All These Moments Will Be Lost In Time, Like Tears In Rain: Blade Runner (1982)

I am walking down a very dangerous slope right now by reviewing Blade Runner.  Well, not really, it is just the first time I have decided to over space here on the blog to a film that I have a deep admiration for, so much so that it is my third favorite film of all time.  I have reviewed films since the blog started that have since made it into my favorites list, but nothing quite like this, where my attachment to the film emerged well before I ever thought of devoting time to writing about movies on the expansive web.  As such, I am wholly aware that my opinion of this film might be clouded by some bizarre mixture of over-zealous adoration, flakes of nostalgia and genuine belief that everyone should see this film.  Frankly, I am quite fine with that because Blade Runner is a masterpiece, even if half of the people I recommend the film to come back to me frustrated at being forced to sit through a two hour film that drones along.  Indeed, I am often mounted with attacks on the film being "boring." While I can understand such critiques, I would context that the very ambient nature of the film is what makes Blade Runner work twofold as a deep reflection on the existential questions of human life in a world where it can be easily and near perfectly replicated.  Furthermore, because it makes careful strides to exist as a neo-noir thriller, the malaise and sense of dread that comes purely with being alive and on-the-run comes second only to the absolutely dreary world of Le Samouraï.  One might assume a sort of cult attachment to a work like Blade Runner, something that is afforded a less realized, but certainly enjoyable sci-fi work like Soylent Green or Logan's Run, however, Blade Runner also happens to be a work of cinematic genius, one whose composition, editing and execution are all signifiers of how to compose a film and use the language of movies to their greatest advantage (although this did take upwards of five cuts and re-cuts to achieve, my personal preference going to the 1992 Director's Cut).  Indeed, if one of the great achievements of a film is to leave viewers not with a variety of answers, but a series of questions and inquiries, then Blade Runner achieves this to the highest degree, as it ends in perhaps the most perplexing of manners, asking the identity of its main character and causing as much of a contentious debate as the closing section of 2001: A Space Odyssey still demands.

Blade Runner focuses its neo-noir narrative on the future world of Los Angeles, at the time 2019, wherein humans living on Earth have begun to colonize the spaces of the farthest reaches of the galaxy, relying not only on the advances of weaponry and technology, but on the creation of living and synthetic being known as Replicants, whose sole purpose is to be a being that is "more human than humans," while also still existing as a form of slave labor.  A particular group of Replicants defined as the Nexus 6 models have come to realize that their own lives are of more value than mere labor for humans and seek not only to free themselves from this hinderance, but also to negate another issue with being a Replicant, which is the factor of only having a four year life span.  As such a group of these Nexus 6 models have returned to Earth and are attempting to reach the leader of Tyrell Corporation, Dr. Eldon Tyrell (Joe Turkell) to bargain for their models begin upgraded for a further lifespan.  This navigation of neo-Los Angeles is not that simple though, proving difficult and bloody as the Replicant's leader Roy Batty (Rutger Hauer) kills viciously in the name of achieving what he desires, life at a greater length.  To prevent such occurrence, individuals known as Blade Runners are introduced into the society to hunt down and stifle--often violently--any rouge Replicants.  In this case Rick Deckard (Harrison Ford) is the Blade Runner tasked with preventing the Nexus 6 models from reaching their goal.  Working against the clock, Deckard goes to the top and illicits the help of Tyrell directly, who places his own hyper-real Replicant Rachael (Sean Young) in charge of guiding Deckard.  However, when it becomes rather clear that Batty and his partner Nexus models, specifically sex model Pris (Daryl Hannah) are quite ahead of the game, Deckard moves into a state of paranoia and worry that is doubled by his own identity crisis as he begins to navigate his own memories in relation to the larger issue of Replicants.  Eventually, Batty is able to track down and kill the various engineers of his body, each failing to over him the one thing he so greatly desires, a chance to live longer.  This rage culminates in a confrontation between he and Deckard on the rooftop of a decrepit Los Angeles apartment, where Batty delivers a monologue on what memory means when it is lost forever.  Deckard confused leaves the scene and rescues Rachael, but not before one sequence suggests his own future to be tenuously short and dire.

