End Games: Closing the Doors on Ridley Scott's 'Blade Runner'

End Games is a feature in which I discuss notable endings in film history. There will be spoilers, obviously.

As far as the audience is concerned, there is only the final product. That is probably how it should be, but with the dawn of the Internet and DVD special features people are learning more and more about what a movie could have been rather than what it is. Customers have access to deleted scenes, alternate endings and endless “director’s cuts” and “unrated versions” that can drastically alter the way they’re supposed to interpret what they’re watching. It’s especially disturbing when it comes out that the powers that be had multiple ideas for how a movie should end. The most famous example of this is likely Ridley Scott’s Blade Runner, which has been released in so many different versions over the years—with a few different endings—that it feels like the darn thing is still being made. It’s an interesting sensation for a viewer to invest two hours watching something that they know isn’t the only, definitive version.

In the case of Blade Runner, there is at lease some comfort knowing that Ridley Scott himself recommends the “Final Cut,” which was finally released in 2007. It’s also interesting that all the versions of the film are essentially the same length, and clock in at just a tad under two hours. This isn’t the usual case of an absurdly ambitious filmmaker putting together a three and a half hour product and the studio slicing it to pieces. Nearly all the changes that came were tonal ones; minor alterations that drastically change the way the audience interprets the material. As it turns out, it doesn’t take much to make a smart movie feel simple.

There are several things that separate the multiple cuts of Blade Runner, but there are two gigantic differences that separate the good versions from the bad versions: Deckard’s voiceover, and the tacked-on “happy ending.” In the theatrical version, the former is sprinkled throughout the film in order to reduce potential audience confusion and drive home emotional moments with precisely no subtlety. One of the most egregious examples comes at the climax, as the narration helpfully explains the subtext to anyone who wasn’t paying attention. As Batty grasps a dove in his hands in the final moments of his life, Deckard looks on. It’s a beautiful moment, but much of that is torn away when Harrison Ford comes in and assumes the role of the film studies professor nobody asked for:

“I don’t know why he saved my life. Maybe in those last moments he loved life more than he ever had before.”

While not exactly a crippling mistake, it’s definitely an unnecessary interruption that refuses to let a tremendously important moment breathe. It also doesn’t help that Ford’s narration throughout the film is indifferently delivered at best, and some theorize that he did this on purpose in order to sabotage it. Nobody closely involved with the film really wanted any of the voiceover to make it, but the executives refused to budge. As a result, Ford’s drunk uncle-esque line deliveries found their way into the version that was shown in theaters around the world. Not only do they completely undercut any important emotional beats, but they significantly dumb down what is otherwise a truly intelligent piece of work. Nothing alienates an audience more than the feeling that a movie is condescendingly holding their hand. One recent example of this is Wong Kar-Wai’s The Grandmaster, which finally got its American release a few weeks ago. Unfortunately, this American cut is significantly dumbed down, with constant subtitles and other tools used to clarify things to American audiences that really didn’t need to be clarified. At multiple points, a subtitle appears explaining who a character is, and then that character will introduce themselves and more or less repeat the same thing. The viewer is trying to watch a potentially good movie, but it keeps getting interrupted by some annoying, invisible cinema god who doesn’t think they can keep up. This is more or less what watching the Blade Runner theatrical cut feels like. A great movie is obviously there, but the changes do everything they can to undercut it.

The ending of the theatrical version commits one other sin, and of course that is the odd happy ending. Just as the narration of the preceding climax instructs audiences how to interpret what they’ve just seen, this ending does little but pat them on the back and assure them that everything is going to turn out just okay. As most people know, the real ending of Blade Runner comes as Deckard escorts Rachael out of her apartment block. After finding an origami unicorn on the ground, the two of them enter the elevator, the doors close, and the movie is over. Their fates are left uncertain. This proved to be too ambiguous for the executives at the time, so early ’80s audiences were treated to an extra scene of Deckard and Rachael driving through the countryside. There is some more frustrating narration by Ford, and then the credits begin. Blade Runner is a dark and grimy movie for almost all of its two hours, so this tacked-on helicopter footage of mountains draped in gorgeous sunlight is especially out of place. Oh, and if those landscapes look familiar, it’s because most of this ending is made up of leftover footage from Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining. There’s a reason it feels like it’s from a different movie altogether.

Luckily, each subsequent version has allowed fans to see Blade Runner in its true, ambiguous glory. With the Final Cut, the option now exists to see the film as Ridley Scott truly intended. In everyone’s minds, including mine, this is a good thing. But should more filmmakers go back and mess with films that they feel could be improved? I’m not so sure. When Ridley Scott changes Blade Runner to fit his vision, people support him. When George Lucas goes back and alters Star Wars, people get angry. Obviously these are different circumstances. Scott was fighting to make his version of Blade Runner for decades, while Lucas was (by all accounts) perfectly happy with his property until somebody showed him that CGI + Star Wars = $$$. And then there’s the phenomenon of “unrated versions,” in which audiences are promised content not seen in theaters and instead all they get are a couple more scenes of Seth Rogen and Paul Rudd swearing at each other.

This is why I’m typically a fan of letting a movie be once it gets its release. When too many cuts start to pile on top of each other, that raises the question of which version is actually the movie. One person who agrees with me is Martin Scorsese, who apparently went through some drama with Miramax prior to the release of Gangs of New York. Some claimed that Scorsese wanted his film to be over three hours long, but the always cut-happy Weinsteins demanded that the film be reduced to 166 minutes. It ultimately was, and Scorsese’s longer version has never been seen. And according to him, it never will be. The movie is the movie, and he has no interest in challenging that.

What if Scott had the same mentality after the initial release of Blade Runner? Would audiences still regard the film as the classic they do today? It’s unlikely, and it’s tough to deny that the subsequent releases of his film have been a gift rather than an inconvenience. Even so, the many different versions of the movie are still out there. Just the other week I stumbled across an airing of Blade Runner on IFC, and I was disheartened to find they were playing the theatrical cut, narration and all. What if this is the first time someone is seeing the film? What if they don’t know it’s actually supposed to be completely different? However will they go on with their lives? That is the danger of giving the world too many versions of the same product. All too often they may find the wrong one, and they will never know that they’re actually watching the wrong movie. In the minds of millions of filmgoers, Blade Runner ends with the two protagonists driving through off to freedom. That ending was shot, edited, and projected in theaters around the world. How are you supposed to tell somebody that something they’ve seen with their own eyes technically isn't supposed to be there? It's not like they can just erase it from their memory. The Final Cut may be Ridley Scott’s Blade Runner, but unfortunately isn’t everybody’s Blade Runner.