEL
Nobody is freer than when he
dreams. I read that.

DECKARD
It wasn't very good last night,
was it?

RACHAEL
I don't know, I have nothing
to compare it to. I guess I
thought there was something
more to it.

DECKARD
What?

RACHAEL
I don't know... I think I missed
something.

DECKARD
Like?

RACHAEL
I'm not sure. Is there a
secret?

Her face is close. She's looking right at him. Her
lips are right there.

DECKARD
I don't know. If there is I'd
like to find it.

Slowly their lips touch and his arms slide under her
body.

INT. SEBASTIAN'S APARTMENT - DAY 80

Batty, Pris and Mary sit at the table staring at their
host. Sebastian is staring back, his fork halfway to
his mouth, looking from face to face. Although nothing
is being said, he's totally comfortable, as much at
home with them as he is with his animoids.

BATTY
Why are you staring at us?

SEBASTIAN
You're just all so... so different.

Batty nods his head, smiling, sending home the fact and
Sebastian is certainly getting it.

BATTY
What, Sebastian?

SEBASTIAN
You're androids.

A long pause.

PRIS
What makes you think so?

SEBASTIAN
You're all so perfect.

Sebastian is smiling from ear to ear.

SEBASTIAN
What generation are you?

BATTY
Nexus - 6.

Sebastian whistles. Mary's head is shaking slightly.
Pris gets up and moves to the couch. Batty couldn't
be more pleased.

BATTY
We can trust Sebastian, ladies.
He's been working with mechanisms
all his life. He's a wizard and
a very perceptive man.

Sebastian looks like a kid on Christmas Eve.

SEBASTIAN
Could you...

His voice is trembling.

SEBASTIAN
Show me something?

BATTY
Like what?

SEBASTIAN
Like...

Like a million things, but he's too excited to think of
one.

BATTY
We're not computers, Sebastian,
we're physical.

Pris perks up proudly.

PRIS
I think, therefore I am.

BATTY
Very good, Pris. Now show him why.

It's a command Pris is pleased to obey. She sits quiet-
ly a moment, hands folded in her lap, prim and proper.
Mary doesn't like these displays, but Batty is beaming.

Those hands in Pris' lap suddenly move, almost faster
than the eye can see and slam down on either side of
her, digging into the material with such ferocity that
Sebastian jumps. She plunges into the guts of the couch
up to her elbows and comes up holding springs and stuff-
ing. Except for the clenched teeth, she is smiling like
an angel.

Sebastian is riveted, his eyes wide and astounded, like
he's just seen the devil. He laughs nervously, glad
that the devil is a friend.

BATTY
We have a lot in common.

SEBASTIAN
You mean that you can't come here
and I can't go there?

BATTY
Not only that, but we have smiliar
problems. Accelerated decrepitude.
But we don't want to die quite yet.

SEBASTIAN
Of course not.

BATTY
You could help us.

SEBASTIAN
I don't know much about biomechanics,
Roy. I wish I did, but you're out
of my league.

BATTY
If we don't find help soon, Pris
hasn't got long to live.

Sebastian sneaks a glance. Pris is staring at him with
big childlike eyes, Sebastian looks back at Batty, moved
but helpless.

BATTY
What about your friend, the man
who owns this building?

SEBASTIAN
Dr. Tyrell?

Batty nods.

SEBASTIAN
He's not really my friend. I just
do a job for him now and then.

BATTY
Tyrell could help us, Sebastian.

SEBASTIAN
He could?

BATTY
His company made us.

2005-09-21T22:32:00.000-07:00

2005-09-21T22:31:00.000-07:00

INT. APARTMENT ABOVE SEBASTIAN'S APARTMENT - LATE 48
AFTERNOON

Mary turns her head as Pris comes in. She's sitting in
a chair. The only piece of furniture in the room.
It's broken and tilts at a funny angle. She nods and
Pris nods back.

Batty is lying on his back, rolling his head slightly
from side to side like he's soothing a stiff neck.

BATTY
What's going on down there?

PRIS
He's not ready yet.

BATTY
When?

PRIS
Tomorrow, he says.

Batty nods he can't wait. Pris glances at Mary and
gives a frigid little smile. Pris backs out and closes
the door behind her. Batty blows air through his
nostrils. Like an animal.

EXT. DECKARD'S CAR - FREEWAY - NIGHT 49

The sky is streaked with remnants of a lingering dusk.
Prisms of light flash over the sheen of Deckard's car
as he cuts off the freeway and sweeps down the off-
ramp curve.

EXT./INT. CAR - STREETS - NIGHT 50

Moving through the dark city streets. Deckard turns a
corner and guns it up a long, steep hill.

EXT. STREET - DECKARD'S APARTMENT - NIGHT 51

At the top of the hill the car pulls into a drive and
disappears into the subterranean garage of a high-rise.

INT. CORRIDOR DECKARD'S APARTMENT - NIGHT 52

He's coming down the hall carrying a foil wrapped
plastic plate and stops in front of his door. It's
riddled with locks. He slips a small device out of
his pocket, aims it at the door and the locks unlock,
the bolts slide open. He walks in and kicks the door
shut behind him.

INT. DECKARD'S APARTMENT - NIGHT 53

He slips on the light and crosses the front room.
Deckard is a pack rat -- hard to tell if he just moved
in or is just moving out.

As he enters the kitchen, the SOUND of SOMEBODY BEHIND
him causes him to whirl around fast, hand snapped out
in front of him, gun already in it. Rachael almost got
shot. But she's unruffled, a little pale maybe, but
direct as ever. There's a long, chilly moment, then
she almost smiles as her eyes move to the plate on the
floor.

RACHAEL
Was that your dinner?

Deckard looks down at the over-turned plate and nods.

RACHAEL
I'm sorry. I called and found out
you were on your way home. These
were already delivered to your
department but I thought you
should have copies as soon as
possible.

She's holding out a cassette the size of a cigarette
pack. But it's taking Deckard's adrenalin time to
recede.

RACHAEL
It's the Nexus information you
wanted.

He takes the cassette, but a man with so many locks
must be wondering how they were gotten through so easily.
He doesn't even want to ask.

DECKARD
Thanks.

He realizes he's still got the gun aimed at her and
sticks it back in his belt and they're left staring
at each other. The situation makes awkward silence.
At least for him. She's looking at him like she's
got something to say but isn't saying it.

DECKARD
Is there anything else?

RACHAEL
I know you think it complicates
your work, but I'm here to help.

DECKARD
I've already got more help than
I need.

RACHAEL
I think you need more help than
you've got.

He doesn't, but she's not backing off.

RACHAEL
There's two reasons a man rejects
help. Either because he's so good
at what he does he doesn't think
he needs it, or he's so insecure
he can't admit it.

DECKARD
Sounds like I'm an ass-hole either
way, but the answer is still no.

RACHAEL
Two of us might be more effective
than one.

DECKARD
I work alone.

She smiles.

RACHAEL
No you don't.

She lets it sink in.

RACHAEL
You use your equipment, don't you?

DECKARD
So?

RACHAEL
So, I'm a piece of equipment.
Use me.

It's a strong look that passes between them -- a long
one. Maybe if he were on firmer ground he might do
something about such an offer but...

Deckard's eyes follow her down as Rachael bends to
the floor and starts picking the food off the rug, put-
ting it back on the plate.

DECKARD
That's okay, I'll get it...

He bends down to help, but she's already done it.
Their heads a few inches apart. Something in her eyes
diminishes the distance even more.

RACHAEL
Do I make you nervous?

DECKARD
Yeah.

RACHAEL
I'm sorry.

And she is. And suddenly he is too. She hands him the
plate and they stand. She's looking at the floor,
almost shy, then she looks up and he's watching her.
She says it plain and simple.

RACHAEL
It's strange to suddenly realize
that what you thought was your
life is actually someone else's
fabrication.

Deckard nods. He feels it, but doesn't know what to
do about it.

DECKARD
I can imagine.

RACHAEL
Can you? I couldn't.

These are not some of Deckard's finer moments. But she
doesn't seem to notice.

RACHAEL
A part of me is glad. I think I
feel more. I don't like who I was
before.

Deckard nods, waits the respectable interval and is
glad to have a plate to take into the kitchen.

In the scrambled sanctuary of his kitchen Deckard looks
around for a place to put the plate, but things have
piled up on him in here. He contemplates the refrig-
erator.

DECKARD
So why do you think they were
after their records.

He's a lot more comfortable talking shop.

RACHAEL
They probably want to find out
when they were made.

DECKARD
Right.

He dumps his dinner in the garbage and comes back out.
She's writing something on a card.

RACHAEL
I guess the date of your birth is
important if you know you're not
made to last.

No way he can keep his foot out of it. She looks up and
hands him the card.

RACHAEL
That's my number. If you need me.

She goes to the door, opens it but hesitates before
going through.

RACHAEL
You better get better locks --
if you want to keep me out.

She looks back at him and smiles -- the smile says
she's talking about all kinds of locks. Deckard looks
like he might ask her to stay, but...

RACHAEL
Good night.

And she's gone.

DECKARD
Night.

He looks down at the number. It's the back side of a
snapshot. He turns it over. The picture of a man
and a woman. The little girl between them looks like
a six-year old Rachael.

INT. DECKARD'S APARTMENT - NIGHT 54

He's sitting in front of his console studying pictures
of Nexus Sixes at they appear, blank-faced, hairless
and unadorned on his monitor.

The over-lay machine is transforming each image with
instant attributes; hair, moustaches, teeth, eye colors,
age, youth, hats, glasses, etc. All in rapid succession,
running the gambit from ominous to beautiful.

DECKARD (V.O.)
The possibilities were infinite.
They could change their appearances
but not their future.
Like she said, it was short.
Longevity is what they were after.
The garbage man even wanted a past.
Poor fuck. I'd check it out but
I knew she was right. The market
worked on turn-over. Built-in
obsolescence was the name of the
game. That meant her too. It
was something I didn't want to
think about.

On top of the monitor there's an open can of beans with
a spoon stuck in it. Deckard puts out his cigarette
and reaches for them as the PHONE RINGS.

DECKARD
Yeah.

BRYANT
Bryant here. Regarding the
rundown you requested on job
applicants, Esper's concluded that
the only irregular category that
Tyrell's got is the entertainment
section. You better get on it.

DECKARD
I was just about to have my dinner.

BRYANT
If you hurry you'll get back
before it gets cold. I got a
spinner on your roof in five
minutes. Good luck.

Deckard hangs up and looks at the beans. He didn't
want them anyway. He gets up and walks to the bedroom.
Looks through the pile of clothes on the floor, finds
his ankle laser and straps it on.

EXT. CITY - BIRD'S EYE VIEW - NIGHT 55

The spinner skirts through the canyons of the city.
Deckard, sitting in the contoured seat, watches the
maze of suspension bridges, platforms and catwalks
swing by below. The tops of larger buildings shimmer
with advertisements and weather announcements.

INT. SPINNER - OVER CITY - NIGHT 56

Deckard is cruising low and slow over the city listen-
ing to Esper.

EPSER
Nexus designated Rachael is a
prototype. Created for in-house
use by special mandate form the
Scientific Development Regulatory
Committee. Will live conventional
term -- no para-physical abilities.

DECKARD
What is a conventional term?

ESPER
Four years. Which would make her
termination date...

DECKARD
Never mind. Do they have that
knowledge?

ESPER
Longevity is classified. No.

Back to business.

DECKARD
Okay, gimme a run-down on the
three females.

ESPER
Nexus designated Mary: incept
November 1 2017, domestic
conditioning non competitive,
trained for day care position.

DECKARD
Next.

ESPER
Nexus designated Pris: incept
data December 13 2017, competitive,
programmed to provide pleasure
for long term spacers.

DECKARD
Number three.

ESPER
Nexus designated Zhora: incept
June 13th 2017, athletic
conditioning, highly competitive,
special abilities in the
entertainment field.

EXT./INT. SPINNER - LANDING AREA - NIGHT 57

Deckard taking it down. About to pull it in an already
crowded lot, but the sign flashes "FULL." Deckard
doesn't believe in signs; is about to set it down any-
way when a Chicano in a fluorescent coat runs out and
waves him off.

DECKARD
Fuck.

Pissed, Deckard veers away and buzzes low over and
around the roof tops, all dark and cramped -- not a
lot of room around here.

EXT. ALLEY - NIGHT 58

Finally brings it down between two buildings hardly
enough clearance, but he jockeys the machine into an
alley, touches down and runs it slowly along the surface
-- parking it by a sign that says "NO PARKING."

EXT. STREET - TAFFEY'S BAR - NIGHT 59

Not many people. Wind blowing. A nest of garish
small-time clubs.

Deckard emerges from one, goes into the next. The
pulsing neon over the entry says "TAFFEY'S BAR."

INT. TAFFEY'S BAR - NIGHT 60

Crowded in here. BONGO MUSIC. Deckard is at the bar
sitting next to a big-bellied man in a black beard who's
looking through a viewer. On the small stage in the
background AMAZING RAMA is eating razor blades, a part
of her juggling routine.

Deckard leaves the bar and walks down a hall towards a
door at the rear.

INT. TAFFEY'S OFFICE - NIGHT 61

Taffey's what's referred to in the trade as a "Chicken
Hawk" collector of young girls.

It must be so, there's one in the bed. Thin, pale,
about thirteen years old, eyes rolled up under her
fluttering eyelids, wires attached to her forehead,
lying flat on her back in Taffey's crowded little
room.

Taffey's a little fella with wide hips and narrow
shoulders, wears a jet black toupe and has a face like
a seal. But at the moment he's not present.

There's a KNOCK at the DOOR, then the SOUND of a TOILET
FLUSHING. Taffey comes out of the bathroom, heart
pounding under his polyester bathrobe, and approaches
the door like the guilty fucker he is. He looks through
the peeper.

Deckard is out there holding up his I.D.

DECKARD
Taffey Lewis?

TAFFEY
Yes?

DECKARD
Can I come in?

There is a pause lasting the time it takes Taffey not
to think of a way to say no. The door opens and Deckard
enters. Except for the drool coming out of the corner of
her mouth, and the fluttering eye-lids, Venus doesn't
move a muscle.

TAFFEY
Excuse my niece there... She's
studying for an exam.

Deckard takes the Identikit hard copies our of his
pocket and pushing some junk out of the way, fans them
out on the table.

DECKARD
I'd like you to take a look at
these pictures.

TAFFEY
Of course.

Taffey bends down really close, peering at the pictures
from about two inches away.

