Blade Runner: A Film in Pieces

Blade Runner, released in 1982, is one of the most famous cult films of all time. The story of veteran bounty hunter Rick Deckard hunting down renegade androids known as replicants, which evolves into a meditation on the very makeup of humanity. In a certain way, Blade Runner’s impressive cult status can be traced not only to the content of the film itself, but also the sordid and fascinating history of its production. Nothing in my mind illustrates this better than the impressive history of its editing. In the summer of 1982, no less than three separate edits of the film saw release across the United States alone. The first of these three is the one that has most caught the attention of devotees and historians, including Paul M. Sammon, the resident Blade Runner scholar and author of the illuminating guide “Future Noir: The Making of Blade Runner”. Debuting in both Denver, Colorado and Dallas, Texas (as well as on a brief University circuit), this edit was vastly different in tone to the version debuting in both the San Diego preview circuit in May 1982 and the eventual wide release later that year. It lacked the majority of the narration from Harrison Ford which so many critics lambasted in the succeeding edits, and contained brief but tantalizing glimpses of the Los Angeles of 2019. The overall tone was far more ambiguous, with several sections that would later be redone (through redubbing or recutting) with concrete exposition existing here as more opaque non sequiturs which required the audience to piece together more of the story as it went along.

This version, begrudgingly prepared with director Ridley Scott and editor Terry Rawlings’ blessings specifically for the sneak preview, was overall poorly received by much of the test audience who found the story difficult to follow and the characters to be too opaque to be relatable. Though Scott was able to win the battle on restoring some sequences to their original length in order to even out the concerns of pacing, in the end several concessions were made to make the film more appealing to a mass demographic, including a new expository text crawl latched to the start of the film and a newly shot ending depicting the two romantic leads escaping into a lush green paradise away from the crushing rain and gloomy atmosphere of the city. Tantalizing glimpses within the pages of Starlog or Cinefantastique would be all the few devotees of 1982 would see of the original vision.

Those devotees, and the community that had grown around the film in the intervening years, were met with a pleasant shock in 1991. The early preview cut still existed within a private archive, and because it had been prepared in large format 70mm versus the usual 35mm prints, it was selected by Warner mistakenly  for screening at the Fairfax 70mm Film Festival at the NuArt Theater in San Diego. When it was discovered that this print was indeed a unique cut of the film when compared to the usual Domestic and International cuts (the latter of which had recently seen release as part of The Criterion Collection), there was such an intense turnout that the Nuart decided to extend the run to maximize their profits, even advertising it as “The Director’s Cut”. This claim, however, was soon to be proven erroneous.

In April 1991, Ridley Scott himself attended a screening of this print at UCLA Los Angeles Perspectives Multimedia Festival, which had already sold out a full week before the event. But his reaction was perplexing; almost total disinterest to the point of dismissal. In his own words, this was not his Director’s Cut. From this moment, the film’s legacy was cemented as the labyrinth of alternative edits and competing visions for which it is known today.

From here, the story becomes even more confusing, but to summarize; two separate restoration efforts were begun, one with Scott’s input and another working from a rough idea of what was intended. The latter edit was eventually released in 1992, minimally different from the theatrical edit, only excising the narration and tacked-on ending and adding a brief outtake of a pivotal scene (to be described later). However, with the widespread acclaim which this cut received, the chances of Scott’s intended edits being made grew very slim. When given the chance to revise the film further in 2007, Scott stuck to mostly inconsequential additions that, while adding the same flavor experienced in the workprint cut, did not influence the film’s overall tone too intensely. Ridley Scott’s original Director’s Cut from 1982 has to date seen no release. What follows is my own interpretation of what this earlier edit may have represented.

Many of the changes in this Director’s Cut, when compared to the theatrical edits, would have the same effect as the alternative content present in the Denver/Dallas edit; more graceful transitions between scenes, less exposition in lieu of visual storytelling, etc. Additionally, this edit, if made as truly intended, would also gain several improvements from both the theatrical edits and the footage cut before the Denver/Dallas premieres. Most of these are pedantic, but some bear mention because of the way they subtly improve the film’s narrative thread or the pacing of individual scenes. Deckard (Harrison Ford) was originally shown driving home from his investigation in a slightly longer sequence, which originally tracked him from his car all the way to his building, which effectively gave the audience a greater glimpse into the life of an average human in this image of Los Angeles in a far more intimate sense than the vast crowd scenes of other sequences. In many cases, establishing shots were the first to go; one of Pris (played by Daryl Hannah) viewed on the streets at a bird’s eye view, one of Rachel (played by Sean Young) entering the room for her meeting with Deckard, etc. Many of these shots can only be glimpsed in the release versions by their corollaries, which unfortunately intrudes on the sense of symmetry they might have originally provided to the viewers.

