This month has been more challenging than most. I knew the cyberpunk theme was going to net me some bad films, but I hadn't quite counted on seeing so many duds in the theater. It seems like the majority of the films that I've watched lately have been boring, derivative, or stupid (except for Spider-Man: Into the Spider-verse (2018), you really should see that one).
Which makes the writing of this post a real treat.
Because, now, I get to write about a movie I really love.
Now I get to tell you about Blade Runner 2049. And, yes, I have technically already reviewed this movie (way back when I was posting on Facebook), but I always have things to say about it.
And rewatching it last night kind of reinvigorated my soul.
I. What is It?
Agent K is a Blade Runner. He hunts down rogue replicants and "retires" them (read: he kills them). What starts as a routine retirement case will end up putting K on a journey of self-awareness, and personal discovery. It will also change the world.II. Stunningly Beautiful Vision
Denis Villeneuve and Roger Deakins tag team to make one of the most jaw-droppingly gorgeous films I have ever seen. The shot composition is incredible: Deakins knows how to establish depth of field and frame his subjects. The use of color is absolutely gorgeous: I've never seen a movie that utilizes its color so effectively from a metaphorical stand point, but also never feels preachy or ham-handed about it. The color is there to be read into or not: it exists both as a statement of meaning and a statement of pure aesthetic beauty.
This is the film that won Deakins his Oscar, and you won't wonder why.
This is the film that won Deakins his Oscar, and you won't wonder why.
III. Hauntingly Beautiful Music
The original Blade Runner (1982) sports an iconic soundtrack from Greek composer, Vangelis. Anyone stepping into his shoes would have an uphill battle creating a sound-scape that could stand against the original.
Enter Hans Zimmer and Benjamin Wallfisch.
Their score is unabashedly inspired by Vangelis', but also finds places to establish its own tone and feel. This thing sounds every bit as beautiful as it looks. The score ranges from the deeply sinister to delicately wondrous. I don't even have a proper sound system installed for my TV, yet, and this movie still stirs my soul when I watch it.
It's a soundtrack you can just turn on a listen to, independent of the movie. That's awesome. And rare.
Despite its lengthy runtime, there really is no wasted screen time: clues to the mystery are littered throughout the film, and those longing, lingering shots that feel extraneous are there to help set mood, establish place, and support theme. Could you cut this movie? Yeah, you could. But then you'd have compromised a work of genius. Don't get me wrong: I've become a codgy old man when it comes to movie runtimes: I almost always prefer a quick 90-minute jaunt to an epic. Almost always. With Blade Runner 2049, I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't have stuck around another half-hour just to stay in its world more.
I understand why people didn't like this movie. It demands of you. It could very easily offer simple answers, but stubbornly refuses to do so. Instead of giving you the sum, it gives you the equation and allows you to solve for x on your own. I would take issue with that if the film left me unable to solve for any of its mysteries, but the hints and clues are all there. And because the movie takes the stance that it does, you and I could interpret the film in different ways, and we'd still be right. That's the power of a great film (and a great novel): you have to earn your interpretation of it, but no one can tell you you're wrong about it.
Enter Hans Zimmer and Benjamin Wallfisch.
Their score is unabashedly inspired by Vangelis', but also finds places to establish its own tone and feel. This thing sounds every bit as beautiful as it looks. The score ranges from the deeply sinister to delicately wondrous. I don't even have a proper sound system installed for my TV, yet, and this movie still stirs my soul when I watch it.
It's a soundtrack you can just turn on a listen to, independent of the movie. That's awesome. And rare.
IV. It's a Novel
Denis Villeneuve has crafted a cinematic novel. The film is long, runs at its own pace, and is uncompromisingly demanding of its viewer. It doesn't feel like a normal movie. It feels like so much more than that.Despite its lengthy runtime, there really is no wasted screen time: clues to the mystery are littered throughout the film, and those longing, lingering shots that feel extraneous are there to help set mood, establish place, and support theme. Could you cut this movie? Yeah, you could. But then you'd have compromised a work of genius. Don't get me wrong: I've become a codgy old man when it comes to movie runtimes: I almost always prefer a quick 90-minute jaunt to an epic. Almost always. With Blade Runner 2049, I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't have stuck around another half-hour just to stay in its world more.