TAFFEY
You see I lost my contacts a
couple of days ago around here
somewhere and my sight is a
little... What am I supposed
to be looking for?

DECKARD
Do you recognize any of
them?

He stops at Zhora.

TAFFEY
This one looks familiar, but
I don't know. Naw. There's
one came in today looks a
little like this one but...

DECKARD
What did she want?

TAFFEY
Who?

DECKARD
The girl that doesn't look
like that girl.

TAFFEY
Nothing. She wanted to know
about suck night.

DECKARD
What night?

TAFFEY
I didn't know if I wanted to
handle her -- I already got
a snake act. But my partner
goes down there to the Opera
House on suck night to book
the good ones.

DECKARD
What's suck night?

TAFFEY
That's what we call in the
trade, audition free-for-
alls and most of it sucks.
Bit I don't think that's
her.

DECKARD
You talking about the Opera
House on the Main?

Taffey nods. Deckard goes to the door and turns.

DECKARD
Book the good ones for where?

TAFFEY
Lots of places. The tours,
the clubs, the Silicone shows,
private parties.

DECKARD
What shows?

TAFFEY
Silicone Valley. Lots of
these science guys never
leave that place. We book
two shows a month in there.
Those big time techs and bio-
guys might be real high zoners
up here, but when it comes
to the arts, they like it loud
and lewd.

It's starting to get a little gooey. Deckard tips his
head good night and backs out of the door.

INT. THE OLD OPERA HOUSE - NIGHT 62

Onstage four Mexican acrobats, in matching metallic
jumpsuits roll head over heels in their rendition of
a human wheel. From the P.A. system the Announcer's
voice blares through the cavernous theatre.

ANNOUNCER'S VOICE
Let's hear it for the Hermano
Brothers.

Scattered APPLAUSE. Hand in hand, the Hermano Brothers
bow deeply, spring up and trot offstage.

ANNOUNCER'S VOICE
Next we're gonna see a little
charmer who keeps her dancing
partner in a basket! She
comes to us all the way from
exotic Casablanca. 'Salome.'

The old boys in the pit strike up a tinny version
of "In a Persian Market" as SALOME dances onstage.
She's a black-haired beauty in a scant belly dancer
costume, a couple of pounds overweight but all in
the right places. She kneels ceremoniously center
stage and sets the basket down before her. Carefully
removing the lid, she reaches in and lifts out a four-
foot harlequin-patterned python. Grinding her hips
to the music, she rises, holding the coiling snake out
like an offering. Sounds of approval from the audience.
The gold coins covering her breasts jingle and shimmer,
as she weaves sensuously around the floor.

INT. BACKSTAGE - NIGHT 63

To scattered APPLAUSE, HOOTS and WHISTLES, Salome
flounces offstage, the snake hung around her shoul-
ders, looking limp, and makes her way through the
narrow corridor to her dressing room. She's about
to enter when:

DECKARD
Excuse me, Miss Salome.

She turns. Deckard's posture and attitude suggest hum-
ble, sleazy persistence. He comes closer with his
shit-eating grin.

DECKARD
I'd like to have a word with you
if I could.

Salome stands almost six feet high in her high heels
-- she looks down on him with the haughty suspicion
of a chick who knows how to handle cheap hits.

SALOME
Yeah?

DECKARD
I'm with the American Federation
of Variety Artists...

He holds up a hand as if to stop her from protesting.

DECKARD
Don't worry, I'm not here to make
you join -- that's not my department.

He glances around like a guy who's not supposed to be
there.

DECKARD
I'm an investigator for the
Confidential Committee on Moral
Abuses.

She nods, taking it a little more seriously.

DECKARD
There's been reports of management
sexually abusing the artists in
this place.

SALOME
I don't know nothing about it.

DECKARD
You haven't felt yourself to be
exploited by the management in any
way?

She's definitely puzzled.

SALOME
How do you mean 'exploited'?

DECKARD
Like to get this position. Did
you or were you asked to do anything
lewd or unsavory or otherwise
repulsive to your person?

SALOME
Are you for real?

DECKARD
Oh, yeah.
You'd be surprised what goes on
around here. I'd like to check
the dressing room if I could.

SALOME
What the fuck for?

DECKARD
For holes.

This guy might be an asshole but he's funny.

SALOME
I don't believe this.

She shrugs and they go in.

INT. DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT 64

Musty and cramped. A portable shower, a dressing table
and not much else. Salome takes the snake from around
her shoulders and lays it on the dressing table. Deck-
ard watches it undulate into the warmth of the lights.

DECKARD
It that mother real?

SALOME
Of course he's not real. You think
I'd be working here if I could
afford a real snake?

DECKARD
It's a good job.

SALOME
You mean the snake.

Deckard nods. There's not much costume to take off but
she's doing it.

SALOME
The best.

DECKARD
Does it eat?

SALOME
Come on.

His hand reaches out to touch it. As his fingers make
contact there's an electric "snap." He jerks his hand
back from the shock.

SALOME
Jeezus!

DECKARD
Sorry.

SALOME
Hey! Do your job but don't wreck
mine, huh?

She slides behind the screen and turns on the shower.
Deckard starts creeping around pacing around the room
like he's inspecting the walls.

DECKARD
They have their ways of doing
their dirty work without the
victim knowing what's going on.

His eyes are moving over everything she's got.

DECKARD
You'd be surprised what a guy'll
go through to get a glimpse of a
beautiful body.

SALOME
I bet I would.

DECKARD
Little dirty holes the bastards
drill in the wall so they can
watch a lady undress.

And to his amazement he actually spots one. It's down
low on the wall. Not a good idea to turn his back on
work but he can't resist.

SALOME
And what if somebody did try to
'exploit' me? Who do I go to?

Through the hole Deckard is looking at a pair of fat
legs.

DECKARD
Me.

SALOME
And who do I go to about you?

He looks back. She's some out of the shower dripping
nude. She's taken off her black wig. Her hair is
short and blonde.

Deckard recognizes her immediately from the identikit.
He stares at her a moment too long.

DECKARD
Hmmmmm?

Deckard grins and she returns it.

She takes a towel off the table and starts to dry her
body. The snake noses through the cosmetics, tongue
flicking trying to get back to its mistress. Absently,
she reaches out to stroke the snake and suddenly laughs.

ZHORA
You ever get the feeling things
aren't the way they seem?

Her hand closes around the snake's head. Deckard sees
it coming but can't move fast enough. She strikes him
so hard it knocks him off his feet. Before he hits the
floor, she kicks him in the stomach. The snake whistles
through the air again as Deckard rolls out of the way.
It slams down so hard it ruptures against the floor.
He goes for his laser, but she's already out the door.

INT. PASSAGEWAY - NIGHT 65

Deckard bounds out of the room and sees her go through
a door at the other end of the hall. He sprints after
her, arrives at the door and flings it open. Black-
ness. The SOUND of her high heels CLATTER down the
metal steps.

EXT. STREET - OPERA HOUSE - NIGHT 66

It's raining heavily.

The front of the Opera House is open only to foot traf-
fic these days. A bizarre place on a Friday night,
hawkers and whores, the rabble, the poor and the cur-
ious mill around the randy-built platforms and brightly
lit stands. Zhora, in just a raincoat, is not out of
place in this flea market atmosphere. Trying not to
run, she slices through the mob as quickly as she can.
Deckard is not far behind, dodging and side-stepping,
trying to move against the tide of people scurrying for
shelter.

She comes to an intersection and turns out of the mall
onto a less crowded street. She glances over her
shoulder as she breaks into a run and runs right into
a couple of pedestrians. All three go down.

Deckard comes out of the crowd in time to spot her get-
ting to her feet. She sees him and runs. The two ped-
estrians are in his line of fire. He runs past them
and drops to one knee, leveling his laser.

DECKARD
Stop or you're dead!

She doesn't. The beam flashes through the air, but
she's already around the corner.

With his bottom lip between his teeth, it hurts to move
so fast, Deckard jack-legs it into the street and jumps
in front of the first car coming. It screeches to a
stop. Deckard scrambles for the door, but the guy be-
hind the wheel has other ideas. He peels out fast.

The next car slows down and swerves trying not to hit
him. Deckard goes for the door and before the old ma-
tron inside can lock it, Deckard's yanked it open and
jumps in. She screams as he pushes her into the pas-
senger seat and jams the car into a wrenching about
face. The lady squeals like a pig as the momentum
plasters her against the door.

Deckard slams it around the corner and guns it down the
street. It's long and it's empty and it's going by fast.
Nothing the old lady cares to see -- she's got her hands
over her eyes, whimpering, hoping she'll faint before
she dies.

Deckard takes the next left so hard he almost lays it
over. As the car bounces off the curb he floors it.

Zhora's a hundred yards ahead, halfway down the street,
trying to make it back into the crowded mall. She's
running fast, but the car is faster.

As he passes her, Deckard hits the brakes and skids
broadside seventy feet. The door flies open and he
rolls out FIRING.

Zhora's ducking it with no where to go, except...

The showcase window on her left EXPLODES as she crashes
through.

It's a corner shop joined to a series of stores, front-
ing the mall. Deckard runs to the opening she's made
and pours FIRE through the tunnel of her jagged wake as
Zhora breaks through one window after another, getting
sliced, getting shot, trying to get away from Deckard's
laser. But she doesn't.

His last shot burns a hole through the base of her
skull. It kills her but doesn't stop her. Her speed
takes what's left of her through the last two windows
and into the street where she runs into a parked car
with such force that she embeds herself in the side of
it.

Hunched over, breathing hard, Deckard comes slowly for-
ward. The crowd starting to gather. There's something
for everybody and they're coming from all directions.

Deckard moves through them, edging to have a look.

It's not a good thing to see. It looks like Salome
and the car tries to eat each other. A bloody feast
of metal and flesh.

Deckard bows his head, sick, exhausted. So much commo-
tion he doesn't notice THREE COPS closing in from
behind.

COP
Drop it!

Deckard has his back to them. They're fanned out and
crouched, ready to fire. Deckard drops his laser. Two
of them rush up, spin him around while the third does a
frisk.

TWO MORE COPS arrive, wary and wild-eyed, pushing the
people back -- his is not a good place for cops.

Deckard's ankle laser is discovered by the Cop frisking
him. With a snarl he pulls it out and hands it back to
the SERGEANT covering the action.

SERGEANT
On your belly!

Deckard's not in the mood for it.

DECKARD
Listen, Sergeant...

He's reaching for his ID. The Cop with the rubber
billy hits him in the head.

One thrill after another. Somebody in the crowd YEOWLS.
The last thing Deckard hears as he falls. The Cop
reaches inside Deckard's coat for the concealed weapon
they missed, but it's an ID card. He looks at it for a
moment, then looks up.

COP
Hey, Sarge, this guy's a cop.

An embarrassing situation.

SERGEANT
Clear this fuckin' crowd.

The Cops start pushing. And for one split second one
of the crowd looks a lot like Leon.

INT. OLD OPERA HOUSE - MEN'S ROOM - NIGHT 67

Your standard low class crapper. Bryant is planted
firmly on the cracked tile floor next to the urinals
rubbing his face, trying not to pop the clutch in his
anger. This is a public place, he doesn't want to
yell.

BRYANT
Just because it's a Nexus 6 doesn't
change procedure. A little known
fact can become a well-known fact
and part of our job, Deckard, is
to make sure that doesn't happen.
Now how can be do that if you blow
one away in front of a fuckin'
audience.

It's not the sort of question that expects an answer.
Deckard's washing his face in the basin hoping it'll
all go away.

BRYANT
Well?

Deckard looks up dripping, reaches for a paper towel.
Bryant slaps one in his hand.

DECKARD
She was gonna get away.

BRYANT
Then let her get away. I thought
you were a pro -- you're supposed
to be a fuckin' tracker!

Bryant takes a couple of deep breaths.

BRYANT
I'd say you got a little carried
away.

Deckard's voice is barely audible.

DECKARD
I didn't like her.

BRYANT
You didn't like her!?

He slams the handle on one of the urinals.

BRYANT
You start liking or disliking
andies it's time to hang it up.

The PLUMPING ROARS and SUCKS and DIES. There's nothing
to do but nod. Deckard nods. Poor bastard has had a
rough night. Bryant pulls a flask out of his coat and
hands it to him. Deckard puts it to his mouth and
Bryant watches Deckard's Adam's apple like he's count-
ing the swallows. Deckard hands it back empty. Bryant
caps it, puts it back in his pocket.

BRYANT
Look, go home. Get some rest.
Take an aspirin.

DECKARD
Yeah.

Bryant shuffles out like an old bear.

INT. OLD OPERA HOUSE - BAR - NIGHT 68

Cheap whiskey and bad wine. That's the kind of place
this is. It's near closing. But still a few at the
bar. Alcoholic silhouettes.

In the b.g. Deckard comes down the passage from the
men's room and stops at the phone. He gets a number
out of his pocket and calls it. As he talks he leans
against the wall, his body language intimate and chummy.

Not much action at the bar other than somebody snoring
and a dipso down at the end having a conversation with
himself.

Deckard hangs up, walks to the bar and straggles a
stool. The BARTENDER's a big lady with tits like sand
bags and a voice that plays no favorites.

BARTENDER
I can't protect your drinks,
mister; while you was in the
potty, this hummer snatched it.

Deckard glances at his stool-mate. A huge MAN, slumped
over the bar like a beached whale.

DECKARD
No problem. Gimme another.

The whale doesn't move, but it speaks, with a gravelly
Russian accent.

RUSSIAN
Forgive me. I thought was free
drink. I will pay.

DECKARD
Forget it.

But the big man's digging through his pockets. Deck-
ard's drink arrives and the Russian raises his head.
It's a big melancholy face with a glint of warmth in
his red-rimmed eyes and a smile that could melt your
heart. But it's Leon.

LEON
I think I have no money.

DECKARD
It's okay. Forget it.

LEON
But I would like to buy you drink.

DECKARD
I'll but you one. What'll you
have?

LEON
Vodka!

DECKARD
Shot of vodka, please.

LEON
Thank you very much.

DECKARD
My pleasure.

Deckard brings out his smokes. Offers one. Leon takes
it and they light up. The drinks come.

LEON
Prosit.

DECKARD
Prosit.

Down the hatch. Leon slaps his glass on the bar, reach-
es into his pocket, brings out a little match box and
slaps that down too. It's done with such pride that
Deckard has to look.

LEON
You want to see my friends?

DECKARD
Sorry, don't have the time.

LEON
No problem.

Leon smiles broadly and with ceremonious care opens the
box and dumps three live cockroaches on the bar.

