Blade Runner 2049 is a true sequel to the original, through and through. It has dazzling visuals and cinematography, a true vision bleeding through, and a lived in, immaculately crafted set design. But, conversely, it also has the issue of being more brain than heart, occasionally stilted dialogue, and misused women cast members.
Like Daryl Hanah before her, Sylvia Hoeks gives it her all, but it's the material that fails her. She never quite coalesces into a complete character, lacking the one vital scene that connects all the others showing her tears or her rage, her antipathy or her empathy. She feels more like whatever the film wants or needs her to be in the moment than a fully realized being, as much as Hoeks valiantly almost pulls it all together. And Ana de Armas similarly makes the most of a neglected character. She infuses Joi with charm, heart, and an arc of her own. There is a version of this film out in another world where her want to be a real girl and whether it's even possible or if she's just a tool for man's gratification is given more attention. It could carry a movie in of itself. Instead, her character is completely in service of the male lead, from life to death, a fate that previously befell Sean Young's Rachel.
It's impossible not to notice the hollow treatment of most of the female cast. Hoeks is a inconsistent psycho with a twisted crush on the lead, while Joi is fridged for his development. And most glaringly, Sean Young's Rachel is similarly fridged for Deckard, dying off screen and cameoing as just a temptation for Deckard to refuse. The women in this film appear mostly as victims, sex workers, and/or holographic housewives. You could surely argue that the subversion of the Chosen One plot- an admittedly inspired touch- but the force of that subversion is not a real character in of herself, only appearing in two scenes. She's a plot device, again facilitating the two male lead's growth. This is not her story. Director Denis Villeneuve tried to defend this, saying "Blade Runner is not about tomorrow; it's about today. And I'm sorry, but the world is not kind on women." But is that supposed to be a shock? What purpose does it serve to be similarly unkind on women? The world is cruel to them, undoubtedly, but that does not mean they don't have their own stories, their own lives. What's the point of it if you do not condemn it, or even portray it in a new way to shock the audience, to reveal today's dehumanizing treatment of them. In 2049, it's just there, lazily presented with a shrug.
That is not to say the film is completely without its pluses- far from it. The ensemble overall is better served than in the original. Robin Wright is the exception among the female cast, playing a character who is callous and unfailingly committed to the current system, but is not inhuman. There is a loneliness that exudes from her, and there is a sort of kindness to her with how she attatches to K, offering him her version of mercy while never ceasing to believe she's in the right. Harrison Ford is much more engaged in this film. His expression in the last shot of the film may be the most honest acting I've ever seen from him. Dave Bautista owns his singular scene, perfectly setting the tone. And Gosling as K is a much more compelling protagonist than Deckard was. He adeptly portrays a man robotic on the outside and quietly human within, conveying contrasts of hope and fear or yearning and disbelief at the same time. But as Blade Runner had an underutilized ensemble lifted by one bright performance from Rutger Hauer, so does 2049 have a mostly solid cast marred by a horrific showing.
Jared Leto is just awful. He feeds into one of the Blade Runner series' biggest issues - nobody talks like this. It is no coincidence that when Rutger Hauer portrayed Roy Batty, the high point of the franchise, he rewrote the character's dying speech, dismissing the original as 'opera talk and hi-tech speech'. This has always been a potential flaw in this series, but the right actors can find the emotions in the tech, as he did. Wright sells awkwardly written lines like "The world is bought on a wall, it separates kind," with conviction. And Bautista kills it on "You newer models are happy scraping the shit, because you've never seen a miracle." He feels it in his soul, and the emotion of his delivery, certain and grunted through intense pain from both the moment and a long life, reverberates through the entire films. Where they enliven their lines, Leto exposes it.
His jilted, shallow movements, his approximation of how blind people act, relayed to him by his usual overwrought method acting. He put in opaque contact lenses and calls it a day. Every word is spoken with a breathy, empty air. Leto does not feel his lines, he thinks them. He thinks he's delivering a master performance in a Blade Runner movie, he knows he's in one. He thinks he belongs in one, and so he does not. He reveals the insipidness of lines like "There were bad angels once, but I make good angels now," and "Pain reminds you the joy you felt was real," lines that are more thesis statements than actual human beliefs. And his utter lack of conviction in "We should own the stars" is criminal, mustering not enough energy on the last word to sell his character's certainty but just enough for you to notice he tried and failed. These lines are all head, and it is the actors' jobs to find the heart. Leto failed. He lays bare the passionless script.