I realize even as I attempt to hit the highlights of this film in a plot description that it is barely even skimming the surface of the layers of narrative and theoretical implications in the film.  The Los Angeles on display in this film is a space that is completely modernized, one that has built upon itself a new layer, wherein, like in the classic Fritz Lang film Metropolis, privilege is reflected in being above ground, here in a very literal sense.  Allowing for the navigation of the noir elements of the film to take place on the saturated seedy streets of Los Angeles that are so densely populated that to navigate them is an existential maze in themselves.  Here Ridley Scott reverts the expressionist streets of loneliness and anguish noted in classic noir films into something completely claustrophobic.  The existential threat here is not the individual in relation to an expanse of nothingness, but in relation to an inescapable sense of everything compounding upon a singular individual.  Indeed, it is this identity in relation to a larger, all-consuming pressure that makes the Replicant versus human debate all the more fascinating.  The question in Blade Runner is about the point in which emotion outweighs the physical advantages of being human.  Indeed, what individuals like Tyrell and Deckard seem to think advances them is the ability to think not about the logic of a situation, but how that situation might make them feel.  Their ability to look at a Replicant as an 'other,' is predicated not on any physical signifiers, but one's that are wholly of a theoretical space.  Yet, in a panoptic kind of way, eyes still factor in heavily to how this is judged as if perceptions of emotions and feelings are a thing that is tangible.  Scott, borrowing from the Phillip K. Dick novella seems to say that to have one physical way of testing an emotional "awakeness" of an individual is futile, because it is still predicated upon looking, which is a physical act itself.  The physical body as superior is indeed dealt with quite intensely, as Batty represents not only an insurmountable force of power that can navigate any space regardless of its physical barriers, but also as a replication of the Aryan ideal of perfect human.  The privilege in this film is predicated upon a belief that somehow the human can feel human, but can only know such a feeling if they are human.  The Nexus 6 Replicants spit in the face of this presumptive issue and very little is done to negate their actions as noting the illogical structure of humanity as a felt thing.  Embodiment and humanity within Blade Runner move full-on into the space of post-humanism by contesting that one must always and at once consider how it will be effected and and affected.

Key Scene:  The "tears in rain" monologue, obviously.

The recently released 30th anniversary bluray is stunning.  It has every conceivable cut of the film and enough special features to make any fan happy.  Obtaining it is of necessity.

Right, I'm The Chosen One, And I Choose To Be Shopping: Buffy The Vampire Slayer (1992)

Leave it to me to not realize until a couple weeks ago that Buffy The Vampire Slayer originated as a campy, satirical teenage comedy, much in the same vein as Clueless, although considerably less scathing, and tragically without the ever welcome presence of Wallace Shawn.  Where the television series would leap into some more gothic elements and clearly embrace special effects and romantic involvements, this original manifestation of the cult character considered its relation to high school experiences, as well as a surprisingly realized emergence of one girls own feminist politics.  For a variety of reasons films like this seem to fall to the wayside, perhaps a direct reflection of their revolutionary style and commentary, or a fact of it simply not fitting with viewers palettes for the era.  One cannot deny that this clearly independent film emerged well before it was made cool by Quentin Tarantino to reference other films within a film and wink at the audience.  Clearly, Buffy the Vampire Slayer manages to do this, particularly with the cinematic means by which it considers the history of Vampires, as well as what I can only assume was a conscious choice to cast Paul Reubens and Rutger Hauer in the roles of the two lead vampires.  Joss Whedon's script shows signs of the evolving writer who would come to be associated with some of the most socially conscious scripts, as well as the ones which prove to completely deconstruct everything associated with a genre piece, something which occurred with a hefty amount of zeal in 2012's Cabin in the Woods.  To call Buffy the Vampire Slayer a high-school comedy is to incorrectly categorize it, yet one cannot simply refer to it as a vampire flick, because while the title clearly suggests such a film, within the narrative of Whedon it constantly reconsiders, undermines and eventually reappropriates everything viewers have come to understand about a genre.  I would even be so bold as to suggest that Whedon is very much picking up where Harold Ramis left off concerning socially situated satirical filmmaking and boy does it exude within the brief insanity of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