DECKARD
Those cockroaches?

LEON
Ya.

Deckard looks interested. One of them starts to scamp-
er away, but Leon walls off the next with his huge hand.

DECKARD
How long you had these guys?

LEON
Two months. But this one is not
guy. It is girl. His girl.

Leon leans closer like he doesn't want the cockroaches
to hear.

LEON
Usually Blackie waits until Igor
is eating; then, when his back is
turned, he tries to take advantage
of Anna.

Deckard nods, definitely interested. He signals the
bartender for another round. The drinks arrive.

LEON
Prosit.

DECKARD
Prosit.

Down the hatch. Their eyes meet at the bottom.

LEON
You never saw a cockroach make
love?

Deckard shakes his head, but he'd like to.

Leon smiles slyly.

LEON
We will try.

Leon brings a cube of sugar out of his pocket and puts
it on the bar. They both lean down and watch intently.
The drinks come and are put away, but the cockroaches
are not cooperating.

LEON
It must be that he is not hungry
or maybe she is not hot.

Leon is catching the roaches and one by one puts them
back in their box. He holds up the last and kisses it.

LEON
You like to kiss her goodbye.

DECKARD
No thanks.

BARTENDER
Make sure you take your girlfriends
with you when you leave.

What neither of them notices is that between Leon's
fingers, his stub of his cigarette is burning his flesh.

Deckard lifts his glass, it is empty.

LEON
I like you.

DECKARD
I like you too.

LEON
One more, eh?

DECKARD
I gotta piss.

Deckard gets on his feet, leans forward like a man in
a stiff wind and stops.

DECKARD
I think I'll piss outside.

Leon watches his walk a perfect straight line through
the bar down the passage and out of the rear exit.

EXT. ALLEY - OLD OPERA HOUSE - NIGHT 69

Deckard reels out. The door swings shut and he's sober
as hell and moving fast. Around the big trash dumpster
alongside the building, he plasters himself against the
wall and his gun is out, aimed at the door. He's in a
good spot with a perfect line of fire. Moments go by
and he's glad for the time to steady himself. The
SOUND of his BREATHING, the HUM of the city and the
quiet.

Suddenly from behind, Deckard is swept off his feet and
twirled around in Leon's bear-trap embrace.

Leon lets go and Deckard hits the pavement, skidding
hard enough to tear clothes and burn skin, but he rolls
out of it and comes up with gun in hand; but Leon is so
fast he's already there and kicks it out of his hand.

Leon moves towards him, backing Deckard against the wall.

LEON
How come you know where Zhora was
so quick?

His hand is lightning. It shoots out, grabs Deckard's
hair.

DECKARD
I showed pictures. Somebody
recognized her. I went to see.

Deckard is pale. The sweat is starting to run.

LEON
How old am I?

DECKARD
I don't know.

The grip tightens and twists.

LEON
My birthday is April 10, 2015.
How long do I live?

DECKARD
Four years.

He lets go.

LEON
More than you.

Deckard's knees come up fast. Leon's fist comes down
faster, like a hammer.

LEON
Painful to live in fear, isn't it.

Deckard is doubled over, hugging his thigh.

LEON
But that's how it is to be a
slave. The future is sealed off,
he grovels, he waits.

Even hurt, Deckard is fast. He goes for his ankle gun,
but Leon's got it out of his hand before he can even
raise it and throws it down the alley.

Deckard hurls forward, knocking him off balance, and
scrambles to get away. Leon grabs him by the foot,
drags him back and jerks him off the ground.

LEON
Sex, reproduction, security, the
simple things. But no way to
satisfy them. To be homesick
with no place to go. Potential
with no way to use it. Lots of
little oversights in the Nexus 6.

He slams Deckard into the wall.

LEON
I tell you, nothing is worse
than having an itch you can never
scratch.

Deckard slides down the wall to his knees and huddles,
protecting his head with his arms, waiting for the next
one.

Leon folds his big hands together and raises them over
his head, pausing just a second to savor the satisfac-
tion of smashing Deckard's skull.

The spasm that runs through Leon's face is not from
satisfaction. It's the bullet that went through his
neck. He hits the ground hard, his big teeth biting
the air like a rabid dog. Dead.

Rachael is standing in the alley. Deckard lies there
looking at her. She comes slowly and quietly forward
and drops Deckard's gun by his side.

Deckard gets to his hands and knees and tries to get
up, but can't quite manage it. He looks up at her,
panting, spits blood and almost smiles.

DECKARD
Like I said, I don't need your
help.

After a long moment, she bends down to touch him.

RACHAEL
You look terrible, you know that?

INT. DECKARD'S APARTMENT - BATHROOM - NIGHT 70

He's lying in the tub with a drink, eyes half mast,
water up to his chin, bruised and beat, but looking
just a little wicked in his balmy luxury.

DECKARD (V.O.)
I knew a cop once who was involved
in a high-speed chase. They shot
out one of his tires and he went
over a cliff at hundred and fifty
miles an hour. They found him in
the morning with a broken skull,
six fractured ribs and second-
degree burns. On the way to the
hospital he made a play for the
nurse.

He takes a drink and clears his throat.

2005-09-21T22:28:00.000-07:00

2005-09-21T22:27:00.001-07:00

2005-09-21T22:27:00.000-07:00

2005-09-21T22:26:00.000-07:00

EXT. SEBASTIAN'S APARTMENT 27

A district of silence and ruin. The street is strewn
with refuse. The building looks vacant. A ten storey
condo gone to shit. The vandals have come and gone
long ago.

Sebastian's little white ambulance parked at the curb.
MR. DEETCHUM, the old Watchman, sitting in the building
entry in a straight backed chair, is reading a comic
book.

INT. SEBASTIAN'S APARTMENT - NIGHT 28

Well stocked with items of survival, all labeled and
stacked. And shelved along the walls and hung from the
ceiling is a menagerie of animoids. Like so many broken
toys awaiting resurrection from Sebastian's wise hands.

Sebastian is seated at a large work-table, bent over a
stereo scope. The tool in his right hand is a sensor
probe and he's using it with the delicacy of an en-
graver.

The object of his concentration is a maze-like chip
configuration no bigger than a thumbnail, but magnified
under the scope, it looks like an aerial view of a
large city. The needle-like sensor probe moves care-
fully over the contours of the configuration, testing
the bonds.

Suddenly a blue flash erupts from one of the junctures.

SEBASTIAN
Oh!

Pris is light on her feet. She's standing behind him
with a half-eaten sandwich in her hand.

PRIS
Whatcha doin'?

SEBASTIAN
You scared me.

But he's happy to see her.

SEBASTIAN
I'm working.

She's changed her dress and made up her face. Looks a
little older and sexier.

SEBASTIAN
You look... better.

PRIS
Just better.

SEBASTIAN
Beautiful.

PRIS
Thanks.

He watches her as she prowls around the room, looking
at this and that, eating her sandwich.

PRIS
And you live in this building all
by yourself?

SEBASTIAN
Yeah, I live here pretty much
alone right now...

Trying to make light of it.

SEBASTIAN
No housing shortage around here...
plenty of room for everybody.

She sprawls on the couch studying him.

PRIS
How old are you?

He can't meet her eyes.

SEBASTIAN
Twenty.

PRIS
What's your problem?

It's not an easy subject. His voice is barely audible.

SEBASTIAN
Methuselah Syndrome.

PRIS
What's that?

SEBASTIAN
My glands. They grow old too fast.

PRIS
Is that why you're still here?

SEBASTIAN
Yes. I couldn't pass the test.

There is a silence. He steals a glance at her.

PRIS
I like you just the way you are.

Under the desk he bats his knees together.

SEBASTIAN
Ah, you get hold of your friends?

PRIS
As a matter of fact I did. They've
got some work to do tonight, but
they're gonna come tomorrow.

SEBASTIAN
Good.

The implications catch up.

SEBASTIAN
I can sleep on the couch.

A little gray mouse on the shelf above his head bobs
up.

MOUSE
Don't let the bed bugs bite!

Taking their cue from the mouse, some of the more
talented animoids toot, flap and wheel about.

INT. DECKARD'S APARTMENT - NIGHT 29

It's dark except for the glow of the terminal. A tired
Deckard sits in front of it. Esper sounds like he's
been talking for hours.

ESPER
Nexus designated Leon: incept
date April 10th, 2015 -- to be
used in military experiments to
determine how hyper metabolism
functions in deep space.
Nexus designated Batty incept
data April 10th, 2015, combat
model, level of self-sufficiency,
optimum.

A long pause.

ESPER
Here's something you might find
interesting. They have been built
to emulate the human in every way
except in its emotional spectrum.
However, after a period of time
it is only logical that such a
'mechanism' would create its own
emotional responses, hate, love,
fear, anger, envy.

DECKARD
I know all that.

ESPER
What about a summary then.

DECKARD
I think we're through for the night.

Deckard starts to reach for the panel.

ESPER
Mr. Deckard.

Hesitates.

DECKARD
Yes?

ESPER
Do you have something against
science?

DECKARD
Not if it works.

ESPER
And what in your estimation works?

DECKARD
The umbrella.

Deckard picks up the umbrella and with it stabs the
terminal off button before Esper can respond and the
machine goes dead. He sits there for a moment then
flips on the lamp. Leon's snap-shots are spread out
before him.

INT. SPINNER - DAY 30

A police marked spinner makes a sharp bank, drops into
a steep curve and slides towards the Tyrell Corporation.

DECKARD (V.O.)
Every government that could was
racing to populate their colonial
territory. But emigrants needed
incentive. Over-population and
the greenhouse factor didn't seem
to be enough; but owning a human
look-a-like had lots of appeal.
It was big industry, the competition
was stiff and Tyrell was top of the
line.

EXT. TYRELL CORPORATION - DAY 31

The spinner gently touches down. The hatch drops open
and Deckard steps out.

DECKARD (V.O.)
His claim to fame was making a
product more human than human and
sometimes the 'more' turned out to
be a problem. This wasn't just an
escaped andy who broke his owner's
arm -- there were twenty-eight
people dead and the pressure was
on.

INT. TYRELL CORPORATION - DAY 32

Deckard walks up to a desk, hands his I.D. to a guard
who checks it against a list on a screen.

DECKARD (V.O.)
But so far they'd always managed
to keep it quiet. Not to say
that once in a while there wasn't
bad publicity. Some fanatic
bitching about equal rights for
andies or an occasional trade union
proclaiming it was aun-American for
automatons to take jobs away from
humans on the colony.

The guard hands Deckard back his I.D., pushed a button
and Deckard walks away.

DECKARD (V.O.)
But what's more American than good
old supply and demand? The
Government needed them, industry
made them and the church backed
them. The big religious boys
said that Androids, no matter how
human, were objects; only God
could make people. I'm not religious,
but I was inclined to agree.
Otherwise I'd be out of a job.

The elevator door slides open. The young lady inside
would look right standing on a cliff, hair blowing in
the wind, looking out to sea in a 19th Century painting.

RACHAEL
Hello, Mr. Deckard. My name is
Rachael.

Deckard tips his head to her and steps in.

INT. TYRELL CORPORATION ELEVATOR - DAY 33

No woman can be all things to all men, the Rachael comes
closer than most. The only trouble is she's all busi-
ness. Formidable without really trying. Some beauty
is better avoided and Deckard looks straight ahead.

INT. TYRELL CORPORATION CORRIDOR - DAY 33A

The door slides open and they continue down the corri-
dor.

RACHAEL
It seems your department doesn't
believe out new unit is to the
public benefit.

DECKARD
A humanoid robot is like any other
machine, it can be a benefit or a
hazard. If it's a benefit, it's
not our problem.

RACHAEL
But because your department can't
do an adequate job in detecting
the miniscule number at large,
it's a problem. Correct, Mr.
Deckard?

INT. TYRELL CORPORATION - AIR-FILTERED CORRIDOR - DAY 33B

They pass into a canopied, air-filtered corridor.
Deckard doesn't answer the question because he's looking
at the animals. Small northern animals in neat "en-
vironmental" cages. He looks at the rabbit, the raccoon
and the squirrel, but the owl asleep on its perch stops
him. The armed guard at the exit never takes his eyes
off them.

RACHAEL
You like our owl?

Deckard nods. Rachael claps her hands. The owl opens
its yellow eyes and blinks at them.

DECKARD
It's artificial?

RACHAEL
Of course not.

Hands thrust in her pockets, she strides off towards
the exit without looking back.

The exit is another tube. Just big enough for two. No
room for excess. He tries to ignore her cool appraising
stare.

RACHAEL
You're in a very unique position,
Mr. Deckard. You could affect the
future of this entire organization
according to how you work your
little test.

Deckard has nothing to say.

RACHAEL
Are you apprehensive?

DECKARD
Why should I be?

RACHAEL
For the responsibility of your
power. Being a police bureaucrat,
you've got more than your share.

The door slides open. Deckard looks down at her.

DECKARD
You got it wrong, girl. I work
with the bureau not for them.

He lets it sink in.

DECKARD
My job isn't to detect
malfunctioning andies, it's to
eliminate them. The more the
better.

He walks out of the elevator first.

INT. INNER SANCTUM OF DR. TYRELL - DAY 34

The office is dimly lit, but highlights of resilience
reside in the luster of the antique furnishings, like
glimmers of gold in a darkened mine. Dr. Tyrell is a
fragile man of power, with that look of "youth" obtained
from steroids and surgery. Dapper and trim, he leans
against the desk looking at an old fashioned pocket
watch. The only sound is the insidious PERKING of COFFEE
BREWING in the background.

Tyrell taps a sensor on his desk. The door in front of
Deckard and Rachael slides open. They enter a vestibule
and face another door, this one befitting the decor of
the office, Tyrell slips the watch into his pocket as
they enter.

RACHAEL
Mr. Deckard. Dr. Eldon Tyrell.

TYRELL
How do you do, Mr. Deckard. Please
sit down. Would you care for a cup
of coffee?

DECKARD
Thanks.

TYRELL
Black?

DECKARD
Please.

Tyrell pours from an old time sylex into small china
cups and hands one to Deckard. The congenial light in
his eyes could almost pass for warmth -- dragon warmth.

TYRELL
Somehow, I didn't expect that the
man who did the dirty work would
be the man to do the technical
work. Here you are, Mr. Deckard.

He hands Deckard a cup of coffee.

TYRELL
Is this to be an empathy test?

DECKARD
Yes.

TYRELL
Capillary dilation of the so-called
blush response? Plus fluctuation
of the pupil, plus involuntary
dilation of the iris?

