Rick Deckard: Man or Machine?

Fans of Blade Runner have debated the human/synthetic identity of bounty hunter Rick Deckard for years. In some circles, the debate encompasses the novel on which the film is based, Philip K. Dick’s sci-fi masterpiece Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? In Ridley Scott’s 1982 cinematic adaptation, Deckard is a hard-drinking bachelor whose mind seems influenced by his superiors in the L.A.P.D. This is made more evident in the 1992 Director’s Cut and 2007 Final Cut. Deckard, played by Harrison Ford, dreams of unicorns similar to the origami shapes crafted by his partner Inspector Gaff. These scenes combine with cryptic dialogue, like Gaff’s statement at the end of the film that Deckard ‘has done a man’s job,’ to suggest Deckard is synthetic. In various interviews, Scott has stated Deckard is, as per the lingo of the film, a replicant (android in the novel), albeit an unknowing one. Unfortunately, the film’s twist has over-shadowed Philip K. Dick’s one-hundred-percent human protagonist.

            In the 21^st century world, androids are physically identical to humans. Although similar models can be made, as Deckard discovers with the Rachael Rosen/Pris Stratton model, facial features and overall atheistic can be altered to change an android’s entire appearance. Even Deckard, a hardened bounty hunter, finds it hard to see the difference. His encounters with Rachel make him aware of how difficult it is to distinguish between man and machine.

            As realistic as androids appear, they lack one human quality: empathy. The Voigt Empathy Test ultimately decides who/what is human. This test registers reaction times to questions of 21^st century ethics. While androids can pick up these norms and adapt to the environment, their reaction times to these questions are slow. Their inability to express sympathy for other life forms gives them away. As Deckard puts it, “Empathy, evidently, existed only within the human community, whereas intelligence to some degree could be found throughout every phylum and order.”

Deckard has passed the Voigt Test. Medical checkups confirm he’s a man “who could reproduce within the tolerances set by law.” During Luba Luft’s interrogation, she asks Deckard to test himself. He tells her the police department tested him long ago. She persists, saying they gave him false memories. Phil Relsch, a fellow bounty hunter, tests Deckard to prove that he’s human. Deckard passes.

Yet, what complex human emotions does Deckard display that set him apart from his mechanical quarry?

            First, Deckard feels remorse for the androids he hunts, unlike his prey, who are solely concerned with their own survival. Though empathetic, Deckard is selfish, greedy, confused, and ponderous. Although he performs his joyless job as a bounty hunter with precision, he does not believe in the value of his work. For him, it serves only to fulfill monetary needs. Greed for wealth and prestige is a purely human emotion. If Deckard were an android he would not care about these things. To androids, money is just means of self-preservation (very human, too, you could say).

            In the novel, Deckard wants to replace his electrical sheep with a live one. “He thought, too, about his need for a real animal; within him an actual hatred once more manifested itself toward his electric sheep, which he had to tend, had to care about, as if it lived” (Dick 42). Deckard dislikes his sheep because it has no capacity to love him. He looks for reciprocity, a relationship. Androids, however, are apathetic toward life. This is exemplified at the novel’s end in John Isidore’s apartment where Pris Stratton nonchalantly tears the legs off a spider to the horror of Isidore. The questions that trip up Rachael during Deckard’s administration of the Voigt Empathy Test are ones directed to the care of animal life. A final example of Deckard’s empathy for animals is his sense of wonder when he picks up a toad and his disappointment when he discovers it is a robot.

            Other factors contribute to Deckard’s humanity: his concern for his wife, use of “mood organs,” and sexual attraction to Rachel. Deckard discusses sexual relations with androids with Phil Relsch and is disgusted when Relsch claims he’s used them for physical gratification. “It’s just sex. Wake up and face yourself, Deckard. You wanted to go to bed with a female type android—nothing more, nothing less. Don’t let it get you down.” Deckard tries to justify his feelings for Rachael as being grounded in actual love. He foolishly tells her, “If you weren’t an android, if I could legally marry you, I would.” Rachael, however, takes no joy in their coupling. She simply has sex with him to save the other androids. When Deckard finds out she has also slept with Phil Relsch, he’s jealous. These emotions—lust, love, anger—are emotions androids cannot experience.