The narrative of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, while not reflective of the television series, nonetheless, still focuses on a girl named Buffy (Kristy Swanson) who seems quite content to live the life of ditsy high school cheerleader, while batting off the secretly desired accosting by her male classmates.  Yet, when a  bizarre sickness begins spreading around her high school Buffy begins considering her own identity, particularly one tied to consumerist ideologies and a rather vain attachment to the performance of cheerleading, yet it is not until some of the members of her high school begin dying or going missing that she really begins considering thing more. A confrontation with Merrick (Donald Sutherland) a professional vampire hunter, who informs Buffy that she comes from a lineage of vampire slayers, causes her identity to completely change, although Buffy tries for quite a bit of time to avert this change and adhere to her traditional ideal.  Yet as the vampires begin taking on very violent forms, even attacking her at points, she agrees to training an action that leads to her eventual awakening into her own powerful person, one capable of kicking some serious vampire ass, while also not relying on the guidance and protection of a male figure.  Yet even her strong independence does not afford her the avoidance of falling in love, in fact, she begins taking a liking to an other-side-of-the-tracks guy named Pike (Luke Perry).  Buffy's job as a vampire slayer begins to unfold from simple back alley fights, to all-out brawls at her high school prom, ones that cause her to reconsider her previous friendships, as well as her burgeoning relationship with Pike, whom she decides to ride of into the sunset with at the end of the film, after of course she a icon of good destroys all the evil in the world of vampires, or at the very least drive stakes through them and leaving them suffering well after the credits begin.

The feminist label to this film is often attached hesitantly, not because it only passively adheres to some of these constructs, but because, as I genuinely believe, many critics are quite afraid to admit a schlocky satire work could be capable of such high levels of social commentary.  I would be willing to at least acknowledge this possibility were the writer anybody but Joss Whedon who constantly proves himself quite attune to social identity issues, hell, look at Dr. Horrible's Sing-A-Long Blog, which exist primarily to undermine the writer's guild, but also manages to completely deconstruct masculinity in a post-feminist rhetoric.  However, when considering Buffy as a burgeoning feminist one must look at the way she moves from a vain cheerleader reliant on others for her identity to a ass-kicking vampire slayer.  One manner this occurs is through her wardrobe which begins with a attire that exposes her body in an exploitative way to a far more butch look, appropriate for her fight and moving about in self-protection, this is one instance in which her awakening as a feminist allows for her to change her identity not to please others, but instead to adhere to her own identity.  Secondly, her evolution into a vampire fighting master is reflective of her movement towards an individual who challenges oppressive forces, in which Rutger Hauer plays a magnificent metaphor for patriarchal oppression, considering he is an old, white and quite European male.  Buffy directly challenges the groundings of patriarchy eventually undermining it.  Even her relationship with Pike is one in which she clearly asserts control, particularly considering that she is always seen in a dominant place, aside from the films closing scene, although to read to heavily into the riding off into the sunset scene, would be to ignore everything leading up to the occurrence.  Sure they are leaving with Pike driving the vehicle, but one cannot forget that were it not for Buffy, Pike would be far from capable of operating any heavy machinery.

Key Scene:  The conversations between Buffy and Merrick could be totally forced, but under the guidance of Whedon's dialogue the flow naturally and prove some of the better moments in the film, if not, the entire prom section of the film is quite awesome.

A DVD is rather easily obtained and well worth owning, particularly if you fancy your films with a heavy amount of feminist empowerment.

Hobo Stops Begging, Demands Change: Hobo With A Shotgun (2011)

Since the emergence of Tod Browning's 1932 film Freaks, a large group of directors have made it a goal of theirs to great the grotesque in moving imagery and continually push the boundaries on the unfilmable.  While much of this push towards more controversial filmmaking is spearheaded by autuer leaders like Takishi Miike, Lars Von Trier and Harmony Korine, independent cinema continues to provide its own slew of hyper-violent, bizarre and extremely watchable films. Jason Eisenger's recent offering of Hobo With A Shotgun is certainly no exception to this and is only made all the more entertaining by the always welcome presence of Rutger Hauer.  Hobo With A Shotgun is not a particularly profound movie and is far too on the nose to be a poignant social critique, but what a film like this does is allow for serious discussions on post-apocalyptic fears to become popular.  Like many zombie films, Eisenger's work really does beg the question of the values of morals when signifier of social order have become irrelevant.  The film is certainly exaggerated, but is clearly intended as a genre piece, yet if one can get through the seemingly unending stream of red corn syrup and the glossy help of technicolor, Hobo With A Shotgun is a thrill ride that will undoubtedly provide viewers with angst about the slow decay of Western civilization.