But this is not the only case of the head failing. A big backbone of the film is Deckard's and Rachel' romance from the first film. The horribly rushed, utterly sterile romance that culminated in a sex scene that's borderline assault at worst and pushy at best. Leto states, in his lifeless way, that the connection they felt was instant? How? Every scene they had was lifeless. This is a case where seeing the original film actually hampers this one- I might be more able to buy into Ford's grief over his love if I hadn't seen how awkward that 'love' was.
This results in a film that, for all of its (mostly) talented cast, its daring visuals, and swooning, unique soundtrack... I like less than the original. 2049 makes me think, but it does not make me feel. It may. perhaps, be more even on the whole than the original. But with Leto, it hits a deeper low. The emptiness of its women is even less excusable in 2017 and today than Blade Runner's was in 1982. And it never hits as big a high as Hauer as Roy, who elevated that film and delivered its themes directly to your heart. I can examine 2049's themes, I can piece apart its cinematography, I can be awed by the lighting and setting. But I cannot connect with it. The crystallizing moment for this, I think, were the flashbacks to events we seen earlier in the film. A flashback after your big twist, showing the little hints that set it up? Acceptable. A flashback to explain your lead's decision to make his big heroic choice? It's lazy. if you need to tell us, through replaying past lines of the film, why your main character is making his climatic choice, you've failed. Either you think you haven't set it up enough for it to work without, or you think you're so smart and adept that you want to make sure the audience sees your genius, sees how perfectly you set this all up, and either one is damning. That's the feeling 2049 left me with. It wants you to look and awe at and think about it so hard it forgets to make you affected by it.
For Hauer's performance, I'd gladly rewatch the original- it leaves an impression that never fades. I feel no compulsion to watch this one again. I'm sure 2049 tells Blade Runner fans exactly what they want to hear. But it's just as simulated as Joi, and just as lacking in true emotion.
Review by JCVIP 4BlockedParent2021-05-26T06:34:47Z
Blade Runner 2049 is a true sequel to the original, through and through. It has dazzling visuals and cinematography, a true vision bleeding through, and a lived in, immaculately crafted set design. But, conversely, it also has the issue of being more brain than heart, occasionally stilted dialogue, and misused women cast members.
Like Daryl Hanah before her, Sylvia Hoeks gives it her all, but it's the material that fails her. She never quite coalesces into a complete character, lacking the one vital scene that connects all the others showing her tears or her rage, her antipathy or her empathy. She feels more like whatever the film wants or needs her to be in the moment than a fully realized being, as much as Hoeks valiantly almost pulls it all together. And Ana de Armas similarly makes the most of a neglected character. She infuses Joi with charm, heart, and an arc of her own. There is a version of this film out in another world where her want to be a real girl and whether it's even possible or if she's just a tool for man's gratification is given more attention. It could carry a movie in of itself. Instead, her character is completely in service of the male lead, from life to death, a fate that previously befell Sean Young's Rachel.
It's impossible not to notice the hollow treatment of most of the female cast. Hoeks is a inconsistent psycho with a twisted crush on the lead, while Joi is fridged for his development. And most glaringly, Sean Young's Rachel is similarly fridged for Deckard, dying off screen and cameoing as just a temptation for Deckard to refuse. The women in this film appear mostly as victims, sex workers, and/or holographic housewives. You could surely argue that the subversion of the Chosen One plot- an admittedly inspired touch- but the force of that subversion is not a real character in of herself, only appearing in two scenes. She's a plot device, again facilitating the two male lead's growth. This is not her story. Director Denis Villeneuve tried to defend this, saying "Blade Runner is not about tomorrow; it's about today. And I'm sorry, but the world is not kind on women." But is that supposed to be a shock? What purpose does it serve to be similarly unkind on women? The world is cruel to them, undoubtedly, but that does not mean they don't have their own stories, their own lives. What's the point of it if you do not condemn it, or even portray it in a new way to shock the audience, to reveal today's dehumanizing treatment of them. In 2049, it's just there, lazily presented with a shrug.