            Or can they? 

To be or not to be...human?

This question encompasses the central question of Deckard’s 21^st century existence, “Am I human? Or am I programmed to believe I am human?” Although empathy may only be a human characteristic, why does the android Roy Batty cry when his wife is shot? Why is Rachael so hateful when she finds out she is an android? Why does Pris Stratton tear the legs off a spider but spare Isidore? Can empathy be developed (current studies point to yes)? If so, in experiencing human life, can androids become human?

The important thing is Blade Runner takes a minor plot device from the novel, the ability to implant false memories, and alters Deckard’s humanity. Philip K. Dick’s Rick Deckard is definitely human. And that’s Dick’s intent—who is the android? the unfeeling human who already possesses empathy by his very nature? or the “cold” machine who nevertheless strives to identify with the thoughts and feelings of other sentient beings?

Social Warfare in Steven Spielberg’s Jaws?

Enough has been written about Jaws’ narrative tightness, excellent acting, and technical prowess. Really, what more needs to be said? Spielberg’s shark tale is the 1975masterpiece that spring boarded him into our cultural spotlight as possibly the greatest director of all time and set the standard by which all blockbuster films should be compared. It’s essentially a man vs. nature film. A great white shark brings physical and economic carnage to the town of Amity, so three men must battle it mano-a-mano in chilly Atlantic waters. It’s a simple film, but when I recently rewatched it, I couldn’t help but find deeper social commentary.

            WARNING: SPOLER ALERT.

            WARNING: I am reading far too much into this.

  I’ve always found Jaws’ second half more interesting than its first. Don’t get me wrong, the first half is terrifying (the fleeting brutality of the Kitner boy’s death is probably what scares me most). Yet, the second half provides three rich characters (Brody, Hooper, Quint), each possessing internal demons, and the shark the catalyst for metaphorical confrontation.

AGAIN—I’m reading too far much into this.

            Okay, first we have Matt Hooper, the excitable shark scientist. From the town’s point of view, he’s an outsider, a rich boy, an aspect the film hammers home repeatedly. As Hooper says, he has money on top of his family’s money. Hell, look at his freakin’ boat! All that gadgetry!

Matt Hooper. Rich. Intelligent. Bearded.

            Anyway, during the film’s second half, Quint takes a special disliking to Hooper because he’s rich. When examining him to see if Hooper can work on his boat to catch this shark, he tells him he has city hands, that he’s “been counting money all his life.” Hooper immediately cries, “I don’t need this working class hero crap!” The scene is played wonderfully by Dreyfuss and Shaw.

            Quint and Hooper’s animosity only continues on the boat. Quint makes fun of Hooper’s shark cage and other expensive items he brings aboard the Orca. “Don’t know what he’ll do with it,” says Quint in reference to the shark. “Might eat it, I suppose.” On the boat, Quint constantly criticizes Hooper, from how he ties off lines and barrels to his steering of the ship. Quint to Hooper: “Don’t tell me my business.”They do have a night of bonding, the famous “Show Me the Way to Go Home” scene, but quarrel for the rest of the movie.

            Finally, when Quint’s methods for killing the shark fail, the three men agree to lower Hooper into the water in his shark cage to jab the fish with a poisonous needle. As Hooper is lowered, I can’t tell whether he earns begrudging respect from Quint or if the captain can’t wait for him to become shark food. Of course, the shark proves too much, breaking through the cage, causing Hooper to drop the needle. He escapes to hide behind a rock near the seabed, leaving Chief Brody and Quint at the shark’s mercy.

            For Hooper, the shark represents his own discomfort with his class standing, the constant reminder that his money makes him different than others and produces overwhelming hostility. In the end, he will always be running from this fear.

Da Chief.

            Next, we have Chief Brody, the middle-class hero of the group. He owns a nice house in a nice section of town. He has a nice truck, nice clothes. He’s average in all possible ways. In town, he’s an outsider because he hasn’t been born on the island, yet everyone treats him with respect because he is chief. He’s humble, self-deprecating, and reliable.

