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Jonathan Willbanks
Introduction to Cinema
In Blade Runner (1982), director Ridley Scott employs juxtaposition of light and
dark to represent the conflict between man and that which is man-made -- between
humanity and artificial life. One of the film’s central thematic conflicts, Rachael’s
identity struggle between her presumed human self and the revelation that she is a
“replicant,” a machine, is conveyed through the use of lighting. As the film begins,
Rachael, confident in her humanity, is bathed in light. But as soon as her humanity is
called into question, the lighting of her character shifts to a scheme of extreme low-
key/high contrast. Scene by scene, the light disappears until, coinciding with the
acceptance of her true replicant identity, she is bathed in shadow, a visual metaphor for
the lonely darkness she feels at the realization that all of here life has been a lie. As if
quarantined by shadow, no direct light hits her character once she accepts this fact, until
she falls in love with Deckard, finally reawakening her soul, the true source of humanity.
Through the strategic use of high/key low-key lighting, Scott achieves a visual design
that evokes the recurring conflicts between light and dark, most significantly to represent
the battle between Rachael’s identity as a human and her realization that she is a
Replicant.
The pervasive simultaneous presence of both light and dark, achieved through the
nearly every thematic element of the film, and serves to visually intensify the central
conflict between humanity and artificial life. Foreshadowing this coming conflict, Blade
Runner’s massive exterior opening shots are low-key. Alone, the behemoth smokestacks
towering over Los Angeles are lost in shadow, blending into the dark of the night. But as
the warm industrial fires of the Los Angeles industrial underbelly glow deep orange
against the dark, twinkling sprawl of the futuristic skyline, the smokestacks are
illuminated, bringing them out of the darkness and placing them in stark relief against the
backdrop of the black cityscape. With each burst of flame they are reemphasized, and as
each flame dies they fade again into blackness, the light and dark in never-ending
struggle for dominance. This use of visual foreshadowing in the film’s opening hints at
the broader thematic and visual motifs of light versus dark that underscore the rest of the
film.
Far beyond the classical analogies of good and evil, Blade Runner’s visual
conflict between light and dark assumes many meanings throughout the film. For
Rachael, the light is her humanity; the darkness is her identity as a replicant. As her
humanity is slowly lost at the growing realization that she is in fact a machine, she
Rachael’s introduction in the Tyrell Corporation building is warm and well-lit. The
golden California sun has a strong, radiant impact on her fair skin. This flattering light
serves to convey her sense of confidence and satisfaction. Very subtle backlighting,
nearly faint enough to be the ambient light of the sun reflected off the walls of the room,
serves to separate Rachael from her surroundings by creating a subtle halo effect around
her. Though shadow and contrast are still present on her face and body, she is lit with a
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soft key light that soothes the contrast caused by the bright sun out the window from the
right. Deckard and Tyrell in comparison are lit with far less fill, and whether due to their
naturally darker skin tone or because of a directorial move, they receive far less sunlight
than Rachael. Not blessed with Rachael’s naivety, Deckard and Tyrell are at this point
perhaps less human than she – far more jaded toward the world - and are thus generally
Once the blinds come down however, Rachael herself becomes cloaked in
shadow. Though she does not yet realize it, this is the first step toward the destruction of
her perceived humanity. When she arrives at Deckard’s apartment to question him about
her growing suspicions, the sunlight still finds her, but there is little or no fill to balance it
out. Leaving dramatic, dark lines on her face and body, this harsh shadow conveys the
growing dichotomy within Rachael. Once again, the parallel between darkness and her
Replicant identity is emphasized as she asks Deckard, “You think I’m a replicant don’t
you?” For the first time in the scene, she is completely out of direct light, hiding in the
darkness. There is a glimmer of hope as she presents Deckard with a picture from her
childhood. “It’s me with my mother,” she says as a ray of light reaches her face. As
Deckard tells her that her past is a lie, he destroys her last reserve of hope. She steps
forward and nearly out of the light, only a small bit reaching her now. She is under very
minimal, if any fill. But by now even she must admit to herself what she really is. As
Rachael takes a final look at the picture in her hands, the symbol of her false self, she is
completely dark, devoid of key, fill, or backlighting. She is visible only by the ambient
light of the room, her silhouette both striking and sad against the sunlight, standing in
stark contrast to the ultimate source of brightness behind her. Visually separated from the
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background she stands out and demands attention, unconsciously emphasizing this
pivotal moment to the audience. Not only does this emphasize her acceptance that she is a
replicant, it serves to convey the acceptance of the darkness inside of her and the
darkness of the emotional void into which she finds herself descending.
With the exception of some minor overhead lighting from the innumerable neon
signs of the Los Angeles streets, the light reveals itself to her again only after she has
saved Deckard from Sebastian. Through the window of Deckard’s apartment, lit by the
lights of passing cars, fleeting streaks of light flash across her face. By killing Sebastian,
a replicant like her, she reawakened something human inside of herself. Though brief and
passing, much like the flashing lights of cars passing by outside the window outside, the
primal foundations of humanity are flickering to life insider of her. Once again though,
she teeters precariously on the side of an emotional abyss, ready to once again relinquish
her identity and accept her fate. “I’m not in the business,” she realizes. “I am the
business.” It is at this precise moment however that Deckard sees her humanity, and the
brightest burst of light yet fills the screen, blinding the entire frame. From this point
As Deckard spits blood into the sink, a sharp reminder of his own perceived
humanity, the first signs of her feelings for him become evident. As she approaches him,
Deckard passes through warm patches of morning light shining into the apartment.
“Would you come after me?” she asks, stepping into both a soft key and fill. She is in
love with Deckard, whether she fully realizes it yet or not. “No,” he replies, “but
somebody would.” No longer broken and with something to live for she begins to think
too? If Deckard, the man she loves, can be a replicant - if the possibility even exists - then
being a replicant cannot make her anything less than human. Because Deckard is the
most human person - the most flawed person - she knows. As she kisses him, she moves
back into the light of the window. Her humanity has returned. Throughout the rest of the
film, Rachael is lit normally. Though low-key by most standards, she returns to a level of
normalcy on par with the other characters within the film. The visual and thematic motifs
of shadow, darkness, and light have come full circle -- from light to dark, then back to the
powerful conflict between humanity and artificial life is experienced by the audience
through the conflict of light and dark, of contrast and of shadow. This conflict is waged
through low-key and high contrast lighting employed by Scott. Light and dark are
constantly dueling. As the flames of industry fight back the dark of night, only to be
overtaken before they can reclaim their dominance, the battle for Rachael’s humanity is
waged in the light that surrounds her, chases her, and runs from her. It is often said that
we cannot truly appreciate something until we have lost it. Scott masterfully plays on this
trait of human nature. He takes Rachael’s humanity and her light, only to give them both
back to her. Only once both are returned -- once the audience has lived for a time in the