That is not to say the film is completely without its pluses- far from it. The ensemble overall is better served than in the original. Robin Wright is the exception among the female cast, playing a character who is callous and unfailingly committed to the current system, but is not inhuman. There is a loneliness that exudes from her, and there is a sort of kindness to her with how she attatches to K, offering him her version of mercy while never ceasing to believe she's in the right. Harrison Ford is much more engaged in this film. His expression in the last shot of the film may be the most honest acting I've ever seen from him. Dave Bautista owns his singular scene, perfectly setting the tone. And Gosling as K is a much more compelling protagonist than Deckard was. He adeptly portrays a man robotic on the outside and quietly human within, conveying contrasts of hope and fear or yearning and disbelief at the same time. But as Blade Runner had an underutilized ensemble lifted by one bright performance from Rutger Hauer, so does 2049 have a mostly solid cast marred by a horrific showing.
Jared Leto is just awful. He feeds into one of the Blade Runner series' biggest issues - nobody talks like this. It is no coincidence that when Rutger Hauer portrayed Roy Batty, the high point of the franchise, he rewrote the character's dying speech, dismissing the original as 'opera talk and hi-tech speech'. This has always been a potential flaw in this series, but the right actors can find the emotions in the tech, as he did. Wright sells awkwardly written lines like "The world is bought on a wall, it separates kind," with conviction. And Bautista kills it on "You newer models are happy scraping the shit, because you've never seen a miracle." He feels it in his soul, and the emotion of his delivery, certain and grunted through intense pain from both the moment and a long life, reverberates through the entire films. Where they enliven their lines, Leto exposes it.
His jilted, shallow movements, his approximation of how blind people act, relayed to him by his usual overwrought method acting. He put in opaque contact lenses and calls it a day. Every word is spoken with a breathy, empty air. Leto does not feel his lines, he thinks them. He thinks he's delivering a master performance in a Blade Runner movie, he knows he's in one. He thinks he belongs in one, and so he does not. He reveals the insipidness of lines like "There were bad angels once, but I make good angels now," and "Pain reminds you the joy you felt was real," lines that are more thesis statements than actual human beliefs. And his utter lack of conviction in "We should own the stars" is criminal, mustering not enough energy on the last word to sell his character's certainty but just enough for you to notice he tried and failed. These lines are all head, and it is the actors' jobs to find the heart. Leto failed. He lays bare the passionless script.
But this is not the only case of the head failing. A big backbone of the film is Deckard's and Rachel' romance from the first film. The horribly rushed, utterly sterile romance that culminated in a sex scene that's borderline assault at worst and pushy at best. Leto states, in his lifeless way, that the connection they felt was instant? How? Every scene they had was lifeless. This is a case where seeing the original film actually hampers this one- I might be more able to buy into Ford's grief over his love if I hadn't seen how awkward that 'love' was.
This results in a film that, for all of its (mostly) talented cast, its daring visuals, and swooning, unique soundtrack... I like less than the original. 2049 makes me think, but it does not make me feel. It may. perhaps, be more even on the whole than the original. But with Leto, it hits a deeper low. The emptiness of its women is even less excusable in 2017 and today than Blade Runner's was in 1982. And it never hits as big a high as Hauer as Roy, who elevated that film and delivered its themes directly to your heart. I can examine 2049's themes, I can piece apart its cinematography, I can be awed by the lighting and setting. But I cannot connect with it. The crystallizing moment for this, I think, were the flashbacks to events we seen earlier in the film. A flashback after your big twist, showing the little hints that set it up? Acceptable. A flashback to explain your lead's decision to make his big heroic choice? It's lazy. if you need to tell us, through replaying past lines of the film, why your main character is making his climatic choice, you've failed. Either you think you haven't set it up enough for it to work without, or you think you're so smart and adept that you want to make sure the audience sees your genius, sees how perfectly you set this all up, and either one is damning. That's the feeling 2049 left me with. It wants you to look and awe at and think about it so hard it forgets to make you affected by it.
For Hauer's performance, I'd gladly rewatch the original- it leaves an impression that never fades. I feel no compulsion to watch this one again. I'm sure 2049 tells Blade Runner fans exactly what they want to hear. But it's just as simulated as Joi, and just as lacking in true emotion.