His wife jokes several times how scared Brody is of water. He never swims, just stays on the beach. She says he even sits in the car on the island ferry. For him, the shark not only represents this fear, but also his fatherly duty to his wife and kids. He has to confront the shark on open water to protect his family.

After it destroys Hooper’s cage and kills Quint, Brody is left on the sinking Orca with only a rifle and a few bullets. In the famous ending, he tosses a SCUBA tank in the shark’s maw, lets it circle toward him, and shoots the tank, blowing up the shark. Earlier in the film, he’d seen a picture of a shark in a textbook with a similar tank in his mouth. If he hadn’t had both the guts to get on Quint’s boat and the impetus to have studied sharks beforehand, he wouldn’t have been able to kill it. Brody must be pushed out of his comfortable middle-class existence to confront what these comforts have caused him to lose—primal-survivalist struggle with Mother Nature.  

"Smile you..."

Finally, we have Quint, whose story is undoubtedly the saddest and most disturbing. He’s a fisherman, a working class hero as Hooper puts it. He’s also crazy, made evident as he smashes the sinking Orca’s radio and their last chance to get outside help. In the “Show Me the Way to Go Home” scene, Quint explains he served in WW2 on the USS Indianapolis, the aircraft carrier that delivered the A-bomb. The ship was sunk by a Japanese torpedo and the survivors attacked for days by sharks. Many were eaten alive.

This is not the face of a sane man.

Quint swears he’ll “never wear a life jacket again,” preferring to rely on his know-how/intuition. Thus why he dislikes Hooper’s expensive tools and prefers to kill the shark “old school.” As the film progresses, he becomes more like Ahab, seeking revenge against the great white for the killing of his mates and the emotional destruction such an experience has cost him.

Ironically, Quint is killed by Hooper. Yes, the shark jumps onto the boat and Quint slides into its mouth. Brody tries to catch him, but Quint slips through his fingers. Quint does grab the edge of a table, but one of Hooper’s SCUBA tanks rolls over his fingers, causing him to jerk in pain, lose grip, and slide to his demise. So, yes, the shark kills him. But Hooper’s tanks give him that unfortunate push. Quint is then consumed by his painful past, the demons that have followed him all his life and now manifest in the shark itself. Really, this is the only logical end for Quint. What, was he gonna go to therapy? Get over the whole shark thing? No. No life jackets, remember?

Another picture of Quint. Never a bad thing.

So, what is the film trying to say?

Is Hooper—the rich boy—doomed to run from his money all his life?

In Brody, does the middle-class policeman provide the means for heroism?

Does Quint represent the working man, who provides the bulk of the hard work, yet is doomed to be rolled over by the rich and consumed by his spot in the socioeconomic structure?

In a movie about a killer shark, I don’t know if it is posing any of these questions.

But I find myself asking them just the same.

Oliver Stone Speaks at Kent State University

Two weeks ago was the 43^rd anniversary of the May 4^th Kent State shootings. To celebrate, the university opened the May 4^th Visitor's Center, an interactive multimedia museum in Taylor Hall, and Friday night had PBS’ Gwen Ifill host a discussion panel about the shootings’ significance in local and national history. Events continued throughout the weekend, one of which my wife and I were fortunate enough to attend Saturday night in Cartwright Hall. Academy-award winning writer/director Oliver Stone spoke to an auditorium of five-hundred students, faculty, staff, and local residents about the importance of the shootings and his use of history in his films. It was an interesting evening, one that got me, my wife, and students talking.

            The KSU shootings took place during an on-campus student protest of Nixon’s invasion of Cambodia. What happened next is well-known: riots and looting of businesses on Friday May 1^st and the arson of the ROTC building on Saturday the 2^nd. Eventually, the Ohio National Guard killed four students and wounded nine others. Two of the dead were merely hurrying to class. One was an ROTC member. The shootings led to protests throughout the country and the Pulitzer Prize-winning photo of the dead Jeffery Miller is forever engrained in our cultural memory. Prior to the shootings, Nixon called the protestors “bums,” to which Allison Krause’s father famously retorted, “My daughter was not a bum.” Neil Young would pen “Ohio” about the massacre, and the KSU shootings provide a key sequence in Oliver Stone’s 1995 bio-drama Nixon. 