I understand why people didn't like this movie. It demands of you. It could very easily offer simple answers, but stubbornly refuses to do so. Instead of giving you the sum, it gives you the equation and allows you to solve for x on your own. I would take issue with that if the film left me unable to solve for any of its mysteries, but the hints and clues are all there. And because the movie takes the stance that it does, you and I could interpret the film in different ways, and we'd still be right. That's the power of a great film (and a great novel): you have to earn your interpretation of it, but no one can tell you you're wrong about it.
V. The Little Things
Did you notice the Atari ads? The Pan Am building? The fact that the USSR is still a thing in this world?
This movie is chock-a-block with interesting details and nuanced choices.
Did you notice how the light in Niander Wallace's (Jared Leto) building follows the people walking around in it? That the place is shrouded in darkness until a person walks by, where it will be momentarily bathed in light, and plunged back into darkness as soon as they pass? Wallace's corporate nightmare is a beautiful set and there's a lot to unpack there, metaphorically. It could easily just have been an office building. But it isn't. It's its own visual metaphor. Did you also notice how rare real wood is in this world? K is offered riches for the tiny horse figurine. Wallace's office is LINED and constructed of wood. It is a flagrant show of wealth.
One of my favorite effects in the film is how they show Joi (Ana de Armas). Joi is K's (Ryan Gosling) AI love interest. She exists mainly as a hologram. And the film has a lot of fun showing us her transparency: there are times where it serves her character, and times when it undermines it. All a character needs to do is open the curtains, and Joi's illusion is immediately made obvious. The scene where she pairs with a prostitute by overlaying her image on the prostitute's body in order to have physical contact with K is one of the most intimate, interesting things in the film. Joi's movements are slow, and naive, while the prostitute's movements are assured: their bodies sync but fall into and out of motion with each other. For a scene about having sex, it is both restrained, in that it shows very little actual nudity (in a film that does not shy away from explicit content), and incredibly erotic, in that you are watching two characters do something deeply personal and emotional with each other. I applaud Villeneuve for allowing that moment to be beautiful and not exploitative. It could have been a scene about fucking: we could have gotten a hot and heavy scene of two (three) beautiful people having sex with each other. But the camera does not show us their nudity. It does not even show us the act of sex. We see the pairing, and then we cut to Mariette (Mackenzie Davis) waking up the next morning. We know they had sex. But Villeneuve allows those characters to have their privacy. I like that.
There's a lot of interesting things about dogs, too. Deckard (Harrison Ford), when K finds him, has a dog. K, understandingly, asks if the dog is "real." Deckard responds, "Ask him." This is one of the major themes of the film: what does it mean to be real? Isn't one's being entirely dependent upon how one feels about it? It doesn't really matter if the dog is a real dog or a replicant dog. It's a dog. To compound that imagery, K is constantly being referred to as "a good boy," and a "loyal dog." Even Luv (Sylvia Hoeks), a replicant herself (she serves sinister billionaire Niander Wallace (Jared Leto)) remarks about what a "good boy" K is. But it is Luv's last line in the film that really serves the imagery, here: she says, after apparently defeating K in battle, "I'm the best one!" They are both servants. They are both loyal dogs. And while K has been fighting all this time to find himself, Luv has been fighting all this time to serve in the best capacity. It makes her death all the more tragic: K finally has to kill one of his own kind, and he pities her, knowing the limitations of her existence, and knowing that she'll never get to see the miracle that changed the trajectory of his own life. And the question remains: who was more real? The loyal dog, Luv, or the hopeless romantic, K?
I don't know. In the words of Deckard: ask them.
This movie is chock-a-block with interesting details and nuanced choices.
Did you notice how the light in Niander Wallace's (Jared Leto) building follows the people walking around in it? That the place is shrouded in darkness until a person walks by, where it will be momentarily bathed in light, and plunged back into darkness as soon as they pass? Wallace's corporate nightmare is a beautiful set and there's a lot to unpack there, metaphorically. It could easily just have been an office building. But it isn't. It's its own visual metaphor. Did you also notice how rare real wood is in this world? K is offered riches for the tiny horse figurine. Wallace's office is LINED and constructed of wood. It is a flagrant show of wealth.
