And the line between human and machine is arbitrary, too. People seem mechanical, replicants seem human, and Deckard is simultaneously machine and man in the context of the elusive plot. This lack of clarity reflects an identity crisis. What is it to be human? How does thinking define who we are? Can we simulate emotion?
It's important to note these ambiguities because Bladerunner is, at its heart, a noir, a mystery. It can feel like a confusing mess to a casual viewer, and Ford's mumbling narration feels wooden and dull. But it's deliberate. It suggests that something is off. Think of the pacing in the opening scene, how the replicant talks over the test. The viewer's idea of a machine is being constantly questioned.
In class, we've talked about how eyes define humanity, how they're the "window to the soul." This makes them an obvious motif to use in Bladerunner, a film about the nature of humanity as an idea. But there's something more to it than that. The replicants talk about what they've seen on other planets, the horrors they've witnessed, the beauty that's graced them, but we never get that. We get plenty of spectacle and technical marvel, sure, but we don't see these mysterious, beautiful other worlds. We have to take their word for it. We have to believe they've been there based on their character. How have their experiences changed who they are? Sight is humanity, because sight causes reaction and emotion. It's a curse. The replicants (like people) were born with no desire, just a purpose. It is what they've witnessed that causes them to pursue eternal life. Sight induces fear, because it gives life.
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