Talking to community members about the shootings will invariably give you different opinions. No one says the students “deserved it.” It was a tragedy, but many feel slighted that the protests overshadow the destruction caused to the community during that week, most of which was committed by student activist groups from around the country. Considering the Justice Department’s dismissal of a 30-year old audio-recording that purports to show the ONG’s order to shoot was based on gunfire manufactured by an on-campus FBI informant, we may never know what really happened.

Still, four kids died.

That was Oliver Stone’s point throughout the evening. What led to their deaths? How have we moved on? What did those kids die for?

Stone maintained they died in the social-civil war between “those who asked questions” and Nixon’s “moral majority.” He emphasized that he was born into an Eisenhower-Republican household and enlisted in Vietnam because he felt it was his duty to fight communists. He was told all his life by the educational and political machine they were our enemy and threatened our way of life. If you’ve seen Platoon or for that matter any of Stone’s work, you know that war changed his ideology. Even after the KSU shootings, Nixon won a landslide election in 1972. Stone said those numbers show that Nixon could lay claim to the majority, as “immoral as they might have been.” The importance of the students’ deaths was that they died during a time when our country fought among ourselves ideologically.

Who won? Well, the military industrial complex is stronger than ever, and we have more influence and control abroad. Who do you think?

Stone made sure to point out how history changes depending on whom guides cultural memory. Ronald Reagan knew that the first Gulf War might erase the soured-impact of Vietnam, and that with a new enemy to fight, the old grudges would be laid to rest. The cultural fears after 9/11 and initial enthusiasm for the Iraq War only enabled media and government agencies to propagate American exceptionalism and imperialist policies. Stone cited recent polls that show 51% of American young people feel the Vietnam War was justified. This flabbergasted him, and was one of the reasons he co-wrote and produced the Showtime documentary series The Untold History of the United States. He was appalled by what his kids were taught in schools, and hopes to change it.

During his one-on-one discussion with a JMC professor (I forget the guy’s name, oops) Stone did not want to rhapsodize about his movies. He doubts his films have made any real cultural impact. When asked which of his films he likes best, he replied he can’t pick a favorite. Each is one of his babies. Stone spoke of media bias at length, ripped Time Magazine and Walter Cronkite, and made it known Obama has continued the policies of Bush, Jr., albeit with different rhetoric. He said in his travels it has been enlightening to see how America is viewed abroad and encouraged students to get on the internet and learn to find out what foreign and domestic policies are actually doing, and to combat disinformation. “We’re dealing with some real scum,” he said, which got cheers and giggles from the crowd. He finished by repeating that the KSU shootings should always be commemorated by this campus so that we—maybe I’m going too Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young with this—teach our children well. If not, then the immoral majority will have won, and those kids will have died for nothing.

After the talk, I milled about the lobby with my wife and students. A few of my kids—ah, listen to me, calling them “my kids”—were put off by Stone’s “strong opinions.” However, most said his words inspired them to question what they are taught. In days since, many went to the Visitor’s Center and were deeply moved. They all talked about the draft board, where you can “get your number” to see if you would’ve been drafted in Vietnam. Many would have been, and they were deeply disturbed.

The question Stone has me pondering is—What is history? Is it concrete? Moldable? Without witnessing an event, will we ever know the exact details? Is history a stone thrown into a pond and can we only be sure of its impact by studying the ripples?

It was an exciting night. When I met Mr. Stone, he signed a copy of his Untold History and posed for a picture. I don’t know what I said to him, probably fan-boy rambling about how much I like his movies, but after he signed my book, he told me I seemed like a very nice young man. I’ll take that.

