Blade Runner is an acidic, dystopian sci-fi noir thriller delivering both top-notch views and pew-pews and thought-provoking commentary on over-consumerism and humanity. In an alternate 2019 Los Angeles where overpopulation, crime, consumer driven waste and industrialized misery, there exists human-looking robots called replicants created by the Tyrell Corporation. Used as pawns in space colonies, replicants were found to begin developing emotions after four years, so Tyrell Corp. made their lifespan no longer. Having discovered this, a group of rogue replicants led by the conniving, past replicant star boy Roy Batty (Rutger Hauer) escape back to Earth to extend their lifespans before dying, killing anyone in their way. With no one else good enough to recognize and stop them, LA police put burnt-out cop Rick Deckard (Harrison Ford) on the case, as his next-level detective work and resilience makes him the only one capable of taking them down. With nothing but his mind, poor street lights, packed streets and a few bullets, Deckard must stop the replicants before they kill anyone else—and find out how human they really are.

Blade Runner brings a world of hurt in one of the most stylistically gloomy ways possible. Panning in on crammed skyscrapers, clumps of fast churning chimneys, nonstop bumper-to-bumper traffic, rundown establishments and mostly shady characters illustrates that this LA is the result of unlimited human greed. While real LA doesn’t look exactly like that, Blade Runner understands the result current societal trajectories are hurdling at least Western communities towards. Consumerism and constant economic growth in a world of finite resources and space will only lead there—a bleak future now foreseeable given the world’s failures in limiting these systems even 42 years later. Director Ridley Scott’s world building is thus an impressive, immersive feat on its own, though Blade Runner harbors much more.

Blade Runner is enticing because, though a slow-burn pacing wise, no scene is wasted. Everything is a symbol or metaphor for something else, constantly prodding at questions about humanity’s capabilities and uniqueness, the West’s isolationist and wasteful lifestyles, and the general bleakness of life. For example, after getting introduced to Tyrell Corp’s newest creation in Rachel (Sean Young), Deckard runs her through the Voight-Kampff test, a test meant to illicit emotional responses in humans that replicants aren’t supposed to replicate. After 100 questions, she passes off like a human; memories and emotions intact. While this opens Rachel’s subplot as she doesn’t know that she’s a replicant, it also prods away: what makes us human, memories or emotions? Can we call it human if robots can feel it too? Is life all that valuable if it’s so easily cloneable? These question lines run throughout, spicing up a fun cop chase in a morose world filled with painfully alone characters and amoral social norms.

Blade Runner is thus a beautiful journey through a depression encouraging reality, reminding viewers what they should be grateful for and warning them of our reality’s larger consequences’ potential trajectory. Though the slow-burn pace can impede every so often, there’s good reason why Blade Runner is still revered.

Screens in 35 mm Thursday, 11/7, 9:45 pm @ Coolidge Corner Theatre
Part of the ongoing repertory series: Cult Classics