One of my favorite effects in the film is how they show Joi (Ana de Armas). Joi is K's (Ryan Gosling) AI love interest. She exists mainly as a hologram. And the film has a lot of fun showing us her transparency: there are times where it serves her character, and times when it undermines it. All a character needs to do is open the curtains, and Joi's illusion is immediately made obvious. The scene where she pairs with a prostitute by overlaying her image on the prostitute's body in order to have physical contact with K is one of the most intimate, interesting things in the film. Joi's movements are slow, and naive, while the prostitute's movements are assured: their bodies sync but fall into and out of motion with each other. For a scene about having sex, it is both restrained, in that it shows very little actual nudity (in a film that does not shy away from explicit content), and incredibly erotic, in that you are watching two characters do something deeply personal and emotional with each other. I applaud Villeneuve for allowing that moment to be beautiful and not exploitative. It could have been a scene about fucking: we could have gotten a hot and heavy scene of two (three) beautiful people having sex with each other. But the camera does not show us their nudity. It does not even show us the act of sex. We see the pairing, and then we cut to Mariette (Mackenzie Davis) waking up the next morning. We know they had sex. But Villeneuve allows those characters to have their privacy. I like that.
There's a lot of interesting things about dogs, too. Deckard (Harrison Ford), when K finds him, has a dog. K, understandingly, asks if the dog is "real." Deckard responds, "Ask him." This is one of the major themes of the film: what does it mean to be real? Isn't one's being entirely dependent upon how one feels about it? It doesn't really matter if the dog is a real dog or a replicant dog. It's a dog. To compound that imagery, K is constantly being referred to as "a good boy," and a "loyal dog." Even Luv (Sylvia Hoeks), a replicant herself (she serves sinister billionaire Niander Wallace (Jared Leto)) remarks about what a "good boy" K is. But it is Luv's last line in the film that really serves the imagery, here: she says, after apparently defeating K in battle, "I'm the best one!" They are both servants. They are both loyal dogs. And while K has been fighting all this time to find himself, Luv has been fighting all this time to serve in the best capacity. It makes her death all the more tragic: K finally has to kill one of his own kind, and he pities her, knowing the limitations of her existence, and knowing that she'll never get to see the miracle that changed the trajectory of his own life. And the question remains: who was more real? The loyal dog, Luv, or the hopeless romantic, K?
I don't know. In the words of Deckard: ask them.
VI. Noir Doesn't Have to Be Dark
Villeneuve and Deakins prove that noir can be colorful. That the "noir," the blackness, can be thematic, as much as color limitation. The original Blade Runner established the cyberpunk aesthetic: It was dark and grimy, shot through with splashes of neon. Blade Runner 2049 owes much of its look to its forebear, but also is not afraid of plunging into colorful locations.
The irradiated waste of Las Vegas is strikingly orange. The building-height advertisements bath LA in neon blues and pinks. Niander Wallace's building is a corporate modernist nightmare, in smooth stone and wood. The trash fields on LA's outer limits are ruddy and rusted.
It would have been easy to make this film dark, and faded, and ugly.
But Villeneuve has made its ugliness beautiful. And that is a feat.
Villeneuve and Deakins prove that noir can be colorful. That the "noir," the blackness, can be thematic, as much as color limitation. The original Blade Runner established the cyberpunk aesthetic: It was dark and grimy, shot through with splashes of neon. Blade Runner 2049 owes much of its look to its forebear, but also is not afraid of plunging into colorful locations.
The irradiated waste of Las Vegas is strikingly orange. The building-height advertisements bath LA in neon blues and pinks. Niander Wallace's building is a corporate modernist nightmare, in smooth stone and wood. The trash fields on LA's outer limits are ruddy and rusted.
It would have been easy to make this film dark, and faded, and ugly.
But Villeneuve has made its ugliness beautiful. And that is a feat.
The irradiated waste of Las Vegas is strikingly orange. The building-height advertisements bath LA in neon blues and pinks. Niander Wallace's building is a corporate modernist nightmare, in smooth stone and wood. The trash fields on LA's outer limits are ruddy and rusted.
It would have been easy to make this film dark, and faded, and ugly.
But Villeneuve has made its ugliness beautiful. And that is a feat.
VII. The Ensemble
Everyone in this cast is on the top of their game.
Ryan Gosling is the perfect choice for K: he does soulful stoic so well he should trademark it. K's arc is believable because of the pain is Gosling's baby blues.
Ana de Armas plays a literal tool of male fantasy (the Joi series is supposed to be "whatever you desire"), but finds genuine pathos and care in her arc. The fact that the film never tells us definitively whether or not she ACTUALLY loves K or is simply programmed to is a nice touch. de Armas' performance is wonderful, and it gives the viewer something to think about in that regard. What is love, really? And I never thought I'd get so emotionally invested in a hologram, but they pulled it off.