The Summer’s Ultimate B-Movie – Rise of the Planet of the Apes

I’m two weeks behind with this entry, but I had to write about the surprise movie of the summer. From the dreadful (Pirates to Captain America) to the much-hyped but merely entertaining (Cowboys & Aliens), this summer’s blockbusters have been a big letdown (though I didn’t see Thor, which many seemed to like). Only HP:7, Pt. 2 passed mainstream and critical muster. Yet, just when studios lose steam and release movies they don’t suppose will be summer tent poles, comes the franchise reboot/prequel nobody knew they wanted, Rise of the Planet of the Apes. 
I went into Rise with three thoughts: 1) the trailer didn’t look so hot, 2) how many reboots, reimaginings, and remakes do we need? and 3) can I stand James Franco for ninety-plus minutes? All my presuppositions were wrong. I don’t know whether Rise will reboot the Apes franchise or function as just a one-off, but if moviemakers can make compelling, well-acted summer fare like this, I say keep them coming.

Rise begins in the African jungle where a captured chimpanzee is taken to a U.S. lab. where Franco works developing experimental drugs meant to rebuild decayed brain tissue. He hopes to use one day to fix his father’s (John Lithgow) Alzheimer’s. Franco experiments on the chimp, it goes berserk, and is killed. Here, the chimp was protecting its baby, Caesar. Franco takes Caesar home, raises him, and finds his mother has genetically passed him the experimental drugs, making him smarter than your average ape.

Cut to five years later. Caesar signs like a fully grown human. He wears clothes, has a range of emotions, and uses silverware at dinner. Franco now has a cute girlfriend (Frieda Pinto), the romance of which is never shown. This is good, as too many movies like this are sunk by cheesy, undercooked, obligatory amorous subplots. No worries here. Apes! Apes!

Franco’s father’s Alzheimer’s hasn’t abated, however, and one day an altercation between Lithgow and a neighbor causes Caesar to defend his adopted grandfather. He bites off the neighbor’s finger and gets sent to a primate sanctuary run by Brian Cox and his son, Tom Felton (Draco Malfoy from the HP movies—still a bastard). While in this pseudo-prison, Caesar begins the ape revolution heralded by the movie’s title.

That is all the plot I’ll give away. See it yourself. It’s at once everything you ever expected from a movie called Rise of the Planet of the Apes and yet nothing you did. Or at least, you never expected it to be this good.

First, the astounding computer animation: never has it looked so seamless. With Andy Serkis (Gollum from Lord of the Rings) as Caesar, the CGI ape carries the movie’s weight all the way. He is the star. Caesar is emotional, intelligent, and a bit of an egomaniac. Yet, you have to love a movie that makes the audience root against mankind in favor of well-developed primates. The rest of the ape animation is great. Maurice, the old wise circus orangutan, was my favorite, along with the gorilla. Imagine any war movie and you’ll be able to stick the apes in the stock character roles. Because of the modern setting, however, it works.

Second, the acting: James Franco does well (his best role is still Daniel Desario in Freaks & Geeks). I’ve read reviews saying he looks bored. That could just be his face, which has never been too expressive. Frieda Pinto plays the good-looking, ape-loving doctor/girlfriend. She looks pretty when she has to and says her lines with conviction. At least they didn’t cast an anorexic blonde.  I agree with Roger Ebert’s take on the Lithgow character: he functions to do exactly what he does and nothing more. He does a good job, though the scene where he forgets how to drive a car is a bit Dick Solomoniesque.

The film’s supporting roles are well-cast. Felton, as in Harry Potter, is a great dick, always will be. David Oyelowo is the white-collar boss. “You make the drugs, I make the money,” he says to Franco. He is an appropriate, if underdeveloped, villain. The saddest casting is Brian Cox, the great Scottish character actor. He is wasted as the “ape warden.” It requires him to grumpily shuffle around the sanctuary and grunt, “They’re just apes.” If he wore a shirt that read, “I Hate Animals,” you could cut most of his lines. This is a shame, since he's always a great villain. The film sets him up as one, only to cut him short in the end. Watch the scene where he reacts to the fatal aftermath of Caesar’s escape—does it feel like there’s been a cut?