I could simply say that the title explains the entire film, because the film is more or less about a hobo ennacting justice with a shotgun.  Yet, there is a much larger plot that is well worth discussing.  The film begins with an unnamed hobo (Rutger Hauer) riding into a town on the rails of a train.  The town, once called Hope Town, is the center for all things depraved.  The hobo is aghast by the pure amounts of degradation occurring in the city, whether it be a filmmaker using his wealth to exploit the poor into demeaning themselves on film or the countless acts of rebellion enacted in the name of nothing.  The state of the town seems to be tied directly to the unchecked power of the wealthy Drake (Brian Downey) who along with this two sons Ivan (Nick Bateman) and Slick (Gregory Smith), act in a violent manner simply because they are without challenge.  While Drake is clearly in power, he outsources his actions to both Ivan and Slick, placing a heavy emphasis on his pride in Ivan.  The hobo has a run in with Slick at an arcade, in which Slick attempts to rape a young prostitute named Abby (Molly Dunsworth).  Enraged the hobo knocks over Slick and saves the girl completely ignorant to the status and power of Slick.  Grateful for the help Abby befriends the hobo, and with her help he is able to purchase a shotgun that provides him with power to counter the corrupt city.  The hobo is surprisingly successful in his actions making a name for himself as a super hero of sorts, while cleaning the city of scum.  Drake and his sons, however, loathe the actions of the hobo and make it a point to turn the city against him.   The hobo, despite overwhelming odds, confronts Drake and his cohorts known as The Plague in one final showdown, and when it appears as though he is to die, he is aided by Abby.  The hobo is given an opportunity to kill Drake only to be stopped at gunpoint by a group of police officers, who have to this point in the film been rather non-existent.  Realizing his death is inevitable he shoots Drake in the head, only to die in a storm of police gunfire.  The film then closes with Abby being invited to join The Plague as she is the only person to have successfully survived their onslaught.  The town is still in despair, but it appears as though the cleansing of the streets from the hands of Drake can assure some sort of decency in the future.

Hobo With A Shotgun mirrors a film like The Toxic Avenger rather nicely, in that it deals with a serious social problem in a very ridiculous way and makes no qualms about beating viewers over the head with its message.  The message is simple, those with power can exploit those without, and unless the powerless can unify together, the powerful will continue to rule with oppressive force.  Drake can control the city simply because he has the money, and those who are not easily persuaded by money can succumb to drugs.  This is clear when Slick uses cocaine to overpower a rival kid of relative wealth, causing the young man to become addicted and subsequently dependent on Slick as a source.  It also notes the problems of abject poverty and how nearly impossible it is to climb out of such a state.  The hobo simply desires to purchase a used lawnmower to begin his own business and survive.  Right as he is in the process of doing so he becomes stuck in the middle of a robbery which leads him to come into possession of a shotgun to stop the robber in his tracks.  Such a scene, amidst its violent nature, suggests that those in terrible situations often attempt to extradite themselves; however, those around them invariably influence them in negative ways.  Finally, the film posits the illogical nature of single person sacrifice.  The hobo tries desperately to avenge those who were degraded within Scum Town, but he never makes it clear that he is doing so for the entirity of humanity, in fact, in the epic scene in which he talks to a nursery full of babies, he makes it clear that the world will never change and that one must simply accept their task with a positive outlook, even if it means being a hobo who happens to wield a shotgun.  Though not sacrificial, it is clear that the hobo's death was not in vain, for he allowed other to realize that change is possible, but must be done so on a unified scale, for one man cannot perform the work of many.

Hobo With A Shotgun is a fun bit of film and a great piece of cinema to come from Canada.  It is exploitation filmmaking at its finest and well worth watching.  At the moment, it is on Netflix Watch Instantly and a quick flick that clocks in just under an hour and a half.