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- If you have two X chromosomes, or know and like someone who does, “Blade Runner 2049” may not be the movie for you.
- Female characters get the short end of the stick in this long-awaited dystopian sequel; they are drowned, knifed in the stomach, shot point-blank in the head and, in one instance, simply winked out of existence with the stomp of a boot. All, it must be said, with artful cinematic relish.
- Director Denis Villeneuve (“Arrival”) is entirely faithful to the original, in which one of the most gorgeous and terrible scenes is of a stripper replicant (the film’s term for humanoid robots) cut down in a hail of bullets as she crashes dramatically through multiple plate-glass windows.
- The shrieking, stomach-shredding death of Daryl Hannah’s “standard pleasure model” bot, Pris, runs a close second.
- I’d like to think this follow-up to Ridley Scott’s 1982 “Blade Runner,” whose rainy noir aesthetic informed just about every sci-fi flick that came afterward, is a cautionary tale about a society that views women as disposable and/or as outright slaves. But seeing as it’s mostly about Ryan Gosling’s Officer K, a “blade runner” tasked with executing older-model replicants, pondering his own existence, I think I’d be wrong.
- Like the 20-foot-tall ballerina holograms pirouetting through its decrepit Los Angeles streets, “Blade Runner 2049” is hauntingly beautiful, technologically stunning and low on substance.
- Its central query — what does it mean to be human? — is hardly groundbreaking; it’s been posed by countless artificial-intelligence films, many with more feeling. It faithfully upholds the architecture of Scott’s futuristic world but fails to conjure its wonderful strangeness: Recall Rutger Hauer’s replicant, Roy Batty, howling like a wolf as he chases Harrison Ford’s detective Rick Deckard, or the humble genetic designer (William Sanderson) who lives in an apartment full of misfit animatronic toys.
- Anyhoo, there’s little else I can tell you about “Blade Runner 2049,” whose studio has, rather astoundingly, forbidden critics from revealing central details about main characters, anything about the plot and a couple of important cameos (although one has already been spoiled by a TV spot).
- Is it satisfying to see the return of Ford as the hard-boiled Deckard? Absolutely. Is Gosling appropriately soulful as the new hit man who’s increasingly uncomfortable with his job? Hell, yes. In one of the few scenes I can mention — and certainly one of the best — the duo brawls in the dusty remains of a Las Vegas casino, throwing punches while a singing Elvis Presley hologram flickers on and off. It’s the kind of visual feast you’d expect from Villeneuve, whose “Arrival” was an alien-visitors masterpiece.
- Jared Leto, Hollywood’s go-to guy for creepy, is perfect as Niander Wallace, founder of the replicant-manufacturing company that’s picked up where the last film’s Tyrell Corporation left off. He fondles his cyborg creations with reptilian menace, a God complex emanating from his sightless eyes.
- Robin Wright, as Gosling’s steely boss in the behemoth LAPD tower, continues her reign as one of film’s best badasses. Mackenzie Davis (“Halt and Catch Fire”) is underused as Mariette, a street urchin whose look is a throwback to Daryl Hannah’s. Ana de Armas, as K’s girlfriend, is a sci-fi fanboy’s wet dream named Joi, while Wallace’s squeeze (Sylvia Hoeks) is named Luv. (Yuck.)
- The soundtrack nods sparingly at 1982’s synthy Vangelis soundtrack, thank goodness; Villeneuve’s version is more visceral and bass-heavy, a score that melds perfectly with the ominous developments I can’t tell you about. As a whole, it’s a perfectly serviceable upgrade — but lacks the spark of the original.
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