Perfection

I've never understood filmmakers who want to either recreate or follow a movie that is already perfect. (Or, for those who think there is nothing that is perfect, a truly excellent film.)

One of my favorite films is BLADE RUNNER, the 1982 production starring Harrison Ford, Rutger Hauer, and Sean Young. It is one of the few movies that I feel is about as perfect as they make them. Based on Philip K. Dick's novel, DO ANDROIDS DREAM OF ELECTRIC SHEEP, it takes the premise of that book and bends it to appeal to what was then modern sensibilities. It of course takes liberties with Dick's novel, but retains the seed that Dick intended. (I know this because PK Dick approved of the movie which he saw shortly before it was released and just before he died.)

The movie, to me, is a classic. Ford is used to great effect even though he is not--in my opinion--a very good actor. Rutger Hauer turned in what may be the best performance of his career portraying the child-like android, Roy Batty who is the leader of a small group of escaped "replicants" (artificial humans); and whose existence places him as a kind of Christ-like figure. The rest of the cast similarly give us amazing turns. Again, Sean Young as Rachel--a replicant who doesn't know she is not human--never looked better and never again turned in an acting job like that one. Small character roles like M. Emmett Walsh as a corrupt police captain, and Hy Pyke as Taffy Lewis, the sleazy owner of a drinking/prostitution establishment turn out pure performances and unforgettable voices and exposition. Joe Turkel is unforgettable as Eldon Tyrell. James Hong as Hannibal Chew. William Sanderson as J.F. Sebastian. Every actor was chosen brilliantly and directed to perfection.

Even the music (by Vangelis) is inspired. The direction is flawless. The script polished to a dark and horrific onyx.

The movie is, to me, as good as it gets. And yet, when I research the production of the film, I realize that it was saved as much as what ended up being left out of the storyline as by what was revealed onscreen. Scenes were eventually excised that would have ruined the movie. Further research has led me to conclude that studio executives who obviously had some amount of insight used a heavy hand to reign in the director, Ridley Scott. Putting lie to the idea that officious high-minded pricks are always a bad thing when it comes to creating art. In this case it seems that they saved a film rather than hindered or ruined it.

Since BLADE RUNNER is just about the best movie I've seen--and easily the finest genre film I've watched--I wonder what has possessed the money men to create a sequel. The best that they could hope to achieve, artistically, would be to equal the flawless original. And the chances of that are almost zero. So, given that they likely cannot even meet the quality of the first movie, why bother to make what will probably be considered a bland and lifeless movie when compared to the living, gleaming creation that was revealed to the public in 1982? It's as if they're courting disaster not just critically, but economically, also.

I don't think I'll watch the sequel. I won't even mention it by name. I just don't trust the odds that the talent and the pure chance and accident that created the merit of BLADE RUNNER can possibly be repeated.

Sean Young as Rachel: image of perfection.

M. Emmett Walsh as Bryant.

Joe Turkel as Eldon Tyrell.

Hy Pyke as the sleazy Taffey Lewis.

The Critics

Don't always believe the press. Good or bad.

Some time back I stopped paying attention to most critics. I've never really found a critic of music, literature, or film that matches my own tastes. And so I try to ignore most of the professional critics. One thing that really sent this home for me were the critical reviews of the film THE LIMEY starring Terrence Stamp. Every review that I saw for it either ravaged it or deemed it tepid. And so I avoided the film. Later--much later, I rented it on a whim and found it to be a particularly effective movie.

Since, I've pretty much ignored the professional critics.

This past week I ordered a number of books written by an author of whom I had heard many good things. For decades I had somehow avoided his work, despite the glowing reviews I had read and the gushing praise from other writers and from his fan base. The only excuse I have for not having read his work is that I am a voracious reader and frankly there was a wall of books to be read standing in the way.

At last, though, I ordered just about everything the guy has written and all of the books arrived by post this week. The first book was the one that had received the most praise, so that's where I started.

And now a short digression. An old acquaintance of mine, a writer/publisher named Dave Wilson long ago stated that writers should not malign the work of their fellow authors. After some thought, I decided to take his advice under my wing. Being a writer is tough enough without having to endure the savaging from other writers. And everything being equal, what I like may not be your cup of tea. And what I hate someone else might actually adore.

So. I opened the package and began to read this supposed classic of weird fiction.

I found it to be almost uniformly awful. This particular writer has another profession--writing being a sideline for him--and that expertise in his field rises to the fore. It must be what impressed so many reviewers. Beyond that, the stories and novels are really quite bad. He's educated...I'll give him that. But his work is tired and lost and seems composed of smoke and mirrors.

Once again, I had believed the press. This time the good press. I had been sorely misled.

I should have just ordered the first book and let that settle me. But, no, I ordered pretty much the writer's entire body of work. I am looking forward to ridding my library of that stuff.

THE LIMEY. A fine film. But don't take my word for it. Make up your own mind.