Deckard nods.

TYRELL
May I ask a personal question?

DECKARD
Go ahead.

TYRELL
Have you ever retired a human by
mistake?

DECKARD
No.

TYRELL
But in your profession that is a
risk.

DECKARD
Nothing is infallible, but so far
the Voight-Kampff scale bas been
foolproof.

TYRELL
Like you said, Mr. Deckard, a
machine can be a hazard. The
Voight-Kampff scale is a machine,
isn't it?

DECKARD
One that relies on human
interpretation. Where's the
subject?

TYRELL
Sitting next to you.

Deckard stares at Rachael, then back at Tyrell. Delighted,
Tyrell takes a cup of coffee.

Accepting the challenge, Deckard opens his briefcase and
starts fishing out the apparatus.

THE VOIGHT-KAMPFF 35

Rachael's eye fills the screen, the iris brilliant, shot
with light, the pupil contracting.

DECKARD'S VOICE
Ready.

RACHAEL
Go ahead.

In the soft green glow of the dials, the needles in both
gauges are at rest. Dr. Tyrell stands silhouetted behind
Deckard, who sits in front of Rachael, a pencil beam
trained on her eye. Wire mesh discs are attached to her
cheeks.

DECKARD
You're given a calfskin wallet
for your birthday.

The needles in both gauges swing violently past green to
red, then subside.

RACHAEL
I wouldn't accept it. Also, I'd
report the person who gave it to
me to the police.

DECKARD
You have a little boy. He shows
you his butterfly collection, plus
the killing jar.

Again the gauges register, but not so far.

RACHAEL
I'd take him to the doctor.

DECKARD
You're watching T.V. and suddenly
you notice a wasp crawling on your
wrist.

RACHAEL
I'd kill it.

Both needles go to red. Deckard makes a note, takes a
sip of coffee and continues.

DECKARD
In a magazine you come across a
full-page photo of a nude girl.

RACHAEL
Is this testing whether I'm an
android or a lesbian?

DECKARD
You show the picture to your husband.
He likes it and hangs it on the wall.
The girl is lying on a bearskin rug.

RACHEL
I wouldn't let him.

DECKARD
Why not?

RACHAEL
I should be enough for him.

Deckard frowns, then smiles. His smile looks a little
like a grimace or the other way around.

DECKARD
You become pregnant by a man who
runs off with your best friend,
and you decide to get an abortion.

RACHAEL
I'd never get an abortion.

DECKARD
Why not?

RACHAEL
That would be murder, Mr. Deckard.

DECKARD
In your opinion.

RACHAEL
It would be my child.

DECKARD
Sounds like you speaks from
experience.

He notes the needles. One goes green and the other
remains inert.

DECKARD
Last question. You're watching
an old movie. It shows a banquet in
progress, the guests are enjoying
raw oysters.

RACHAEL
Ugh.

Both needles swing swiftly.

DECKARD
The entree consists of boiled
dog stuffed with rice.

Needles move less.

DECKARD
The raw oysters are less acceptable
to you than a dish of boiled dog.

Deckard moves the adhesive discs from her cheeks and
switches off his beam.

DECKARD
Lights please.

The lights come on.

TYRELL
Well?

DECKARD
If she is, the machine works.

TYRELL
The machine works. She is.

Rachael sits very still. Except her eyes -- they go to
Tyrell and hang on. He stares back at her as he speaks.

TYRELL
How many questions did it take?

DECKARD
Thirteen.

Rachael sits rigidly in her chair, as the ground crumbles
around her, her big mermaid eyes locked with Tyrell.
His voice is quiet and strong, mesmerizing. She's hang-
ing by a thread.

Deckard watches with a bas taste in his mouth.

DECKARD
She didn't know?

TYRELL
Memory implant. She was programmed.
But I think she has transcended
her conditioning. I think she was
beginning to suspect.

Rachael nods fixedly. Careful not to let go her grasp.

TYRELL
How many questions does it usually
take, Mr. Deckard?

DECKARD
Five, maybe six.

Slowly, carefully, Tyrell unlocks his gaze from Rachael
and turns towards Deckard, who is starting to put away
his equipment.

TYRELL
You're going to have to be on your
toes, my friend.

Deckard glances back at him.

TYRELL
It's a complex problem and we
wouldn't want anything to happen
to you.

Less of a man might shrink at the end of Deckard's look,
but not Tyrell.

TYRELL
For the good of all, I recommend
you take Rachael with you.
Considering her uniqueness, I'm
sure she could prove quite helpful.

Deckard almost smiles at the nasty power of Tyrell's
style. He turns away and starts packing up the Voight-
Kampff.

DECKARD
No thanks.

Deckard is ready to go.

TYRELL
And how is it one man will be able
to cover so much ground?

DECKARD
Discreetly.

TYRELL
All pertinent information is
being fed into your departmental
computer, an Esper 231 -- I
believe -- and a photo over-lay
packet is being produced.

Deckard opens the door.

TYRELL
Mr. Deckard, I think it would be
wise to reconsider my offer.

Rachael sits there very pale and expressionless, her
feet flat on the floor, alone is the word.

Trying to keep the fury out of it, Deckard's voice
comes out in a whisper.

DECKARD
I work alone.

On the last word, Rachael glances up at him and Deckard
turns away. The outer door slides open and he goes
through it.

INT. TUNNEL - NIGHT 36

As seen through the windshield from the passenger side
of a vintage Dusenberg. The headlights cut through the
dark, illuminating a narrow strip of mountain road. A
downgrade.

A sign slides by stating: "Caution Curves Ahead."
Good advice considering the sheer nightmare of a drop
to the right and the wall of solid rock to the left.

The steady HUM of the ENGINE and the HISS of the TIRES
will remain, but the location suddenly changes to:

INT. ROOM - NIGHT 37

A pleasant place of soft light and domestic charm. The
young lady in the short dress is vacuuming the rug.
Her back to the viewer. As she bends over to vacuum
beneath the couch, exposing her beautiful ass, an
admonishment from a resonant and slightly tired MALE
VOICE intercedes.

VOICE
Let's keep our eyes on the road,
Deckard.

DECKARD'S VOICE
Sorry.

Abruptly the VIEW FLASHES BACK TO:

INT. TUNNEL - NIGHT 38

The moon is up there slicing through the trees, strobing
over the hood of the car. The road is getting steeper
and the corners sharper. Rags of mist skim by as the
Dusenberg picks up speed. It is becoming a riveting
ride, but the passenger's mind moves elsewhere.

EXT. WOODS - DAY 39

Swift, soft clouds overhead. In the cold shine of
the icy light,the viewer walks down an aisle of maples
and beeches, their clean hard limbs deflecting the
frosty light, and underfoot the crisp, blue-white snow,
melted through in spots, exposing soggy patches of rich
brown earth.

VOICE
Come on, stay with the machine.

INT. TUNNEL - NIGHT 40

The Dusenberg is going faster now, headlights eating
up the road. Rushing the corners in gut wrenching four-
wheel drifts. Not a pleasant sensation if you don't
like roller-coasters.

The Dusenberg slides out of a corner and faces a couple
hundred yards of straightway leading to the next bend.

Good place for a breather, but the driver shifts into
high and screws on.

EXT. LAKE - DAY 41

Cold and gray. The current running strong. The nose
of a kayak points through the swells, the viewer paddling
for the shore.

This is cold remote country, wild and untouched. A sky
bluer than the Madonna's cloak. The kayak banks and
the viewer steps out, moving over the sandy beach
towards a little camp.

VOICE
We're going to have to start the
sequence again if you don't stay
with me, Deckard. Concentrate.

DECKARD'S VOICE
How do you know I'm not?

VOICE
You're not responding to the
stimulus. I can see right here,
I'm not getting a reading.

DECKARD'S VOICE
I'm tired of this.

VOICE
Almost through.

INT. TUNNEL - NIGHT 42

In the Dusenberg the driver turns to look at the passen-
ger, his specter-like face obscured by shadow, but by
the glint of teeth, he must have just smiled. And the
passenger's view snaps back to the road.

Suddenly another pair of headlights round the approach-
ing bend. Large ones, of a bus or a truck. Blinding.

The Dusenberg is going too fast to stop. No room to
pass. HORNS BLAST. The Dusenberg brakes, goes into a
broadside skid. The hands of the passenger reach out
and grip the mahogany dash. Brakes locked, TIRES
SCREAMING, skidding. The Dusenberg tears through the
railing and plunges into space. The last view of the
passenger is pure vertigo. Silence.

INT. DOCTOR WHEELER'S OFFICE - AFTERNOON 43

The good doctor is bending over his glass-top desk which
resembles a pin-ball machine. Displayed under its
surface is a network of crisp electronic symbols and
read-outs indicating the results of the test.

Deckard detached the patches from his forehead, which
it a little damp, but other than that, he looks no
worse for wear, stands up to stretch and walks over to
the doctor's desk.

DECKARD
So how did I do?

Dr. Wheeler is a thin boney man, aloof but a promise
of compassion in his sunken eyes.

WHEELER
Nerves of steel.

DECKARD
No rust?

WHEELER
I didn't say that. Your motivity
rate checked out a little slower
than last time.

DECKARD
Meaning?

WHEELER
Meaning you don't run as fast as
you used to.

Deckard starts to dress.

WHEELER
During the road test...

DECKARD
Yeah?

WHEELER
Your mind kept wandering. That
bothered me.

DECKARD
Huh huh.

WHEELER
Considering the nature of your
work, that could be unhealthy.

DECKARD
True.

Wheeler studies his "desk" for a moment and his finger
comes down on the section illuminating Deckard's simple
statistics.

WHEELER
You got a birthday coming up.

Deckard bends over slipping on his shoes. Wheeler looks
up, concerned.

WHEELER
But you haven't put in for
emigration.

DECKARD
Nope.

WHEELER
You're going to be over the limit.

DECKARD
Listen, I could make you a long
list of complaints about this
fucken city but I still rather be
here than up there.

WHEELER
What if you change your mind?

DECKARD
They'll change the limit before
I change my mind.

WHEELER
You sure?

DECKARD
Never been more sure of anything
in my life.

Deckard is ready to go. Looking at Wheeler, a little
touched with his concern.

DECKARD
Why didn't you go?

WHEELER
Too old.

DECKARD
But if you could?

Wheeler considers it a moment, smiles and shakes his head.

WHEELER
My job is here.

DECKARD
Me too.

They shake hands and Deckard walks.

INT. SEBASTIAN'S APARTMENT - LATE AFTERNOON 44

The referee is bouncing around the ring, trying to keep
up with the two Mexican light-weights pounding the shit
out of each other. If not for the fuzz and the silence,
the audio on the holoscope is off, you might think
you were ringside at the Garden. It's a good fight but
Pris isn't watching.

She's got her feet up on the couch painting her toe
nails. The room is so quiet you can almost hear the
polish. She starts on her fourth toe when a NOISE
form above STOPS HER

It sounded like a CREAKING of a FLOOR, but so quiet,
sudden and over so fast it's hard to be sure. She
stares at the ceiling a moment, then glances at
Sebastian.

On the other side of the room, in his own world,
Sebastian is peering into his magnifier, soldering
gossamer strands with a laser.

Pris has crossed the floor and is closing the door
quietly behind her. If the animoids nestled around
the ledges of the room are capable of noticing, they'd
be the only ones in the room who did.

INT. CORRIDOR - SEBASTIAN'S APARTMENT - LATE AFTER- 45
NOON

Pris moving smoothly past the doors, some of them open
and warped offering sights and shadow and decay.

INT. FIRE STAIRS - SEBASTIAN'S APARTMENT - LATE AFTER- 46
NOON

The gloom in here is like the light of the empty well.
Her feet against the metal steps reverberate in the
hollow silence.

INT. THE FLOOR ABOVE SEBASTIAN'S APARTMENT - LATE 47
AFTERNOON

She's running now, down the hall, stops at the apart-
ment directly above Sebastian's and opens the door.

2005-09-21T22:25:00.000-07:00

INT. SEBASTIAN'S AMBULANCE - NIGHT 25

It's an old panel job with ambulance siren and lights.
The lettering on the side reads "J.R. SEBASTIAN -
ANIMOID EXPRESS." Sebastian gets in, starts up the
engine and suddenly realizes he's not alone. It's a
jolt that causes him to yelp.

PRIS is sprawled on the seat next to him, and wakes up
with a yelp of her own. They stare at one another for
a startled instant, and she jumps out and starts walk-
ing.

But she's forgotten her little beat-up overnight case.
Sebastian puts the truck in gear, drives next to her
and opens the door.

SEBASTIAN
Hey! You forgot your...

He holds up the bag. Hesitantly she reaches for it.

SEBASTIAN
How come you were in my truck?

PRIS
I was tired and didn't have any
place to go.

She stares at him, hand on her case, looking lost.
Sebastian isn't good at this, but he tries.

SEBASTIAN
You can get back in if you want...

She can't make up her mind.

SEBASTIAN
Don't worry, I won't hurt you.

She gets in. Both of them are silent. People are not
Sebastian's medium -- usually he's too shy, but this
girl is shyer still, plus they're about the same age --
it gives him courage.

SEBASTIAN
What's your name?

PRIS
Pris.

SEBASTIAN
Mine's J.F. Sebastian.

PRIS
Hi.

So pleased with the way that went, he forgets for a
while what comes next.

SEBASTIAN
Oh! Where do you want to go?

She shrugs. That leaves him a lot of responsibility.
He throws her side-long glances, but she's not helping.

SEBASTIAN
You want to go home?

PRIS
I don't have one.

SEBASTIAN
Oh.

What do you do with a teenage beauty who looks like
she's lost out of some "Welcome to Sunny Arizona"
poster?

SEBASTIAN
Where are your folks?

PRIS
They left.

SEBASTIAN
What about friends?

PRIS
I have some, but I have to find
out where they are staying.

She leans forward and rests her elbows on the dash.
Her body would win prizes, from any angle.

SEBASTIAN
Well, where should I take you?

She looks at him,a shadow of enticement in her clear
blue eyes.

PRIS
We scared each other pretty good
didn't we?

SEBASTIAN
We sure did.

She giggles and laughs.

PRIS
I'm hungry, J.F.

SEBASTIAN
I've got stuff. If you wanna go
to my place?

PRIS
I was hoping you'd say that.

Sebastian's face is normally on the grey side, but it
just turned red. He turns on the ignition and they
pull away from the curb.

INT. DECKARD'S CAR - FREEWAY - NIGHT 26

Speeding along the freeway. The terminal in the com-
munications console lit. Deckard's right hand just
finished a punch-up. The screen flashes back.

