This article contains spoilers for Blade Runner 2049.
Grasping the central argument of most sci-fi films requires a closer look at the technological and social context of the time period in which it was made. Consider the technologies that entered the mass market by 1982, when the original Blade Runner was released. IBM’s 5150 brought Personal Computers to a wider consumer audience just the year before. The development of Compact Discs suddenly offered consumers far larger storage options than floppy discs of the previous decade. Devices shrank in size and, so too, became more ubiquitous in day-to-day life–the first mobile phones, the Walkman, camcorders, video cassette players all debuted in the ‘80s. With these devices, we could access, capture, and replay moments of ourselves. Human-ness as an object could be encapsulated and examined with greater ease than ever before.
Though less titanic than the upheavals of post-2000, the ‘80s still saw major shifts in just about every technological sphere while simultaneously sustaining booming economic growth. Material wealth accumulated and alongside it, a stirring of questions: what did this growth mean for society? What would become of this rampant charge forward? Blade Runner looked towards the technology growth and asked, “What is Human? What will become of Human when technology resembles us?” Its answer was relatively simple: humanity is empathy, and humanity is fast on its way to becoming devoid of empathy in the future. By “2019,” human-like technology will have deeper insight than us and humanity will cease to be special, resigned to lives of passive acceptance.
Here in 2017, it is not now a question of if AI will develop human-like qualities, but when. With the advent of the Internet, global connectivity, augmented reality, virtual reality, and various AI technologies (DeepBlue, Watson, AlphaGo to name a few), it seems inevitable, the technological singularity is closer than ever. Blade Runner 2049’s ontological context has shifted. It looks towards this inevitability and asks again, “What is Human? What is the worth of Human? What is the worth of Life?” Its answer also has evolved from the original: the essential expression is altruistic choice and this is far more special than empathy. The choice to act, to sacrifice, is that defines worth of life. We follow this in K’s narrative journey, from passive acceptance to the illusion of “Chosen”-ness to actual, active Choice.
In “2019”, humanity no longer has the quality that makes it special: empathy
The grizzled, worn, and hard-drinking Rick Deckard of Blade Runner is a grim protagonist to identify with. His stint in the LAPD leaves him jaded and tired, devoid of feeling and sensibility for others. The blankness of his face and demeanor hints at a deep sense of apathy towards life, one in which his lot is to be acted upon by others, with any noticeable protest being weak and ultimately meaningless (the possibility of him being a Replicant aside). His utter disconnection from others manifests across the film: his callous treatment of Rachael, his inability to understand the plight of the Nexus-6 Replicants, his continual state of shock at what unfolds around him. He is, in short, what the film fears is the certain future for humanity. It is, instead, the Replicants that are the most human, in their strangeness. The animal-like, yet innocent urge for desire, for freedom, for life beyond their predetermined “operational period” feels more True and Real than Deckard’s muted affectations.
Although we would still be over a decade from the first real glimpse of AI’s capabilities, the dark fantasy of Blade Runner is a nightmare of the future where we would give over one of the major defining features of being human. And the film does not skimp on displaying the cause: humanity’s defining characteristic, empathy, is lost as a consequence of our unending greed and avarice. What takes its place is an alien purity of feeling and empathy in the Replicants that is as forceful a contrast to the ills of humanity as one might desire.
In “2049,” it is not the quality of humanity itself that is special (and desirable) but that of choice, most of all selfless choice
30 years later, the human point of view is less able to tell us clearly what the value of humanity is. In place of Deckard, we sit squarely behind the eyes of an advanced Replicant, who’s only purpose in life is to obey, thanks to the grasping choices of Tyrell’s outrightly evil successor. It would appear from the outset that K is everything Deckard is not – he is compliant and competent, questioning little of his existence, even the “relationship” he maintains with an AI companion program. Yet as the narrative marches on, his yearning to be something more, something special emerges from the depths of his expressionless eyes. It seems momentarily a foregone conclusion that the film will devolve into a simplistic The Chosen One™ plot, and his desire for some semblance of humanity is precious and more than a little naive. That is, until the second-half revelation that K is *not* the chosen one suddenly turns the whole thing on its head.
Instead, we are treated to a wider view of the conflict between humanity and Replicants. The Wallace Corporation exemplifies just how far humanity has fallen in the last 30 years, enraptured by greed, as Wallace himself opines what he must accomplish in order to capture more star systems for humanity (here’s a clue: it involves exploiting more Replicants). This throws the Replicants’ fight for freedom into sharper focus than the amorphous plight of the Nexus 6 gang. The mystery of the Replicant child suddenly is no longer about whether a single Replicant like K can be special, but whether Replicants as a whole have surpassed their programming and will become something greater.
After K’s discovery of his un-Chosenness,” his journey takes a strange turn away from Blade Runner’s question of what makes humanity. It instead asks what is the value, the quintessence of humanity that made it worth seeking in the first place? What is the value of self aware life? And by the end of the film, we reach a conclusion that is not too far from the original film: beyond empathy, it is selfless choice that makes life unique. K’s ultimate satisfaction lies not in being the All-Loving Hero of another, much larger story, but in that of the little good he can affect in a world just as bleak as the original. By bringing together Deckard with his daughter, K seems indeed to surpass his programming, obeying no one but his own ideals. In this way, Blade Runner 2049 repudiates Blade Runner’s cynicism. The most relevant question now is not defining what is and is not human. It is discovering again the altruism that makes humanity special in the first place.
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To be human (in either “2019” or “2049”) doesn’t seem especially appealing, but the poignancy of K’s yearning for some form of humanity reflects a desire for some sense of place in the world–something familiar to anyone who struggled to grow up and discover their “true” selves. While the cynicism of 1982, fully on display in Blade Runner, has been realized in some ways in 2017, Blade Runner 2049 is less worried about predicting a cynical future and more about offering a humane way forward in one, regardless of what happens. And that may be the ultimate zeitgeist of our generation.
Blade Runner 2049 is in theaters now.
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