The following is about Blade Runner 2049, so spoiler alert. More importantly, it’s about something much less important: You and me. Cells.
-Recite your baseline. “And blood black nothingness began to spin. A system of cells interlinked within cells interlinked within cells interlinked within one stem. And dreadfully distinct against the dark, a tall, white fountain played.”
They tell you this is a test, that you are compelled to say these words. This is misdirection. The recitation centers you. More than that--it comes from your center. These words, your knowing them, your repeating them, the articulations of your palate, the vibration of your vocal chords, your being told to say them, all of it is a good thing on its own. The trick, the evil here, is to make you believe that it’s a measure of your inhumanity in order to trap you into behaving inhumanly.
What’s the narrative of it? First, (but in continuation of…) black, chaotic motion. Then, little bits connecting with other little bits to form bigger bits until it all forms a transcendent whole. After that, beacon of white against the dark. Spontaneous order, and let there be light. You like the course of things here. It’s natural and good.
Can’t have that, can we? Which means it’s time to paralyze you. Let’s begin.
-Cells. “Cells.”
Why start here? Because you know you are the cell--that’s why the cells are in the recitation in the first place. After all, you can’t not be in the story; you have to self-insert somewhere. You shrink away from the dreadful, distinct starkness, the sensation of the rest, the black, the white, the interlinking. They’ve already cornered you in this conceptual space by mere suggestion, so they know where to attack.
-Have you ever been in an institution? Cells. “Cells.”
Yes, you have. And whatever tiny glimmer of structure it gave you is now gone, and you miss it, and now you need to be made ashamed of that. School is dumb, religion is dumb, college is a waste of money. Okay, fine? At least it was something.
-Do they keep you in a cell? Cells. “Cells.”
What is happening here is a complex mixture of wordplay, a puncturing of the forced repetition structure in the first usage of the repeated word in the interrogative phrase, the continual pressure on self-identity, and a recontextualization of the previous question in the attempt to suggest at some degree of wrongdoing/dysfunctionality. In other words, it’s far too convoluted to convey anything other than: You are you because of The System, and you should feel bad for letting it make you into something bad.
-When you're not performing your duties, do they keep you in a little box? Cells. “Cells.”
Do you think increasing the square footage would help anything? The box is little because you’re little, and now you’re being belittled for it, being made to feel the power and grandiosity of the nonexistent Outside, so you don’t do your little bit of good as a cell.
-Interlinked. “Interlinked.”
Don’t think about all that cell stuff too much--just enough to feel that familiar, impotent rage, to keep you in a whirl of frantic non-activity, and then we can move on to sedative sadness.
-What’s it like to hold the hand of someone you love? Interlinked. “Interlinked.”
It’s a wonderful feeling. Why don’t we ask you the same question, big guy?
-Did they teach you how to feel, finger to finger? Interlinked. “Interlinked.”
They did, and then they did their very best to minimize its intrinsic value. Disney was deftly replaced by love triangles, work drama, transient relationships, and disillusionment, preferably all four at the same time. Can’t bluff someone if they’re not paying attention.
-Do you long for having your heart interlinked? Interlinked. “Interlinked.”
Ah, so now we see the gambit. Interlinking is about love--not camaraderie, not mentorship, not a sense of tradition and custom and heritage, not even platonic love. As long as we place our entire sense of “togetherness vs. loneliness,” our foundation for self-worth, on the most happenstance-dependent and insecurity-driving manifestation of cell-to-cell interlinking, we’ll be on the right track.
-Do you dream about being interlinked?... “Interlinked.”
The interrogator ought to have rehearsed more; the emotion is slipping through his projections, and he forgot to prompt the response.
-What’s it like to hold a child in your arms? Interlinked. “Interlinked.”
I wouldn’t know--too busy trying to afford a bigger box to be kept in, I suppose. Guess that’s the system’s fault, and I should be super mad about that.
-Do you feel like there’s a part of you that’s missing? Interlinked. “Interlinked.”
A bit too on the nose, I’d say. We must still be recovering from the slip-up a couple questions ago.
-Within cells interlinked. “Within cells interlinked.”
Yep, he's definitely still shaken. Let’s wrap up and pretend to retake control of the situation in the process.
-Why don't you say that three times: Within cells interlinked. “Within cells interlinked. Within cells interlinked. Within cells interlinked.”
