Blade Runner

In the summer of 1982, several essential genre films were released within the span of a few weeks.  Arguably considered the strongest summer ever by sci-fi and horror fans, the overall box office would break records, although results by title varied widely.  In the end, all would leave their impact on the culture, and inspire the peak period of high-concept creativity across the Hollywood industry.

Beginning on May 21^st with George Miller’s post-apocalyptic action masterpiece “The Road Warrior”, the box office would increase on June 4^th with the opening of the first Start Trek sequel (a vast improvement over the weaker first chapter) alongside Tobe Hooper’s terrifying horror experience “Poltergeist”.  Produced by Steven Spielberg, who would increasingly take on this collaborative role throughout the decade, “Poltergeist” was mistakenly rated PG, forever scarring the psyches and firing the imaginations of ten-year-olds brought by their parents to kick off the movie season.  Although each were successful, the landscape was soon to be eclipsed by a small story about the friendship between a young boy and a stranded alien.

Amazingly, the June 11^th release of Spielberg’s “E.T.”, which found the auteur back in the director’s chair, was not preceded by a massive marketing blitz.  Coming just one year after his phenomenally successful “Raiders of the Lost Ark”, the new film was a significantly quieter affair and appeared with little advance buzz.  Ultimately, its acceptance would prove historic, leaving theaters over a year after its initial bow with a total box office surpassing “Star Wars” to become the highest-grossing movie of all time.

Brilliantly crafted to capture the innocence of childhood and the longing for connection, “E.T.” is a masterpiece of emotional storytelling, combining a heartwarming family drama with a sense of wonder and adventure.  Enhanced by strong effects, iconic scoring, and a deeply resonant central performance by Henry Thomas, Spielberg’s direction perfectly balances whimsy with poignancy, appealing to children and adults alike.  In just eight years, he had delivered four landmark films, each ambitious, influential, and visionary, cementing his legacy and affirming his genius.

Closing the month, an innovative pair of genre classics were released on June 25th, John Carpenter’s chilling “The Thing” and Ridley Scott’s thought-provoking “Blade Runner”.  Cinematic offspring of the dark and mature science fiction launched by Scott’s “Alien” in 1979, both films received decidedly unenthusiastic receptions in the wake of Spielberg’s optimistic juggernaut.  Their well-deserved adulation would come with additional time and further evaluation.

Motivated by the success of his previous filmography, John Carpenter embarked on his most ambitious project to date in early 1981.  Concerning a group of Antarctic researchers who encounter an alien life-form that assimilates and imitates other beings and featuring some of the most grotesque and impressive practical effects in cinema history, the movie grounds its fantastical elements in a naturalistic but isolated setting, slowly ratcheting the tension and paranoia throughout.  Capped by a masterfully ambiguous conclusion, “The Thing” is a quintessentially rewatchable motion picture, encouraging endless theories and elaborate interpretations by fans for generations.

Similarly inspired the success of his own horror/sci-fi classic “Alien”, Ridley Scott endeavored to explore deeper thematic territory within the futuristic setting of his previous hit.  He soon found his next project upon reading screenwriter Hampton Fancher’s adaptation of Philip K. Dick’s novel “Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?”, immediately realizing its cinematic potential.  Signing on as director, Scott began building his vision for the renamed “Blade Runner”, in the process forever revolutionizing the visual language of science fiction and the cinematic representation of future society.

Populated by dense, neon-lit cityscapes and the atmospheric use of shadow and light, “Blade Runner” created a dystopian future that felt both inventively futuristic and relatively worn.  Its unique mix of industrial decay, towering skyscrapers, and incessant rain established the cyber punk aesthetic, still an everpresent motif for genre filmmakers.  With its rich production design and groundbreaking visual effects, the film expertly faded the line between reality and artificiality, deepening its themes of identity and existence.

And ultimately, for all its technical astonishment, it is the exploration of these themes that separates the film from its peers.  In asking the viewer to follow the former blade runner Rick Deckard as he hunts four escaped replicants who have returned from off-world to confront their maker, the movie explores both the beauty and tragedy of living itself.  However, it is not through our identification with Deckard (memorably cast with Harrison Ford portraying his third iconic character in as many years) but rather through the eyes of the lead replicant Roy Batty, fully inhabited in a powerfully towering performance by Rutger Hauer.  The audience is confronted with the pure sacrifice that comes with the inevitable end of life, even when life that is a construction, emotionally immortalized by Batty’s beautiful and poetic “tears in rain” soliloquy.

Some films endure for the message of pure happiness their resolutions provide; others survive for the eternally unanswerable questions they ask.  Hidden within its transcendent exterior, “Blade Runner” represents the best of the genre’s ambitions.  And while Scott’s film will always challenge its viewer to wonder “Is Deckard a replicant?”, it is the more basic question that elevates the film to greatness:  In a world where humans have come to resemble little more than mechanized tools and replicants have evolved to treasure the simple joys of just being, is there even a difference?

Unforgettable for its iconic summer slate, the year must also be remembered for the return of its consummate artist.  Three years after his triumphant release of “Apocalypse Now” and ten years from his historic emergence with “The Godfather”, Francis Ford Coppola arrived in theaters with his latest cinematic achievement, “One from the Heart”.  Intending to create something intimate in the wake of his previous film’s grueling tumult, Coppola initially conceived of a small romantic musical, but again found himself helming a production which had spiraled out of control.  Most devastating of all, his completed opus played to empty theaters, ignored by a public which had now moved on.