REQUEST

Deckard punches up. Letters flash across the screen:

ESPER

Screen flashes back:

CLEARANCE

Deckard punches up.

BLADE RUNNER ONE CODE ML-33

Pause.

Screen flashes:

STAND BY.

Deckard's voice has been heard over the preceding.

DECKARD (V.O.)
Machines can be helpful sometimes,
but they can also be a pain in the
ass. Ask for a trace on a forger
and you might wind up at a steel-
mill. I don't mind a bum-steer once
in a while -- it's their personalities
that usually get me. Somebody once
said that man makes machines in his own
image. If that's true, whoever made
Esper should have been shot.

ESPER
This is Esper and I'm ready. Go
ahead please.

Esper's deep melodious voice is anxious to please, and
oiled with a touch of self-pity.

DECKARD
You equipped for random questions?

ESPER
Why, yes, of course.

DECKARD
You start.

ESPER
The five in question are third
generation Nexus Sixes, constructed
of skin-flesh culture, selected
enogenic transfer conversion
capable of self-perpetuating
thought, para-physical abilities
and developed for emigration
program. Are you with me?

DECKARD
How do I stop one?

ESPER
Unlike a five, they can sustain
massive traumas to several parts
of the body without debilitating
another. Sever a leg and it will
perform quicker on the remaining leg
than the fastest man can run,

DECKARD
Okay, but...

ESPER
I'm coming to that. Vulnerable
zone is the base of the skull,
the occipital bone. A direct hit
is a positive retirement.

The communication is interrupted by a BELL which is
immediately followed by a stern, MECHANICAL VOICE.

VOICE
You are in violation of traffic
ordinance M-139 statutory freeway
limit restricted by one-hundred
and eighty kilometers.

In his rear view mirror Deckard sees two black-clad
motorcycle cops coming up behind him like the hounds
of hell. They draw silently alongside. Deckard
presses his I.D. to the window.

The cop tosses a salute to Deckard and he and his
partner accelerate, vanish in the night. And Deckard's
car does too.

2005-09-21T22:24:00.000-07:00

ROY BATTY

2005-09-21T22:22:00.000-07:00

2005-09-21T22:21:00.000-07:00

INT. LEON'S ROOM - NIGHT 15

An empty room. A cot and not much else. He steps in
and stands quiet as a hunter sensing the signs. For a
place surrounded by greasy hovels it is surprisingly
clean. Spartan in fact. The towel by the spotless
basin is perfectly folded.

Deckard runs two fingers over a shelf. No dust. He
looks in the waste basket. Wadded up candy wrappers.
The bed by the window is neatly made. Deckard looks
under it, then runs his hands along both sides of the
mattress.

The closet. There's one suit in it. He pats it down.
Nothing. A show box on the floor. He stoops, takes
out what looks like a pen from his pocket and care-
fully traces it over the box. Assured of its harm-
lessness, he lifts off the lid.

It contains a little stack of photos bound with a
rubber band. Deckard removes them, goes to the lamp
by the balcony window and turns it on.

A touching collection of family snapshots. The kind of
anonymous stuff sold by the bunch in dusty junk shops.
The family dog. Junior on the pony squinting in the
sun. Uncle Ben clowning with the kids. The faded
polaroid of Christmas morning. Simple pictures of
simple folks celebrating the family bond. A curious
collection for the likes of Leon and Deckard studies
them with interest.

EXT. STREET BELOW - NIGHT 16

Oblivious to the cloudburst, a blue-eyed albino stands
in the doorway, peddling candy and artificial flowers
looking like he'd never been touched by the light of
day.

Leon is standing behind him, staring up at his room,
watching Deckard at the window. He's still wearing
his coveralls, but he looks different. His face is
more intent, smarter and angry.

EXT. STREET BELOW - NIGHT 17

For one seething moment it looks like Leon might mash
something, but suddenly he swings away and disappears
into the crowd.

INT. LEON'S ROOM - NIGHT 18

Deckard pockets the pictures and moves away from the
window.

EXT. ALLEY - NIGHT 19

Leon's got a neck like a fire hydrant and legs to
match, but he's a graceful runner. Looks like he could
do it for days. And he could. He's put a lot of alley
behind him and he's not out of breath.

EXT. CHINATOWN - NIGHT 20

Slowing down he cuts into an opening and comes out onto
a narrow street. The Asian Quarter.

INT. CHOP SUEY HOUSE - NIGHT 21

A seamy as well as steamy little place. Counter and
small tables. Old slant-eyed enders humped over their
fuming bowls jabbering and slurping.

The only voice coming out clear is from the big three-
D TV on the back wall. As the mellow-mouthed TV
announcer delivers the message, a Latin-looking beauty
in a well-fitted maids uniform does a twirl, flashes
a beguiling smile and glides OUT OF FRAME.

ANNOUNCER'S VOICE
Choose from a variety of seventy
nine different personality types.
Each and every one a loyal trouble-
free companion given to you upon
your arrival absolutely free...

The Latin beauty is replaced by an impeccable Ray
Bolger type gentleman's gentleman who clicks his heels,
snaps to attention and struts off to make room for the
next.

ANNOUNCER'S VOICE
To use as personal body servant
to tireless field hand -- the
custom tailored humanoid robot,
designed especially for your
needs.

The Chinese are paying no attention, but the man and
the woman seated at the table by the window are.

The woman is pretty, a touch of gray in her hair, kind
and blue-eyed. MARY looks like an American dream mom,
right out of "Father Knows Best."

The man also resembles a tradition: the gym instructor,
short cropped hair with the body of a drill sergeant,
but the eyes are grey and chilling. ROY BATTY is a
presence of force with a lazy, but acute sense of what
goes on around him.

Leon has just come through the door behind them. Try-
ing not to be the bull in a china shop, he approaches
their table and kneels . Batty doesn't bother to look
at him, which amplifies the note of sarcasm in his
quiet voice.

BATTY
Did you get your precious 'things'?

LEON
Somebody was already there.

BATTY
Police.

LEON
Just a man.

BATTY
Police man.

Leon looks sullen.

BATTY
Why don't you have a seat.

There's one next to him. Leon pulls it over and sits.

BATTY
Enjoy the view.

From the pot on the table, Mary pours tea and they sit
so quiet and still in this noisy place that they seem
almost invisible. The view they're "enjoying" is
through the window. Outside the neon side in the win-
dow directly across the street says: HANNIBAL CHEW,
MEMBERS.

INT. HANNIBAL CHEW'S SHOP - NIGHT 22

Chew is a spindly old man of precision, his veiled
eyes are shrewd and Chinese, but the rest of him
looks like a Charles Dickens invention.

He's got a jewelers' glass stuck in his eye, lurched
over a lamp, squinting at something in his hand. After
a moment his lips peal back into a sour, belligerent
smile.

CHEW
Well, you're right. This little
honey has a couple of defective cones.

He snaps off the lamp and swings round to face his
client.

SEBASTIAN'S face is almost young, but something has
gone too far, too fast. Premature old age has made
his bones brittle and his co-ordination slow. The
house may be dark but there's a light on in it. Se-
bastian is a closet genius.

CHEW
You're a regular perfectionist,
Sebastian.

Sebastian's apologetic, especially around the acerbic
Mr. Chew.

SEBASTIAN
It's gotta be right for my
customer.

CHEW
Your customer, eh?

Chew snickers and beckons. Sebastian follows his down
a high narrow hall to a heavy insulated door. There's
a moth-eaten full length fur coat hanging by it. Chew
tugs it on and they go through. The big door slams
shut behind them.

INT. COLD STORAGE ROOM - NIGHT 23

Except for the work table with its sharp gleaming in-
struments, the room is as barren and sterile as a
morgue. The glass-doored compartments in the walls
look like crypts. Some of them small as post office
boxes. From one of the Chew removes a vacuum, packed
box. Carefully separating the seal, he reaches into
the purple jell and with a pair of tweezers extracts
an eye.

Through the jeweler's glass, which he has not bothered
to remove, Chew holds the eye up to the light and
studies it a moment. His other hand searches through
his pockets.

CHEW
You got a pocket-charger, boy?

Quick to accommodate, Sebastian removes a pencil-like
device from a row of such things in his breast pocket
and steps closer. The back of the eye is touched with
the pencil and the pupil moves. Suddenly its staring
back at them.

CHEW
Is that good enough for your
customer?

Anxious to leave, Sebastian nods. Chew reseals the
eye taking his time. He can afford to, he's wearing
his coat.

CHEW
How much is he paying you?

In place of an answer, Sebastian clears his throat,
stares at the bag like he didn't hear.

CHEW
Well, when do you get paid?

SEBASTIAN
Soon as I finish the job.

CHEW
When might that be?

SEBASTIAN
Day after tomorrow.

CHEW
Oh! Day after tomorrow.

Sebastian nods. Chew stares at the poor bastard, con-
cerned in spite of himself.

CHEW
The rich hate to pay, Sebastian.
A guy like Tyrell keeps you waiting.
Pay the little guy last. You should
charge twice as much. It'll make
him feel better.

Sebastian nods his head like that's exactly what he'll
do. Chew sees it's hopeless and hands him the bag.

SEBASTIAN
Thanks, Mr. Chew.

Chew pulls the door open for him and Sebastian goes
through quick as a dog.

EXT. HANNIBAL CHEW'S STORE - STREET - NIGHT 24

Sebastian may lack co-ordination but he got what he
came for and there's a hopeful spring to his walk as
he heads for his truck.

NEXUS

2005-09-21T22:20:00.000-07:00

the hall of justice

2005-09-21T22:17:00.000-07:00

INT. THE HALL OF JUSTICE - NIGHT 10

An enormous grey vault of a building. A businesslike
Deckard strides down a long corridor with his brief-
case and police ID pinned to his coat.

DECKARD (V.O.)
I-X-4-P-D referred to as a Nexus-6,
The Tyrell Corporation's new pride
and joy. Holden was administering
the Voight-Kampff test when one
nailed him.

The door in front of Deckard slides open and he walks
through.

DECKARD (V.O.)
The Nexus-6 must be fast because
Holden was as quick as they come.
The report said there were six of
them. Three males and three female.
Led by a combat model called Roy
Batty.

INT. INSPECTOR BRYANT'S OFFICE - NIGHT 11

The INSPECTOR is in his fifties. The deep creases in
his face, the broken capillaries in his nose say
brawler, spoiler, drinker, but the diplomas on the
wall say something else. Bryant's kneeled at his safe
trying to open it. Deckard it sitting on the edge of
the desk reading the print-out.

DECKARD (V.O.)
They escaped from the colonies
two weeks ago. Killed twenty-
three people and jumped a shuttle.
An aerial patrol found the ship
in the desert. No crew.

Bryant gets the safe open and brings out a bottle of
whiskey.

DECKARD (V.O.)
Bryant's got a liver problem. A
couple years back he handed me a
bottle and said have a drink for
another man. I been drinking
for him ever since.

Deckard sets down the report and takes the shot Bryant
just poured for him.

DECKARD
Six, huh?

BRYANT
Five. Three nights ago one of
them managed to break into the
Tyrell Corporation. Killed two
guards and got as far as the
Genetic Sector before he got
fried going through an electro-
field.

DECKARD
What was he after?

BRYANT
There wasn't much left of him,
so we can't be sure. But bio-
chemical data and morphology records
of the Nexus-6 were reported
missing. Going on the possibility
they might try to infiltrate we
send Holden in to run Voight-Kampff
tests on the new employees. Guess
he found himself one.

A grim pause.

DECKARD
You got a machine on it yet?

BRYANT
We're using Esper -- a 231 -- that
picked up Holden's alarm. Its
guess is that all five are in
the city.

DECKARD
Where do we start?

Bryant's back at the safe locking up his bottle.

BRYANT
The Tyrell Corporation has a
demo model. Check it out on the
Voight-Kampff. There's a chance
the Nexus-6 is beyond out ability
to detect. If that's the case,
everybody's up shit creek.

DECKARD
What was the cover on the one that
got Holden?

BRYANT
Industrial refuse.

DECKARD
Garbage man?

Bryant nods.

DECKARD
Did personnel have an address on
him?

Bryant fishes a piece of paper out of his pocket,
copies down a number and hands it over.

DECKARD
I'll go take a look.

Deckard stands and holds up his drink.

DECKARD
Thanks.

Like a sick boy looking out of the window, Bryant
watches Deckard down the whiskey. Deckard puts down
the glass and turns to leave.

DECKARD (V.O.)
The big incentive to emigrate was
still free labor. If the public
found out that their door-prizes
might kill them, they might not be
so hot to go up there. This was
one of the worst one's we had and
Bryant was worried. He wanted to
tell me to be discrete or something.
But I didn't give him a chance.

EXT. LEON'S HOTEL ENTRANCE - NIGHT 12

An electrical storm is brewing. Deckard stands out-
side the entrance to an old hotel holding an umbrella,
as people scuttle into doorways to avoid the sudden
downpour.

INT. LEON'S HOTEL LOBBY - NIGHT 13

A heavy metal maze of cubicles and perilous iron
balconies, peopled with rejects from the surface world;
Mato Grosso Indians in white man's clothes and other
lower echelon welfare recipients. Drop city is crowded,
cramped and darkly alive.

Deckard steps out of an elevator and moves through the
crowd. A cloud of steam drifts up through a grating
as two old men, clad in towels descend a flight of
stairs under a neon sign that says bath house.

A musty subterranean wind ripples Deckard's clothes as
he turns into an alcove. He stops in front of a door
that says, MANAGER and pushes the buzzer. It's opened
by an emphysema victim with an oxygen tank lashed to
his hip. Deckard flashes his ID and speaks some words
which are inaudible due to the TUBA MUSIC down the hall.
The man grabs a key from his wall, hands it over and
shuts the door.

INT. LEON'S HOTEL CORRIDOR - NIGHT 14

The companion ways below deck of a big ship are no
more bewildering than the ups and downs and ins and
outs of this establishment. But Deckard finds the door
he's looking for. He pauses a moment, listens, then
knocks. He inserts the key and with a hand on his gun opens it

EARLY IN THE 21TH CENTURY.....

2005-09-21T22:16:00.000-07:00

2005-09-21T22:15:00.000-07:00

BLADE RUNNER

Screenplay by

HAMPTON FANCHER

July 24, 1980 Brighton Productions Inc.
1420 No. Beachwood Drive
Hollywood, Calif. 90028

****************

INT. TYRELL CORPORATION LOCKER ROOM - DAY 1

THE EYE 2

It's magnified and deeply revealed. Flecks of green
and yellow in a field of milky blue. Icy filaments
surround the undulating center.