Overall, Rise is a great B-movie. It’s not Casablanca, but it doesn’t try to be. There’s nothing clunky in the writing or direction. The film meets its simple goals: entertain with great ape action, standard human characters, and don’t go overboard with any cautionary sci-fi nonsense. It’s a great ride, although I do have one question: for apes smart enough to pick locks and perform military strategy, they love jumping through windows. This pervades the movie myth of easily breakable glass panes. I hope no one tries to jump through a window like Caesar and his buddies. That’s nothing to monkey around with (insert more ape jokes here). B.

No Expectations – Cowboys & Aliens

As long as you go into Cowboys & Aliens with no expectations you won’t be disappointed. It’s titled Cowboys & Aliens for god’s sake. I didn’t know if I should expect comedy, western, horror, or sci-fi. I definitely didn’t expect the next Citizen Kane (or my personal favorite, Mann’s The Last of the Mohicans). What I got was two-hours of mindless entertainment made better by the filmmakers’ attempts at giving the audience characters to care about and seeing Daniel Craig (James Bond) and Harrison Ford (Indiana Jones) together onscreen.

Cue man-love.

The plot is simple: aliens invade the Old West, taking helpless citizens for experiments in order to eventually enslave them to mine gold. At least I think so. It’s never explained well. But who cares?

Aliens looking for gold—yes, you read that right. As Olivia Wilde’s character explains, “They’re the same as you.” Gold serves to provide the film’s protagonist, Jake Lonergan (Daniel Craig, yes the name is a pun) with his eventual turn. Before Jake and his lover were abducted by these same aliens and he lost his memory, he was an outlaw. Gold was his means of getting out of the business. Except that he robbed Harrison Ford’s gold. And Harrison is pissed.

Ford’s character, Col. Dollarhyde (yes, another pun), rules the town of Absolution. He’s introduced in a nifty scene where he brutally interrogates a ranch hand by stringing the guy between two horses and having them almost pull him apart. Ford’s a great bad guy, and he seems to be enjoying himself, especially in the scene where he tells a boy of slitting a dying man’s throat in the aftermath of an Apache settlement raid. Good, grumpy Ford stuff.

The film’s first hour sets up its drama: Craig and Ford’s characters have to work together with other townsfolk in order to understand the alien menace. Other characters include Sam Rockwell’s Doc (well done), Keith Carradine’s sheriff (finely acted), Adam Beach as Ford’s surrogate son (sadly wasted in a stock role), Paul Dano as Ford’s dimwit biological son (Dano is miles from his There Will Be Blood character), Clancy Brown’s preacher (who has the best lines) and Olivia Wilde’s townie with all the mystical answers. The film’s penchant for sexualizing Wilde is obnoxious. She sports a see-through gown with hard nipples in almost every shot. This reinforces the modern image of beautiful women being doe-eyed and in need of food.

Cowboys & Aliens is nothing to gush over. It’s just good fun. The alien design is great. The monsters thrill. They’re nasty, violent critters. The last hour of the movie is all action, special effects, and character turns, most of them done well, some not. I would have liked to see Ford’s character turn happen gradually instead of him defeating the aliens and going, “Well, I’ll be a good guy now.” Craig is good, too, but he’s basically Eastwood’s Man with No Name. All he does is scowl. But he has presence, which helps the audience want to follow him.

I had to laugh at the film’s last lines. Ford’s character, now a good guy, tells Craig he is looking for a dependable man on his ranch. Leaning against a post below the saloon, he says it like a come-on: “I need a good man around here.” I couldn’t help but laugh at the filmmakers’ knowledge of all those still-little-boys, like me, who saw Cowboys & Aliens simply to see Indy and 007 in the same movie. B-

Of note is this video, which may be the highlight of a string of recent humorous Ford late night appearances. In it, he berates an old co-star. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sWTtMdXAazs

Don’t just take my opinion. Here are some more reviews:

http://www.rogerebert.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20110727/REVIEWS/110729987/1023

http://www.variety.com/review/VE1117945693?refcatid=31

http://www.ew.com/ew/article/0,,20483470,00.html