Jared Leto is a special kind of restrained crazy as Niander Wallace. The part is relatively small, but no one told Leto that. His character feels realized and interesting in a way that belies the character's minuscule screentime. Say what you want about Leto's offscreen antics: the man is great, and his performance here is great, too.
Harrison Ford gives one of his career best performances. His Deckard is a man beaten down by time and circumstance, and you can see it all etched on his face. Like Gosling, he communicates with expressional tics and averted stares as much as he does with dialogue. He could easily have phoned this one in and collected a paycheck. But he didn't. He showed up. And it is wonderful to watch.
Robin Wright has a small, but equally powerful role as Lt. Joshi. She is a tough woman living in an uncompromising world. It is interesting to see how she both cares for K, but also knows that she must not. She devalues him in little ways, with backhanded compliments she doesn't realize wound him. Yet she is proud of him and the work that he does for her. It could have been a throw-away part, but Wright digs in and makes it work.
Everyone in this cast is on the top of their game.
Ryan Gosling is the perfect choice for K: he does soulful stoic so well he should trademark it. K's arc is believable because of the pain is Gosling's baby blues.
Ana de Armas plays a literal tool of male fantasy (the Joi series is supposed to be "whatever you desire"), but finds genuine pathos and care in her arc. The fact that the film never tells us definitively whether or not she ACTUALLY loves K or is simply programmed to is a nice touch. de Armas' performance is wonderful, and it gives the viewer something to think about in that regard. What is love, really? And I never thought I'd get so emotionally invested in a hologram, but they pulled it off.
Jared Leto is a special kind of restrained crazy as Niander Wallace. The part is relatively small, but no one told Leto that. His character feels realized and interesting in a way that belies the character's minuscule screentime. Say what you want about Leto's offscreen antics: the man is great, and his performance here is great, too.
Harrison Ford gives one of his career best performances. His Deckard is a man beaten down by time and circumstance, and you can see it all etched on his face. Like Gosling, he communicates with expressional tics and averted stares as much as he does with dialogue. He could easily have phoned this one in and collected a paycheck. But he didn't. He showed up. And it is wonderful to watch.
Robin Wright has a small, but equally powerful role as Lt. Joshi. She is a tough woman living in an uncompromising world. It is interesting to see how she both cares for K, but also knows that she must not. She devalues him in little ways, with backhanded compliments she doesn't realize wound him. Yet she is proud of him and the work that he does for her. It could have been a throw-away part, but Wright digs in and makes it work.
Ryan Gosling is the perfect choice for K: he does soulful stoic so well he should trademark it. K's arc is believable because of the pain is Gosling's baby blues.
Ana de Armas plays a literal tool of male fantasy (the Joi series is supposed to be "whatever you desire"), but finds genuine pathos and care in her arc. The fact that the film never tells us definitively whether or not she ACTUALLY loves K or is simply programmed to is a nice touch. de Armas' performance is wonderful, and it gives the viewer something to think about in that regard. What is love, really? And I never thought I'd get so emotionally invested in a hologram, but they pulled it off.
Jared Leto is a special kind of restrained crazy as Niander Wallace. The part is relatively small, but no one told Leto that. His character feels realized and interesting in a way that belies the character's minuscule screentime. Say what you want about Leto's offscreen antics: the man is great, and his performance here is great, too.
Harrison Ford gives one of his career best performances. His Deckard is a man beaten down by time and circumstance, and you can see it all etched on his face. Like Gosling, he communicates with expressional tics and averted stares as much as he does with dialogue. He could easily have phoned this one in and collected a paycheck. But he didn't. He showed up. And it is wonderful to watch.
Robin Wright has a small, but equally powerful role as Lt. Joshi. She is a tough woman living in an uncompromising world. It is interesting to see how she both cares for K, but also knows that she must not. She devalues him in little ways, with backhanded compliments she doesn't realize wound him. Yet she is proud of him and the work that he does for her. It could have been a throw-away part, but Wright digs in and makes it work.
VIII. Subversion of the Common Hero Trope
During most of the film, K believes he is the special baby born from two replicants. He believes he may be special. Later, he finds out that he isn't that baby. He isn't special. But he chooses to be special, on his own terms, anyway. He chooses to go against his programming (earlier in the film he remarks to Sapper (Dave Bautista) that "[his] kind don't run; [they're] programmed not to."