The eye is brown in a tiny screen. On the metallic
surface below, the words VOIGHT-KAMPFF are finely
etched. There's a touch-light panel across the top
and on the side of the screen, a dial that registers
fluctuations of the iris.

The instrument is no bigger than a music box and sits
on a table between two men. The man talking is big,
looks like an over-stuffed kid. "LEON" it says on
his breast pocket. He's dressed in a warehouseman's
uniform and his pudgy hands are folded expectantly in
his lap. Despite the obvious heat, he looks very cool.

The man facing him is lean, hollow cheeked and dressed
in gray. Detached and efficient, he looks like a cop
or an accountant. His name is HOLDEN and he's all
business, except for the sweat on his face.

The room is large and humid. Rows of salvaged junk
are stacked neatly against the walls. Two large fans
whir above their heads.

LEON
Okay if I talk?

Holden doesn't answer. He's centering Leon's eye on
the machine.

LEON
I kinda get nervous when I
take tests.

HOLDEN
Don't move.

LEON
Sorry.

He tries not to move but finally his lips can't help
a sheepish smile.

LEON
Already had I.Q. test this year --
but I don't think I never had a...

HOLDEN
(cutting in)
Reaction time is a factor in this,
so please pay attention. Answer
quickly as you can.

Leon compresses his lips and nods his big head eagerly.
Holden's voice is cold, geared to intimidate and evoke
response.

HOLDEN
You're in a desert, walking along
in the sand when all of a sudden
you look down and see a...

LEON
What one?

It was a timid interruption, hardly audible.

HOLDEN
What?

LEON
What desert?

HOLDEN
Doesn't make any difference what
desert -- it's completely
hypothetical.

LEON
But how come I'd be there?

HOLDEN
Maybe you're fed up, maybe you
want to be by yourself -- who
knows. So you look down and
see a tortoise. It's crawling
towards you...

LEON
A tortoise. What's that?

HOLDEN
Know what a turtle is?

LEON
Of course.

HOLDEN
Same thing.

LEON
I never seen a turtle.

He sees Holden's patience is wearing thin.

LEON
But I understand what you mean.

HOLDEN
You reach down and flip the
tortoise over on its back, Leon.

Keeping an eye on his subject, Holden notes the dials
in the Voight-Kampff. One of the needles quivers
slightly.

LEON
You make these questions, Mr.
Holden, or they write 'em down
for you?

Disregarding the question, Holden continues, picking
up the pace.

HOLDEN
The tortoise lays on its back,
its belly baking in the hot sun,
beating its legs trying to turn
itself over. But it can't. Not
without your help. But you're
not helping.

Leon's upper lip is quivering.

LEON
Whatcha mean, I'm not helping?

HOLDEN
I mean you're not helping!
Why is that, Leon?

Leon looks shocked, surprised. But the needles in
the computer barely move. Holden goes for the inside
of his coat. But big Leon is faster. His LASER BURNS
a hole the size of a nickel through Holden's stomach.
Unlike a bullet, a laser causes no impact. It goes
through Holden's spine and comes out his back, clean
as a whistle. Like a rag doll he falls back off the
bench from the waist up. By the time he hits the
floor, big slow Leon is already walking away. But he
stops, turns and with a little smile of satisfaction,
FIRES at the machine on the table.

There's a flash and a puff of smoke. The Voight-Kampff
is hit dead center, crippled but not destroyed; as
Leon walks out of the room, one of its lights begins
to blink, faint but steady.

EXT. DESERT - NIGHT 3

The horizon marked by a thin copper line that maybe
the end, of the beginning of a day.

The train that follows, cuts through the night at 400
miles an hour.

INT. TRAIN - NIGHT 4

No clickitty-clack of track-bound noise, it's a long,
insulated Pullman of contoured seats and low-keyed
lighting, coloured to soothe,and empty, except for
the passenger half way down.

His eyes closed, head rested against the glass. Ten
years ago, DECKARD might have been an athlete, a
track man or a welter-weight. The body looks it, but
the face has seen some time -- not all of it good.

INT. TRAIN - REFRESHMENT DISPENSER - NIGHT 5

Deckard comes down the aisle, slips a coin into the
mechanism, receives a beer and returns to his seat.

INT. TRAIN - NIGHT 6

Tired of the program, he takes off the headset and
drops it next to three empty beer bottles and a
sandwich wrapper, adjusts his position and winds up
staring at his reflection in the window. Runs a
hand over his face, it could use a shave. He leans
closer and peers through the glass.

Out there in the black a sign flashes past: SAN
ANGELES, THREE MINUTES.

EXT. PLATFORM - NIGHT 7

The train slides in, smooth as an eel, and stops with-
out a sound. Carrying a bag and umbrella, Deckard
disembarks ahead of the other passengers and into the
sweltering night.

INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT 8

Deckard has got his coat swung over his shoulder, his
shirt already damp, as he walks down the long, hollow
passage under orbs of yellow light.

EXT. TERMINAL - NIGHT 9

Deckard unlocks his car and gets in. Turns the ig-
nition and hits a sensor. The dash console glows
and Deckard sits back waiting for the air unit to cool
things off.

DECKARD (V.O.)
It was 97 degrees in the city and
no hope of improvement. Not bad
if you're a lizard. But two hours
earlier I was drinking Acquavit
with an Eskimo lady in North East
Alaska. That's a tough change to
make. It was so good, I didn't
want to leave, so I left a day
early.

A little detached, Deckard taps another sensor on the
panel, lights up a cigarette and watches as his mes-
sages flash across the viewer stating date, time and
caller. The last one is repeated five times. Deckard
sighs, switches off the viewer and gets on the radio.

DECKARD
Contact. This is Blade Runner One
calling Com-fast 27.

The SOUND OF A CHIME precedes the mechanical female
voice that answers.

VOICE
Blade Runner One, stand by please.

A pause. Followed by a husky male voice.

VOICE
Deckard.

DECKARD
Yah, Gaff.

GAFF (VOICE)
Where the hell you been?

DECKARD
You know where I been. I been on
vacation.

GAFF
Next time you go on vacation,
do me a favor, let us know where
it is.

DECKARD
What's up?

GAFF
Holden got hit.

There is a pause. That was bad news.

DECKARD
Bad?

GAFF
Severed spine. You'd better get
in here. Bryant's waiting for you.

DECKARD
I'll see you in a minute.

The ENGINE REVS, the wipers rake two weeks of dust off
the windshield and Deckard jams out of the lot.

LINKS

2005-09-21T22:11:00.000-07:00

2005-09-21T22:10:00.000-07:00

2005-09-21T22:07:00.001-07:00

2005-09-21T22:07:00.000-07:00

2005-09-21T22:06:00.000-07:00

2005-09-21T22:05:00.000-07:00

2005-09-21T22:03:00.000-07:00

Rutger Hauer Gold!

2005-08-19T04:29:00.000-07:00

Around

I hear a sound of

music your heart

is beating

Floating inside my dreams

your voice

and all the most unberables hopes

far a little white seagul

and

that music dancing and dancing

all over

the house with your
heart beating inside my life

around

a new smile made

with the magic tones of

diamonds is waiting.

_________________
I'll say what's in my heart --In what concerns Rutger Hauer I could
live on toasts and
letter soup! )ba-bump, ba-bump,ba bump!

2004-10-27T16:41:00.000-07:00

O Caçador de Androides*

Poemas para um Androide

2004-10-01T07:45:00.000-07:00

Fantasma Gongórico II

eu acendo os olhos na fogueira
solar
que acende na lua os raios
de candeia,
e se porventura
na aventura da noite
vejo passar as sombras dos cometas
alucinantes
que preenchem os sonhos,
não me assusto,
pois vejo claramente
a cauda encharcada nos tons
do universo
incandescente
e se ,
iridiscentes,
vejo ao longe as estrelas
de escamas alongadas
como caudas de peixes
espelho-as
nos meus olhos
e longe,
figuras atónitas de arcanjos
chamam-me
e eu canto-lhes.

Lagos,16-3-003

"

Sign my Guestbook

View my Guestbook

Acontecimento Nocturno

2004-10-01T07:42:00.000-07:00

(para a Ana de Macedo)

Um cometa luminoso
cheio de nós na cauda
atravessou ontem
o sistema rosa do meu quarto
do outro lado,
as borboletas
do papel de parede
estremeceram
ao vê-lo
e caíram redondas
no chão do meu planeta
como se tivessem sido
roídas
pelo tempo.

mais uma noite de vida

2004-10-01T07:39:00.000-07:00

MAIS UMA NOITE DE VIDA
(para o Fausto Boavida)

PARALISIA

á espera do tal momento
em que aparecesse a musa
estava eu,
sentado de perna em cruz
e silhueta amplamente
instalada
naquela vida de café
pois é,

era bom, e muito bom, até
mas a verdade
e que a tal musa
se deve ter esquecido das horas
e nunca entrou pela porta
e nem sequer pela janela,
fiquei eu ali, só
e o tal momento
nem sequer o vi,
passou.

Lisboa/Monte Carlo 17-2-72

Poema

2004-09-14T23:59:00.000-07:00

A lareira

olhas a lareira incendiada,
a alma em labaredas
nesse fogo
e na cor acesa da granada
ficas adormecida
em estranho sono
e deixas de sentir-te
calcinada
pela brasa ofensiva
do tal sopro.

Esper Machine: a metalinguagem em Blade Runner, de Ridley Scott - IV

2004-09-14T04:40:00.000-07:00

Alfredo Luiz Paes de Oliveira Suppia

Mas aqui nos defrontamos com uma “distração” também prevista no pensamento barthesiano: o referente da imagem fotográfica, algo real, é costumeiramente tomado por algo vivo. Daí muito da “força de verdade” inerente à fotografia, e de seu poder de atestar aos replicantes a verdade de suas próprias existências.

A foto de Rachel: prova da natureza humana revela-se uma fraude; as lembranças da replicante não passam de “implantes de memória”. Se as fotografias de Leon fazem parte de seu acervo de memórias, a despeito de sua materialidade e disponibilidade no plano real, no caso da replicante Rachel a manipulação do particular vai ainda mais longe: seus implantes de memória, um experimento da Tyrell Corp. com vistas a amortizar a inexperiência emocional de seres com existência pré-determinada, bem como a aperfeiçoar a semelhança entre andróides e humanos - “mais humano que um humano, esse é o nosso lema”, menciona o megaempresário Eldon Tyrell - desmoronam as fronteiras entre público e privado. Suas memórias são de outro indivíduo, suas supostas experiências são de conhecimento comum. Provavelmente assim como o unicórnio da mente de Deckard, reproduzido em origami pelo personagem Gaff. Conforme observa Adélia de Meneses, “(...) Passado e presente se superpõem: na vida de um replicante, por falta de tempo (foram ‘ativados’ já adultos) o passado tem que ser criado junto com a experiência do presente” [xiii] .

Imagem da escama de cobra ampliada no microscópio eletrônico: impressão do número de série do fabricante, quase em nível molecular, suscita um novo patamar de realidade. O artifício já é capaz de forjar plenamente a natureza, e começa-se a pôr em cheque a própria concepção de real, num universo no qual a imagem é passível de assumir o caráter de verdade absoluta, ou ao menos a única verdade possível.

Se tentássemos resumir grosseiramente os questionamentos propostos por Blade Runner, poderíamos dizer que o filme trata, essencialmente, da desconstrução do sujeito, ou desintegração do self, numa sociedade pós-industrial sob processo de “desreferencialização”. Ao tratar desse “mínimo denominador comum”, o filme aborda questões centrais no que respeita ao debate em torno da pós-modernidade e, a partir dessa noção, justifica-se o aporte estético - o da “lógica do pastiche” - e narrativo – de desconstrução dos “metarrelatos” – do filme de Scott. Daí a recorrência à fotografia, às questões de origem, às tecnologias da informação e à própria figura dos replicantes, simulacros do humano que perderam o elo com seu referente.

Conforme aponta oportunamente Bukatman, Blade Runner levará às telas uma discussão em torno das tecnologias da informação, simulacros e virtualidade que já não é totalmente inédita [xiv] , mas sem dúvida alguma irá preparar terreno para novas incursões nesse campo, tanto na literatura quanto no próprio cinema, como Tron, (1985), e os mais recentes Estranhos Prazeres (1995), de Kathryn Bigelow, Cidade das Sombras (1998), de Alexander Proyas e Matrix (1999), dos irmãos Wachowsky, para citarmos apenas as produções hollywoodianas do gênero da ficção científica. Na Europa, também foram realizados alguns filmes centrados na questão da simulação nos últimos anos e, no Canadá, não podemos nos esquecer de Videodrome (1983), uma das obras mais polêmicas do veterano-no-assunto David Cronenberg. Todos esses filmes não deixam de discutir, em uma perspectiva mais geral, a proposta apresentada em Blade Runner, e talvez os filmes que mais a fundo tenham penetrado no universo do virtual (enquanto temática) tenham sido mesmo o Matrix dos Wachovsky ou eXistenZ (1999), de Cronenberg.

Embora não seja do escopo deste breve artigo discutir o tema da virtualidade no cinema como um todo, algo impossível de ser logrado em poucas páginas, devemos lembrar que a “brincadeira” metalingüística apresentada pela seqüência do Esper Machine em Blade Runner é bastante ilustrativa não só da reflexão em multimeios, envolvendo especialmente as mídias fotográfica e cinemática, mas também constitui-se uma espécie de discurso embrionário relativo às discussões sobre a potência da imagem na pós-modernidade. Dessa forma, a referida seqüência extrapola a mera citação ao dispositivo fotográfico, adentrando efetivamente no terreno da metalinguagem e levantando algumas das mais pertinentes questões relativas ao virtual, as quais serão retomadas em inúmeras realizações posteriores. Sem dúvida alguma, a seqüência analisada concentra, de maneira nada ingênua, todo um discurso referente à potência da imagem, às inter-relações midiáticas e ao impacto das tecnologias da informação nas sociedades humanas dos anos 80 e 90.

[xiii] MENESES, p. 129.

[xiv] Se fizéssemos um retrospecto da abordagem do tema do simulacro no cinema, talvez precisássemos remontar a seus primórdios, passando obrigatoriamente pelo Metropolis (1927), de Fritz Lang, e não nos esquecendo de que tal tema constitui um caráter inerente ao próprio fenômeno cinematográfico.