Slightly larger cuts would have been small extensions to existing sequences. One notable one, glimpsed in almost all promotional material, which was even considered for inclusion in the 2007 ‘Final Cut’ release, showed Deckard climbing on top of cars and buses during his chase with Zhora (Joanna Cassidy) in order to get a vantage point above the crowd of people. Others included shots which variably showed up in preview screenings of Deckard’s final fight with Roy (Rutger Hauer), including more shots of the bizarre set decoration (such as a nude doll glimpsed in a bathtub) or showing Deckard attempting to make do with two broken fingers. It would also have included complete changes in content, such as replacing the opening expository crawl with the more oblique but engaging opening from the Denver/Dallas Workprint; a dictionary definition of the term ‘replicant’ which far more elegantly ushered in the audience to the film’s world.

Even larger cuts are ones which extend far past pacing or slight extensions; many of the sequences included in this earlier cut would have profound thematic effects on the story.

The first obvious example is also one of Blade Runner’s most discussed missing sequences, and one especially singled out by Scott in his original 1992 outline. Detective Holden (Morgan Paull), who in all released versions (even the Denver/Dallas edits) is seen only in the film’s prologue before being quickly shot by Leon (Brion James). However, two sequences which detailed his recovery, and Deckard coming to visit and discuss details of his case with him, were both cut from different points in the narrative. The first, occurring right after Deckard receives his case details, and acts both as yet another driving force for Deckard to accept the case and a firsthand reminder to the audience that the replicant characters are nigh indistinguishable from the average human (and without the text crawl, this scene gains far more important because of that fact). Holden is shown as openly and profoundly pathetic in this sequence, his face sectioned off on all sides and his dialogue laced with coughs and wheezes. It adds weight to another line spoken by M. Emmet Walsh’s Bryant, that Deckard has very little else to look forward to if not this job.

Terry Rawlings, the film’s editor and a regular collaborator with Ridley Scott, has opened up on many recent occasions to describe his experience with editing Blade Runner, and his regrets usually make for interesting reading and listening all their own. However, one sequence which seems pivotal to the thematic image as Ridley Scott intended it has been completely corrupted by poor upkeep, still standing as one of Blade Runner’s most controversial scenes. Shot during editing in 1982, this sequence details Deckard, slumped over at his piano in a drunken stupor, having a dream of a unicorn prancing through an idyllic forest setting. While this scene has been intact in many versions since 1992, it has never been seen in its proper original form, which gives it a totally different meaning than the recent edits. In the original edit, as Rawlings often compellingly describes, the unicorn and Deckard were supposed to have an engagement to be edited as if Deckard was seeing the creature before his very eyes, and not in a fade like the 1992 edit but instead a lulling series of shots of the forest culminating with the now-famous shot of the unicorn running at the camera and neighing. It was clear in the original edit that not only was it a vivid hallucination but something sparked by the viewing of the photographs, instead of occurring before this moment in the current edits. Additionally, a further detail to enhance this scene’s meaning may have been contained in a scene which was always intended to be shot; during a scene in a company laboratory, when Pris gazes through a microscope, she was intended to see a miniature forest; I suspect this was supposed to be a further hint towards Deckard’s eventual reveal as a replicant (the original intent of the unicorn scene to begin with), but cut due to the studio’s dislike of the idea. This would not have been an isolated incident; keen eyed viewers may notice that similar settings appear in the replicant’s various snapshots.. Including Deckard’s. The original Unicorn dream scene, though more impressionistic and far longer, would have communicated this in a far more impressive manner than the unfortunately truncated versions appearing in the 1992 and 2007 edits.