The film could easily have had K be this messianic figure for the replicants, but I think it is a wiser choice not to. His uniqueness is not born of fate or circumstance. He is no Chosen One. He chooses to be special. He knows that he isn't, but decides to be anyway.
Sapper lectured him about not seeing a miracle, and that being the reason he doesn't flee. And K does not see the intended miracle (the baby). He does see his own miracle, though: he sees his love for Joi, and her love for him, and he understands the nature of true sacrifice.
The movie sets up conditions for K being The One, but then subverts them and allows K his own chance to CHOOSE to be A One. I like that, a lot.
During most of the film, K believes he is the special baby born from two replicants. He believes he may be special. Later, he finds out that he isn't that baby. He isn't special. But he chooses to be special, on his own terms, anyway. He chooses to go against his programming (earlier in the film he remarks to Sapper (Dave Bautista) that "[his] kind don't run; [they're] programmed not to."
The film could easily have had K be this messianic figure for the replicants, but I think it is a wiser choice not to. His uniqueness is not born of fate or circumstance. He is no Chosen One. He chooses to be special. He knows that he isn't, but decides to be anyway.
Sapper lectured him about not seeing a miracle, and that being the reason he doesn't flee. And K does not see the intended miracle (the baby). He does see his own miracle, though: he sees his love for Joi, and her love for him, and he understands the nature of true sacrifice.
The movie sets up conditions for K being The One, but then subverts them and allows K his own chance to CHOOSE to be A One. I like that, a lot.
The film could easily have had K be this messianic figure for the replicants, but I think it is a wiser choice not to. His uniqueness is not born of fate or circumstance. He is no Chosen One. He chooses to be special. He knows that he isn't, but decides to be anyway.
Sapper lectured him about not seeing a miracle, and that being the reason he doesn't flee. And K does not see the intended miracle (the baby). He does see his own miracle, though: he sees his love for Joi, and her love for him, and he understands the nature of true sacrifice.
The movie sets up conditions for K being The One, but then subverts them and allows K his own chance to CHOOSE to be A One. I like that, a lot.
IX. Should You Watch It?
You may or may not LIKE this film, but it is one of the most beautiful pieces of art I have seen in some time. It deserves to be seen.
Miscellany
- David Bowie was, reportedly, Villeneuve's first choice for Niander Wallace. He passed away before production began.- At one point there was a four hour cut of this movie, and the production team briefly entertained the idea of splitting it into two separate movies. Villeneuve resisted, and cut the film down to its final runtime (164 minutes). He maintains that the theatrical version is his one true vision for the film and has no plans to release an alternate or extended cut.
- The base-line test that K must undergo to determine his competency has lines from Nabokov's Pale Fire (1962). Pale Fire is also the book that Joi picks up and suggests that K read to her. I have not read Pale Fire, but I assume there is some kind of connective thematic tissue there.
- Shocker: Jared Leto wore opaque contact lenses so that he could experience what it was like to be blind.
- Johann Johannsson, who worked with Villeneuve on Arrival (2016), was originally onboard to compose the score, but dropped out for unknown reasons before Zimmer and Wallfisch signed on. I can only imagine what THAT score would have sounded like.
- After having been nominated 13 times, Roger Deakins finally won his Oscar for Best Cinematography for his work on this film.
- Mackenzie Davis' Mariette is purposely dressed similarly to Darryl Hannah's Pris from the original Blade Runner movie.
- K's building has a "Moebius" sign on it: this is a reference to famed French illustrator Jean Moebius Gerraud, whose work immensely influenced the cyberpunk aesthetic.
- The Effects team took a year to assemble the scene where Deckard meets a newly minted replicant of Rachael. A stand in actress was used, and the effects team digitally recreated Sean Young's original look from the film. Young was brought in to coach the stand in. The scene was shot with a minimal crew, and everyone involved was sworn to secrecy. Young even denied publicly that she was asked to be involved in the film. Villeneuve described the finished scene as "mesmerizing."
- During one of their fights, Harrison Ford actually punched Ryan Gosling in the face.
- The tiny wooden horse has a spot on its head where a horn may once have been. This is in reference to the unicorn from the original Blade Runner film.
- This film had a budget of over $150 million. It grossed $259 million worldwide, and was seen as a disappointment by the studio. Villeneuve considers it the "most expensive art-house film ever made."
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