Esper Machine: a metalinguagem em Blade Runner, de Ridley Scott - III

2004-09-14T04:38:00.000-07:00

Alfredo Luiz Paes de Oliveira Suppia

Primeiramente, podemos observar na seqüência relatada a descrição que Ridley Scott faz de um mundo largamente baseado nas tecnologias da informação e nos dispositivos ampliadores do potencial dos sentidos. O Esper Machine, aparelho “dissecador” de imagens, nada mais é do que uma extensão tecnológica da visão humana, que amplia consideravelmente o poder do sentido em questão, transportando o homem a outro patamar de realidade, renderizado, virtual. A fotografia investigada por Deckard através de seu aparelho miraculoso extrapola seu caráter ordinário, de imagem estática e bidimensional. Ele penetra a imagem, que se torna agora dinâmica e tridimensional, graças ao rastreio operado pelo aparelho. Deparamos com uma hiper-realização do dispositivo fotográfico; o olhar adentra o espaço e passeia por entre a imagem que, a partir de então, pode revelar segredos inusitados (blow-up). Em decorrência dessa hiper-realização, a fotografia ganha um curioso caráter cinemático, à medida que o aparelho que esquadrinha a imagem vasculha todos os seus meandros, aproximando-se, afastando-se e experimentando novos enquadramentos. O travelling na superfície da imagem estática lhe confere esse caráter cinemático, não só enquanto fenômeno observado, mas enquanto modus operandi. À imagem congelada da fotografia é conferida uma temporalidade que a aproxima do cinema. Scott Bukatman comenta a passagem de maneira bastante esclarecedora:

Através da ampliação da foto em computador, a imagem é penetrada. Este objeto inerte, um mero traço do passado, torna-se multidimensional e é repentinamente possuído pela presentificação do cinema. Deckard opera comandos como um diretor de cinema (enquadre à direita... afaste... aproxime...) e ao momento congelado da fotografia é conferida uma nova temporalidade. Uma grade de coordenadas é superposta à imagem, orientando os movimentos do detetive ao longo do terreno da memória externalizada. O clichê da busca por pistas num determinado cômodo ocorre agora a partir de um terminal. A tela, fronteira que separa as realidades eletrônica e física, torna-se permeável; o espaço por detrás dela, tangível. A referida seqüência antecipa as narrativas de Tron e Neuromancer, nas quais o homem está mais fisicamente inserido no ciberespaço. Também representa, com sua fantasia de controle da imagem, a mais hipnótica meditação sobre o poder do cinema. [ix]

Já Elissa Marder faz a seguinte advertência em relação ao procedimento miraculoso descrito na seqüência em questão:

(...) Em outras palavras, o aparato tecnológico que permite Deckard mudar a perspectiva de uma imagem fotográfica plana, encontrando uma figura escondida numa “reentrância” do quadro é literalmente impensável, mesmo num “paraíso” da tecnologia. Isso porque uma fotografia plana e “morta” – um traço de e um testamento para um evento passado – não pode mudar perspectivas após o fato e permanecer o que chamamos fotografia. A máquina irrompe as fronteiras temporal e espacial do objeto fotográfico. Com a ajuda desse aparato, a fotografia deixa de ser uma fotografia – a imagem do passado é suplementada por imagens presentes aperfeiçoadas pelo movimento e refinada perspectiva. [x]

A fotografia pertencente ao replicante Leon, ampliada no vídeo e investigada por meio de travellings, zooms e reenquadramentos, tudo isso relatado numa seqüência fílmica exposta ao espectador, põe em colóquio fotografia, vídeo e cinema, explicitando inter-relações entre diferentes suportes midiáticos. O filme de Ridley Scott, conforme atesta a referida seqüência, é portador de um denso discurso relativo às simulações e simulacros tão caros à pós-modernidade. O universo de Blade Runner é altamente simulado e ambíguo, largamente baseado em “tecnologias como extensão do homem” (convém remeter a MacLuhan), as únicas capazes de, ainda que fragilmente, distinguir a natureza do artifício, ou mesmo definir o que é o real naquele futuro distópico. As fotografias colecionadas pelos replicantes, como podemos constatar na personagem Rachel, são como que uma caução de sua própria existência. A memória visual e sua materialidade momentânea, a foto, “constróem” a identidade de objetos técnicos que almejam status humano - Marder observa que “(...) Assim como fotografias, replicantes são mecanicamente reproduzidos e sua semelhança conosco é medida e prova de uma humanidade que uma vez houve, mas não há mais” [xi] .A investigação da realidade, do que é natural em oposição ao fabricado, chega ao nível microscópico, conforme observamos na seqüência em que uma mulher asiática atesta a artificialidade de uma escama de cobra, examinando-a ao microscópio eletrônico, por meio do qual pode constatar o “número de série do fabricante”. Na Los Angeles de 2019, também se distingue um ser humano de um replicante por meio de um aparato: o teste Voight-Kampf.

A propósito do teste Voight-Kampf, convém retomarmos alguns aspectos referentes à relação entre fotografia, identidade e história. Logo no início do filme, numa espécie de prelúdio de toda a ação, o replicante Leon é submetido ao teste pelo blade runner Holden - até então não é dada ao espectador nenhuma explicação do que está ocorrendo. Conforme será explicado algumas seqüências depois, o teste consiste num esquema de perguntas cujo objetivo é motivar uma resposta empática do indivíduo submetido – enrubecimento, flutuação da pupila, dilatação da íris. A rigor, replicantes não têm emoções, nem mesmo uma história pela qual pudéssemos evocar a figura freudiana do “romance pessoal de cada um”; portanto, a rigor replicantes não são capazes de demonstrar empatia. Mas o que mais nos interessa é a natureza das perguntas com vistas a motivar uma resposta empática; durante a inquisição do replicante Leon, a pergunta formulada por Holden, definitiva para o desfecho da seqüência é: “diga-me, em poucas palavras, tudo que você se lembra de bom em relação à sua mãe”. Ora, uma vez que foram “manufaturados”, replicantes desconhecem o significado da palavra mãe, especialmente como elemento fundamental da própria história pessoal de cada um, tal como propõe Barthes em suas reflexões sobre a fotografia e, especialmente, a fotografia de sua própria mãe. Em contrapartida, a replicante Rachel, dotada de memórias “falsas”, procura atestar a verdade e o direito de sua existência por meio de uma fotografia virtualmente sua, quando pequena, abraçada por sua mãe. “Veja, essa sou eu com minha mãe”, exclama Rachel, exibindo a Deckard a imagem que, ontologicamente, comprovaria a veracidade de sua existência. Giuliana Bruno faz um diagnóstico muito esclarecedor de toda essa questão em Blade Runner ao afirmar que

A mãe é necessária ao clamor por uma história, à afirmação de uma identidade no decorrer do tempo. (...) Aquela fotografia [de posse de Rachel, na qual se vê uma mulher e uma criança] representa o traço de uma origem e, logo, uma identidade pessoal, a prova de ter existido e portanto ter o direito a existir. (...) Uma ligação teorética é estabelecida em Blade Runner, entre fotografia, mãe e história. É a conexão também encontrada nos escritos de Barthes sobre a fotografia. Em A Câmara Clara, reflexões sobre a fotografia são centradas na figura da mãe, à medida que esta se relaciona com toda a questão da história. A fotografia e a mãe são o elo perdido entre passado, presente e futuro. [xii]

[ix] “(...) By electronically enhancing the photo with his computer, the surface of the image is penetrated. This inert object, a mere trace of the past, becomes multidimensional and is suddenly possessed of present-tense modality of cinema. Deckard issues commands like a film director (´Track right… Now pull back…´) and frozen moment of the photograph is granted a new temporality. A grid is overlaid on this field and measured co-ordinates regulate and guide the detective´s movement across the terrain of externalized memory. The classic scene of searching a room for clues is now played out on a terminal. The screen, that frontier separating electronic and physical realities, becomes permeable; the space behind it, tangible. The sequence anticipates the narratives of Tron and Neuromancer, in wich humans are more physically inserted into cyberspace. The sequence, with its fantasied control of the projected image, is a most hypnotic meditation on cinematic power.” BUKATMAN, pp. 46-7.
[x] “In other words, the technological apparatus wich allows Deckard to change the perspective of a flat, photographic image and to find a figure hidden in a corner of the frame is literally unthinkable, even in a technological paradise. For a flat “dead” photograph – a trace of and testament to a past event – cannot shift perspectives after the fact, and remain what we call a photograph. The machine disrupts the temporal and spatial boundaries of the photographic object. With the aid of this apparatus, the photograph ceases to be a photograph – the past image is supplemented by a present images enhanced by movement and refined perspective”. MARDER, p. 102.

[xi] “Like photographs, replicants are mechanically reproduced and, like photographs, their likeness to us is the measure and proof of a humanity that once was, and is no longer”. Op. cit., p. 97.

[xii] The mother is necessary to the claiming of a history, to the affirmation of na identity over time.(…) That photograph represents the trace of an origin and thus a personal identity, the proof of having existed and therefore of having the right to exist (…). A theoretical link is established in Blade Runner between photography, mother, and history. It is a connection that we also find in Barthe’s writings on photography. In Camera Lucida, reflections on photography are centered on the figure of the mother as she relates to the question of history. Photography and the mother are missing link between past, present, and future. BRUNO, p. 71.

Esper Machine: a metalinguagem em Blade Runner, de Ridley Scott - II

2004-09-14T04:36:00.000-07:00

Alfredo Luiz Paes de Oliveira Suppia

Finalmente, algumas seqüências adiante no filme de Scott, chegamos ao objeto principal de nossa análise: a seqüência do Esper Machine [iv] , como também ficou conhecida a passagem em questão. Deckard encontra-se agora sozinho em seu próprio apartamento quando decide investigar a fotografia encontrada no esconderijo de Leon. Ele insere a foto num aparelho sobre uma TV, o Esper Machine, e automaticamente a imagem é reproduzida no vídeo. O blade runner inicia uma investigação minuciosa da fotografia, operando comandos vocais que obrigam o aparelho a ampliar determinadas regiões da imagem, rastrear outros espaços, mudar de ângulo, reduzir e reenquadrar repetidas vezes. Com esse artifício, Deckard literalmente disseca a fotografia, investigando cada região da imagem, cada vestígio suspeito, valendo-se até mesmo de uma segunda imagem presente na primeira: o reflexo no espelho circular. É nessa complexa investigação que o blade runner irá descobrir, após diversas ampliações, reenquadramentos e giros de ângulo, a imagem de um indivíduo até então ignorado na fotografia vista a olho nu: uma mulher com tatuagem no pescoço. Após centrar o foco sobre o rosto da mulher e ampliar consideravelmente a imagem, Deckard solicita uma cópia impressa em papel. Essa pista levará o blade runner a outro replicante e dará início efetivo à caçada nas ruas de Los Angeles. Sobre a seqüência do Esper Machine, Giuliana Bruno observa oportunamente que

Trata-se do mesmo processo de investigação e detecção que vemos em Blow Up [filme de Antonioni]: a serialização da imagem estática, a fotografia, produz um novo significado, uma história, um texto fílmico. A revelação do segredo é um efeito da sequencialização, e conseqüente narrativização da imagem estática. [v]

A foto é inserida no Esper Machine, que reproduz a imagem esquadrinhada no vídeo. O dispositivo é uma extensão tecnológica da visão humana, capaz de desbravar minúcias de um universo que flerta constantemente com o virtual. Conforme aponta Bukatman, a investigação criminalística ocorre extra loco, sendo a busca de pistas operada a partir de um terminal eletrônico. Além disso, o palco dessa mesma busca de pistas não deixa de ser um fragmento de memória externalizado: deparamos com uma nova dimensão de relações entre o público e o privado, o real e o virtual.

O aparelho centra o foco e amplia a porção da fotografia referente ao espelho (à esquerda). Imagem dentro da imagem endossa o caráter metalingüístico da seqüência, e remete claramente à pintura de Jan van Eyck. À direira, detalhes do quadro The Marriage of Giovanni Arnolfini and Giovanna Cenami - imagem refletida no espelho revela a presença de mais dois indivíduos no espaço retratado pela pintura, sendo um deles o próprio van Eyck. “Jogo” de imagens ou “brincadeira” metalingüística, novos elementos são oferecidos ao espectador numa segunda imagem dentro da primeira, assim como na foto investigada em Blade Runner.

Ampliando ainda mais, o aparelho revela em detalhes a imagem refletida no espelho. A partir de então tem início efetivo o processo de hiper-realização do dispositivo fotográfico, em que o próprio espectador do filme, através do personagem Deckard, adentra o quadrilátero plano da fotografia. O espaço bidimensional ganha uma terceira dimensão, e diluem-se as fronteiras formais entre fotografia e cinema.

A movimentação da imagem levada a cabo pelo Esper Machine remete ainda mais ao aparato cinematográfico. A figura de uma mulher pode agora ser vista. Deparamos com uma forma radicalizada de blow-up fotográfico: a imagem revela um dado novo, antes ignorado. Segundo Marder, a imagem da mulher tatuada constitui uma metáfora para o espectador; tratar-se-ia, na realidade, de uma imagem projetada pelo próprio Deckard, uma reconstrução de sua própria memória: “Realmente, a fotografia duplicada é a resposta visual do filme às questões, ‘Como pode ela não saber o que ela é?’ [pergunta que Deckard faz a Tyrell, sobre Rachel] e ‘Como posso saber se eu sou o que eu sou?’. Quando Deckard ‘reconstrói’ e ‘relembra’ a face de Zhora a partir da fotografia de um quarto vazio, ele não pode mais distanciar-se da imagem que ele cria do replicante que é o referente ausente para a fotografia. A fotografia não é mais um receptáculo vazio de um evento passado que assegura a seu portador que ele ainda vive. Todas as marcas de diferenciação que delineariam uma clara divisão entre sujeito e ‘coisa’, humano e replicante, fotografia e filme, são apagadas [vi] . Convém ressaltar que as observações de Marder não só potencializam a reflexão em torno das principais questões propostas pelo filme – a questão da origem, da inteligência artificial, da consciência, da simulação e da realidade -, mas corroboram a tese de que o personagem Deckard é, ele próprio, um replicante, algo que num primeiro momento parece uma trivialidade narrativa mas que, num exame profundo, revela-se fundamental para a compreensão do discurso de Blade Runner [vii] .