The segment arguably most impacted by the implementation of tightened pacing is by far the sequence which I believe marks the end of the second act; after the execution of two of his targets, the latter of whom delivered quite a beatdown to Deckard, he and Rachel escape to his apartment as he begins to for better or worse repair himself while the two of them try and reconcile the events preceding, including the rather callous manner in which Deckard revealed a shattering truth to Rachel in an earlier scene. When interviewed in 2005, Terry Rawlings seemed to express the greatest regret over the handling of this section, and from viewing the original footage it is clear why. What survives in the theatrical edit is the dialogue portion of the scene, which establishes a sense of tenuous trust between the two and illustrates Rachel’s current state. What was lost, however, was a delicate and entirely wordless interplay which took place between the two in various excised sections of the sequence. Originally, Rawlings described, he wanted the scene to carry a hypnotic and lulling atmosphere, citing the example of Deckard washing his face in the sink. The theatrical sequence exists to set up the ensuing dialogue in a way which gives Deckard a vulnerable and earnest appearance when he makes his promise to Rachel. However, the excised section Rawlings describes contains a lengthy section which adds a darker subtext; as Rachel removes her coat and sets it on a chair, the camera (and Deckard’s eyes) linger on her shaven legs, and the wave of expressions that cross Deckard’s face as the sequence continues portrays a struggle nearly nonexistent in the final edit; how he views Rachel.

The sequence from this point on, in what I would cite as the most regrettable loss in the studio-overseen edits, almost seems to play as if the two characters are engaged in a game with one another. A conscious attempt to challenge each other, in almost an act of revenge by Rachel and one of retaliation by Deckard. Only the first part of this game appears in the theatrical cuts, with Rachel asking about the information he has on her before a final question which Deckard lets fall silent; if he has ever attempted the test he has been administering to his subjects. Like the theatrical edits, Rachel enters the study to find Deckard asleep with a shot glass balanced on his stomach. However, in the original edit, Rachel then proceeded to stalk closer to Deckard and pry the shot glass from his fingers, only for him to tighten his fingers around the rim. In a single shot Rachel seems to plead with her eyes in a kind of defiant glance, and eventually wins the struggle in getting Deckard to surrender the glass. The sequence deliberately mirrors, in my mind, the sequence of Rachel undoing her hair and makeup at the piano which directly follows. She is in effect trying to coax both herself and Deckard to abandon the vestiges of their lives with which they seem to cling to for identity. The sequence loses this aspect within the theatrical edits, instead the scene being played with the tone of ‘romantic bonding’ in lieu of self-discovery. Only the Denver/Dallas edit contains a remnant of the scene’s original tonal fabric; the score. In the place of the conceptual jazz piece which underscores the film in all wide release versions, the original intended score, a lush and distant piece by Vangelis appropriately titled ‘Desolation Path’ stays with the two until the scene’s end. When combined with the original footage, it offers a wholly new and haunting thematic difference.

The climax to this wordless interplay is contained within the theatrical edits, but the change in context grants a wholly new, and somewhat unfortunate, meaning. Deckard corners Rachel and begins to have her repeat after him, phrases like ‘Kiss me’, which she eventually breaks by of her own will asking him to put his hands on her. Terry Rawlings expressed his misgivings at the incongruous nature of the violent cutdown version against the far more romantic music. In the original edit, the scene’s meaning was very different; it acted as a climax to the game which Deckard and Rachel had been playing, which Deckard had taken upon himself to complete. Ridley Scott’s own thoughts make his intentions clear; he did not set out to make a rape scene, and he did not film one. Within the theatrical edit, it unfortunately is all too easily interpreted as such. However, in the original edit, with the footage before it (as well as a brief addendum showing a far more sensual and consensual interaction between the two), the outcome as at the same time darker, more ambiguous, and yet more telling for both of the characters.

The final notable expansion occurs right after this scene. It details another one of Deckard’s visits to Holden in the hospital, where a drugged-up Holden asks crude questions about Deckard’s experiences with Zhora. However, this scene contains a disturbing twist. Part way into it, our view shifts from inside the room to a television screen; the same one which Deckard and Bryant had a discussion in earlier in the film. Deckard is being watched by Bryant and Gaffe surreptitiously, and possibly has been throughout the whole film. This twist, which is brilliantly reflective of Philip K. Dick’s own sensibilities for storytelling, also goes a long way to providing some depth to the otherwise enigmatic Gaffe, establishing a sense of superiority which he seems to lord over both Bryant and Deckard, and also establishing why he seems to be however many steps ahead of Deckard in the final edit. Once again, no hint of this subplot reappears in the final edit.

So, what is to be learned from all of this? I think it represents how effectively a film can be not just changed but utterly transformed from the simplest of additions or changes. Editing above all else is the act of effective synthesis, of creating a story from the material presented. How these materials are combined or selected can easily change the entire meaning of a story. If nothing else, the story of Blade Runner demonstrates how much editing as a process is essential to the creation of a film.