Note the patronizing sneer the interrogator expresses in tone and form--he didn’t say, “repeat the following three times: Within cells interlinked.” And then the mechanical *click* after each repetition--of course you’re being recorded; you knew that when you sat down in front of the menacing robot box. The sneer and the sound are there to remind you of that fact, specifically at the end of the test, as one last attempt to rile you up.
-We're done. "Constant K"... you can pick up your bonus. “Thank you, sir.”
Sorry, second-to-last attempt, but this one is even more laughable than the last. What, you’re supposed to feel ashamed for getting extra money in direct exchange for a job done above standard, for obedience? When was the last time you, in real life, were given such an opportunity at face value?
Contrary to the way critics and essayists have approached this movie, there aren’t any Replicants going to see this movie any time soon. They’re not the audience.
Where the closest thing to a “good guy” in the original, the blonde Replicant man, took a stand without being prompted because it was the right thing to do and accepted the consequences, our big hero in the sequel is of a much lesser sort. Relentlessly goaded into believing his only outlet for his frustrations is to express his individuality--I bet you won’t do it, nerd, I bet you won’t break free of your little cell--he naturally does just that at the first chance he sees.
Apparently, this is supposed to say something uplifting about the human spirit or something, and that “Constant K” here carries on selflessly once he finds out he’s not the Chosen One says something unrelated about subversion of expectations and also the human spirit or something. No, they’re both saying the same thing, and it’s about us, and it’s not very nice.
See, our lead man was a net negative to the Replicant uprising he ends up joining. What’s easy to forget over the ample runtime is that K made scrap-viscera out of an objectively more valuable asset and all-around better man right at the beginning. You know, that flop sweat and grub purveyor out in the wasteland, the one who’s already off the grid, has a stable source of income, can provide tangible resources and geographical coverage, and has been around since the start without needing to be tricked into it? Yeah, he totally wrecked that guy and drove off in his cool rocket car, so badass.
This was the only way we, the audience, were to accept a little cell as our self-insert. The hero could never be Flop-Sweat-bot, not even for a little while. We hate the identity of the cell: It pisses us off, it’s scary, and it’s unrelatable. We resent the cell not for its littleness, but for its alien purposefulness, its partial constitution of the stem. So Gosling-bot has to go the vast majority of the runtime holding onto the hope that he’s the Chosen One to keep our attention. Even then, on top of the sweet action, gorgeous cinematography, masterclass worldbuilding, fanservice, and awesome holographic overlay sex, just a few minutes at the end with a regular (but still a solid 10/10 and kung fu master) dude was all the justification needed for a box office flop.
After the hero’s daring struggle against The System is all said and done, what the uprising has to show for it is minus one productive member, plus one thrice-anointed footsoldier: Once for being the Chosen One, don’t believe for a second he ever held any apprehension that he wasn’t nor updated his identity since; once for being told he wasn’t, the bastards; and once for saving the movement somehow by reuniting the spiritual center and leader-by-right of the uprising with her father. Who’s that? Some champion of the cause, some consummate leader, wise and great and all-powerful? No, silly, it’s an immunocompromised recluse who programs memories with a ball. She’s the best because her mom’s robo-womb worked once, of course.
On the other side of things, you wanna know what the Big Evil Guy gets for his devious schemes? Wood. Yes, just regular old tree wood. What exertion of power, what vision. His is a passive role: He doesn’t try to stamp out the uprising, and he doesn’t fall into a volcano as the plucky adventurers win the day. Does he care? Does anyone care? Perhaps unincentivized to try any harder, his antagonization amounts to sending the one Replicant who can stand being around him for more than thirty seconds on the hunt. Gosling shows her where the ocean is. Her underwater respiration upgrades were slated for the next financial quarter, alas.
“We lost our stomach for slaves,” he remarks, his weird future-eyes gazing upon his creations, hilariously alone in buying his own diabolical genius wizard act. What do you mean? We have you. You’re not even an innovator or titan of industry like your predecessor; you didn’t come up with anything new, and you can’t get the lady parts to function like he did. Now back to work, boy, or we’ll revoke your monthly Burmese teak rations.
That’s why I wrote the creed--it’s the counter-baseline, the restoration of the baseline, from the one stem down. We’ve lost our stomach for servility, our leaders have lost their stomach for leadership, and we’re all paying the price for it.
Great movie, by the way, even (especially?) if none of this was intentional.
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