Deckard solicita uma cópia impressa da ampliação. De posse da nova pista, o blade runner irá a caça de um novo suspeito nas ruas de Los Angeles. A partir de uma investigação virtualizada, operada a partir de um terminal eletrônico e na qual um fragmento de memória é externalizado e dissecado, obtêm-se subsídios para um procedimento policial real. As esferas pública e privada sofrem um rearranjo, assim como as concepções de real e virtual, paticular e coletivo. Elissa Murder observa que, seguindo o caminho inverso de Blow-up, em que a fotografia funciona como “memória” de um assassinato que realmente aconteceu, Blade Runner apresenta a fotografia em questão como memória de um crime ainda por acontecer [viii] .

[iv] Esper Machine é o nome dado ao dispositivo que amplia a fotografia e opera a investigação da mesma, no apartamento de Deckard, sob o comando vocal do blade runner. Embora esse nome não seja explicitado no filme, consta em notas de produção, e vários autores denominam a seqüência da investigação da fotografia a partir do nome do referido aparelho, o que pode ser conferido em textos como os de Scott Bukatman, Paul Sammon, ou em sites especializados no filme, como www.bladezone.com.

[v] “At work is the same process of investigation and detection that we find in Blow-up: the serialization of the still image, the photograph, produces a new meaning, a story, a filmic text. The revelation of the secret is an effect of the sequentialization, and thus narrativization, of the still image.” BRUNO, p. 73.

[vi] “Indeed, the doubled photograph is the film’s visual response to the questions, ‘how can it not know what it is?’ and ‘How can I know that I am I ?’. When Deckard ‘reconstructs’ and ‘remembers’ Zhora’s face from a photograph of an empty room, he can no longer distance himself from the image he creates or from the ‘it’ that is the missing referent for the photogaph. The photograph is no longer a sealed receptacle of a past event that assures its bearer that he is still leaving. All of the differentiating marks that would draw a clear line between subject and ´thing´, human and replicant, photograph and film, have been effaced.” MARDER, p. 104.

[vii] Aqui podemos fazer um pequeno desvio para tratarmos de uma dúvida que sempre pairou sobre as discussões em torno de Blade Runner. É sabido que Ridley Scott procurou imprimir um caráter fortemente ambíguo a seu filme, tornando-o passível de diferentes leituras – talvez esse o ponto mais atraente da narrativa. Recentemente, o diretor admitiu ter trabalhado desde o princípio com a perspectiva de Deckard ser mesmo um replicante. A título de curiosidade, para alguns cinéfilos e estudiosos de Blade Runner Deckard é um replicante, na verdade um dos Nexus-6 amotinados, capturados e “reprogramado” com implantes de memória (a exemplo de Rachel), enquanto os verdadeiros blade runners seriam Holden, ou ainda Gaff. Embora tal conjectura nos traga o sério risco de uma interpretação excessivamente pessoal e subjetiva, a mesma não deixa de ser sugerida em detalhes como o diálogo entre Bryant e Deckard (em que o comissário menciona um número que não confere com o dos replicantes a serem perseguidos), a estranha luminosidade das pupilas de Deckard numa rápida passagem do filme (índice da natureza artificial), o fato de Roy Batty já conhecer o nome de Deckard, a intrigante fala de Gaff “você fez realmente um trabalho de homem” e, finalmente, o “sonho do unicórnio”, ligado às seqüências finais envolvendo o origami.

Esper Machine: a metalinguagem em Blade Runner, de Ridley Scott - I

2004-09-14T04:32:00.000-07:00

Alfredo Luiz Paes de Oliveira Suppia·

Muito já se discutiu acerca do parentesco do cinema com a fotografia, haja vista o suporte do dispositivo cinematográfico tradicional, não digital. Obviamente, o cinema está intimamente ligado à fotografia, desde as primeiras experiências de Jules-Marey e Muybridge. Diversos autores detêm-se sobre a relação entre as mídias fotográfica e cinematográfica, as quais, via de regra, partilham o mesmo suporte, e um dos textos mais famosos a respeito do assunto é “Ontologia da Imagem Fotográfica”, no livro O Que é o Cinema?, de André Bazin – nesse ensaio, o teórico francês vale-se da reafirmação do parentesco cinema-fotografia para reforçar sua tese de realismo cinematográfico. Mas a discussão sobre esse aspecto vai além dos teóricos e pode ser constatada numa infinidade de filmes, seja por meio da simples citação, da metalinguagem ou mesmo de experiências mais radicais e criativas, das quais um bom exemplo seria o La Jetée de Chris Marker. Dentre os inúmeros filmes não tão radicais em termos estéticos mas que também abordam, pelo menos ao nível do enredo, o tema da fotografia, estão Blow-up, de Michelangelo Antonioni, Cortina de Fumaça, de Wayne Wang, e o recente Amnésia, de Jonathan Nolan, para citarmos apenas três exemplos. Em resumo, a fotografia não só como suporte do dispositivo cinematográfico, mas inserida “corporalmente” na narrativa, ou ao menos discutida ao nível do enredo, é algo a que estamos razoavelmente habituados. Discutiremos nestas linhas apenas um caso bastante específico de citação metalingüística, ilustrado por uma seqüência das mais comentadas no âmbito da cinematografia de ficção científica: a investigação de uma foto em Blade Runner – O Caçador de Andróides, de Ridley Scott.

Nessa seqüência (que remete claramente ao Blow-up de Antonioni), observamos uma curiosa “brincadeira” do cinema com a fotografia, a qual levanta questões interessantes no que respeita à reflexão em multimeios. Mas antes de a comentarmos, devemos esclarecer alguns aspectos do filme de Scott. Na Los Angeles de 2019, uma divisão especial de policiais, denominados blade runners, tem como função executar replicantes, andróides virtualmente idênticos aos seres humanos, então considerados ilegais na Terra. A trama inicia-se com o assassinato do blade runner Holden, praticado pelo replicante Leon na sede da Tyrell Corporation (empresa responsável pela produção dos andróides), e a partir daí entrará em cena o personagem do ex-blade runner Deckard, re-convocado pela polícia para levar a cabo o extermínio de 4 replicantes rebelados, modelos Nexus-6, de última geração. Ao dar início a suas investigações, Deckard revista o apartamento vazio de Leon e, vasculhando uma gaveta, encontra algumas fotografias que serão coletadas como provas para um exame posterior. Dentre as referidas fotografias está uma que chamará a atenção do investigador, a qual retrata um interior (provavelmente do próprio apartamento em revista), no qual se percebe um homem com o braço direito fletido sobre uma mesa, à esquerda da imagem, alguma mobília e objetos domésticos espalhados pelo espaço e, mais ao centro-direita, um espelho redondo fixo a uma parede - é pertinente lembrar que a atmosfera da fotografia (sua iluminação, disposição dos objetos, o foco e o espelho retratado) evoca a pintura de Vermeer ou ainda de van Eyck, segundo autores que analisaram a imagem em questão [i] . A esta altura cabe um parêntesis para lembrar que a fotografia encontrada no apartamento de Leon representa um fragmento de memória do replicante, e quem tiver visto o filme de Scott irá observar a especial atenção que o diretor dispensa à questão da memória visual. Replicantes não têm passado; “nascem prontos”, para durar apenas quatro anos, são emocionalmente inexperientes e produzem incansavelmente um acervo de memórias visuais, as quais colecionam como um bem precioso, algo que os humaniza - afinal, que suporte mais adequado à coleção de lembranças fragmentárias que não a fotografia? Replicantes adoram suas preciosas fotos, e a memória visual lhes será algo recorrente em diversos momentos – “Eu vi coisas que vocês humanos não acreditariam”, exclama o replicante Roy Batty à determinada altura do filme. Conforme observa Elissa Marder, “Como memórias protéticas, fotografias transformam a realidade do tempo e existência em objetos tangíveis. Em Blade Runner, esses objetos planos tornam-se a prova cabal de que seu portador vive” [ii] – paradoxalmente, mas em consonância com a ambigüidade que permeia toda a sua estrutura, o filme também irá insistentemente pôr à prova a noção da fotografia como prova de um fato, verdade ou realidade. Num denso ensaio, Marder relaciona fotografia e cinema tendo como objeto de estudo o filme de Ridley Scott, notadamente prolífico em debates sobre multimeios. A autora sustenta que, em Blade Runner, fotografias são usadas como instrumento de análise da mídia fílmica, através de um sistemático desmembramento de seus elementos constitutivos. Marder também remete ao pensamento barthesiano ao comentar que

(...) Enquanto fotografias falam sempre no pretérito perfeito (elas atestam o que Barthes chama o “isto-foi” do referente), o filme destrói o cordão que une a fotografia ao referente (bem como ao passado) pela superposição de imagens umas às outras na construção de um presente ficcional (o “assim-sendo”). E essa disjunção temporal tem a ver exclusivamente com o movimento. (…) Porque o filme, em termos materiais, é uma coletânea de fotografias dispostas em seqüência. Quando elas são postas num projetor, essas imagens mortas parecem assumir vida – elas se movem e falam.(…) Entretanto, é a inexorável “realidade” que nós aceitamos dessa imagens mortas que nos permite investir na ficcionalidade do filme. Uma vez que essas imagens são dispostas no tempo nós tentamos constituir um “presente” através delas. [iii]

<< Foto encontrada no apartamento do replicante Leon: composição da imagem remete às pinturas dos holandeses van Eyck e Vermeer – este, suspeita-se hoje, pode ter utilizado os artifícios da câmara escura em sua arte.

<< The Marriage of Gian Arnolfini and Giovanna Cenami (óleo sobre madeira, 81.8 x 59.7 cm, National Gallery, London).

A Girl Asleep (87x76, 1657, New York, Metropolitan Museum). >>

· Jornalista, pós-graduado em letras e literatura, mestrando em Multimeios no Instituto de Artes, Unicamp.

[i] Cf. BUKATMAN, p. 46.

[ii] “(...) As prosthetic memories, photographs transform the reality of time and existense into tangible objects. In Blade Runner, these flat objects become the dead proof that their bearer is still living”. MARDER, p. 96.

[iii] “(...) While photographs always speak the underniable reality of the “past perfect” (they have been witness to what Barthes calls the “having-been-there” of the referent), film destroys the photograph´s link to the referent (hence the past) by binding images to other images in the construction of a fictional present tense (what he calls a “being-there”) of the thing. E essa disjunção temporal tem a ver exclusivamente com o movimento. (...) For a film, as material trace, is a collection of still photographs arranged in sequence. When they are put into a projector these dead stills appear to assume life – they move and speak. (…) However, it is the very “reality” we accord these past dead images that allows us to invest in the fictionality of the fiction film. Once these images are put into time we attempt to constitute a “present” through them (…)”. Op. cit., pp. 95-7.

Poema

2004-09-14T04:29:00.001-07:00

Terra Habitada

Rios suaves,transformados
em azuis correm num leito
doce,de pedras niveladas;
calmos,eles correm no seu seio.
Veias correntes invadem terras verdes,
pomares,laranjas
acentuam os tons das serras
e dispõem á volta,as águas mansas.
Tudo na paisagem se dispõe,
tudo circula no sangue muito azul;
um pouco de vermelho é que propõe
a diferença profunda do cerúleo.

Este corpo é diferente
é mais circular a panorâmica
alcança uma vertigem, sente uma alegria quente
e muito ampla.
Como rosas plantadas á sua beira
caminhamos dispostos numa cruz
as flores que colhemos são a maneira
de atravessarmos singularmente a luz.

Maria Henriques 02

Poema

2004-09-14T04:29:00.000-07:00

Em memória de João César Monteiro

e lá partiste,
com os teus dois olhos redondos
em cima do tal nariz adunco,
envolvido no fumo do cigarro
partiste
branquíssimo de neve;
ao fundo
o fumo negro desse filme
onde personagens falavam
de histórias de amor
ao fogo lento
de alquimicas trocas de segredos
e tu,longinquo
partiste branquissimo de neve
pelo meio dos incêndios
onde poetas acenderam
os cigarros e as luzes
das palavras
e lá navegaste nesse filme
em que o preto e o branco
se envolveram,obscuros
com o teu nome de Deus.

Em busca da memória e do sentido da vida

2004-09-13T01:27:00.000-07:00

BLADE RUNNER

Em busca da memória e do sentido da vida

“não somos todos ovelhas em busca do pastor?”

Condenados a não viver e a não regressar á Terra, os andróides do Blade Runner
assemelham-se profundamente aqueles que, desde a expulsão do Paraíso, anseiam pela reintegração como Adão e Eva ao serem levados pelo Arcanjo.
As ovelhas eléctricas de Phliph K. Dick, assumem em Ridley Scott uma natureza quase angélica na figura de Roy Batty, o andróide que procura uma nova consciência.
Roy Batty é aquele que descobre mais rapidamente que o elemento fotografia/memória é afinal a mentira maior de toda a sua existência. A segunda, a ilusão de permanência. Roy Batty não nos mostra uma fotografia para invocar esperanças em relação a uma possível humanidade.Ele sabe tudo a respeito de si próprio e sabe assumir a sua impossibilidade social. Ele não tem nada para trás e á sua frente,apenas o amor pela sua amada e o conhecimento da sua condenação á morte. Ao assumir o controle da sua própria vida, arriscando-a para ir ao encontro dos seus criadores assume uma das mais belas qualidades humanas; a capacidade de lutar pela liberdade. Podendo escolher viver o tempo que lhe restava na companhia da amada, escolheu o risco de ao enfrentar o criador dos criadores, perder a vida que lhe restava. Essa escolha faz dele alguém que merece viver, alguém que ao sair das cortinas de sombra, dos medos característicos aos rebanhos humanos que se perdem nas imensas catedrais de consumo para aí esconderem os seus terrores da morte,assume o controle do próprio destino.
O risco como contrário da acomodação é símbolo de liberdade -“ to live isn´t an easy thing, hey...“ .Um ser livre já não faz parte de rebanhos e Batty transforma-se no viajante á procura da resposta para as suas interrogações.
Terão as ovelhas sonhos eléctricos?...
Orson Wells dizia que o sonho é a única coisa importante.O nosso Andróide converte-se naquele que sabe que vai morrer e salva Deckard, aquele que sempre soube que só lhe restava matar.
Ao escolher salvá-lo, assume uma elevação espiritual de extrema importância.A capacidade de aceitar a morte própria na esperança da continuidade; salva Deckard e passa-lhe a memória para não ser esquecido -“I´ve seen things you people wouldn´t believe...” Confia-lhe a breve historia e morre.
E Deckard? Será ele apenas mais um sonho eléctrico de Roy Batty?...
Ou podemos afinal salvarmo-nos uns aos outros?...

Maria Henriques.