Blade Runner is a film seeping with representations of repressed sexuality. Every scene, sequence, and image is imbued with, commenting on, or directly a result of sexual frustration and need.
The Ridley Scott film adaptation of Phillip K. Dick’s short story “Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?” is nothing less than a subtextual goldmine for film and literary critics alike. A favorite of the common movie buff and the crutch of every academic seeking to fully document its meaning, Blade Runner has been dissected, gutted, and had its components scrutinized more than any other science fiction film of its generation. Books are devoted to its deconstruction. Papers have been proposing new ways to look at the piece for decades, and indeed, this essay is no different. The sheer abundance of analytic material, though, poses a difficult question. Does Blade Runner simply act as a mirror to the critic’s expectations or is it truly a source of infinitely complex themes and meanings? After all, to assume that every essayist’s conclusions are true, and therefore present in the film on the basis of a calculated decision by the filmmakers, is quite spectacular. My personal retort to this is as follows: whatever the filmmakers didn’t do deliberately, they did subconsciously, and the subconscious additions are of more scholarly value than what was sketched out on paper. Among these subconsciously included themes is the subject of the following quote: “More than any other American film genre… science fiction denies human eroticism and libido a traditional narrative representation and expression” (Vivian Sobchack (1990, 103)
Sex in a science fiction film is not unique, but neither is it prominent. For the most part, popular culture agrees with this notion, considering how fans of the genre are often lampooned as socially inept asexuals or sheltered lifelong virgins. Producers and casting directors are privy to the stereotype too. Some of the most acclaimed science fiction films seem to lack significant female characters altogether — much less alluring female characters. In this genre, elements of sex are usually reduced to formula, only present as tongue-in-cheek dialogue or unabashed eye-candy; who can forget Princess Leia’s gold bikini and its effect on pre-adolescent boys across the globe? What makes Blade Runner different, however, is its ability to portray sex in a way akin to Sobchack’s claim (non-traditional expression), and yet have that eroticism be complimentary to both the plot and themes of the film.
Blade Runner is a film seeping with representations of repressed sexuality. Every scene, sequence, and image is imbued with, commenting on, or directly a result of sexual frustration and need. Within the scope of the story, this need is embodied in the form of several paraphilic fetishisms. Eroticism is not purely thrown in to advance a love story, but rather, it is ubiquitous, constantly denying itself “traditional narrative representation” by only existing in the form of “the fetish.” In turn, these fetishisms aid in the development of the film’s questions on mortality and human desire for self-actualization — both in and outside the bedroom. The following close analysis of the film will provide metaphorical and literal examples of repressed sexuality, through manifestations of bestiality, voyeurism, incest, sadomasochistic domination/submission, and role-play.
Deckard and the snake
In the Los Angeles of 2019, owning a real animal grants the individual not only a social status, but also a sort of self-perceived “psychological nirvana.” Throughout the film, these feelings for animals walk the line between adoration and erotic fixation. From this, one can derive the fetish of Zoophilia, more colloquially known as bestiality, the paraphilic but not necessarily copulatory interest in animal. Bestiality is present minutes into the film’s running time. In the Tyrell corporation headquarters, Holden tests Leon to determine his “replicancy” or “non-humanness.” The vast majority of questions have animals as part of their subjects, including: a tortoise, a wasp, a butterfly, an oyster, a bear, and a dog. Many revolve around animal cruelty, like Leon’s question regarding a turtle flipped on its shell, unable to right itself, or Rachel’s question about the “properness” of eating a raw oyster over a boiled dog. Even when Rachel is prodded with the so-called “jealousy test question” about her hypothetical husband hanging a photo of a nude woman in their hypothetical home, the minor detail of the woman being on a bearskin rug is gingerly included. This would suggest that the mere addition of having this woman lie prostrate on the hide of a slain and skinned bear could make the photograph more alluring. Despite the Voight-Kampff test beckoning replicants to answer humanely, so much focus on animal cruelty conjures up images of sadism. This will be touched upon later.
Notably, the first words uttered by Rachel when Deckard visits Tyrell are: “You like our owl?” Deckard asks if it’s artificial, and Rachel scoffs, “Of course it is.” It becomes clear: real animals are rare, and hence held sacred, spoken about with a reverence usually left for deities. Incidentally, in the first draft of the David Peoples and Hampton Fancher screenplay, as well as in the novel itself, Deckard works as a Blade Runner solely for the finances to buy a real, live animal; in this case, a sheep to replace his electric sheep. This gives a dual meaning to Dick’s title. One interpretation of the title asks: what does it take to be considered human? Is dreaming, aspiration, and hope “unreplicable” in robotic creation? Would it be impossible to manufacture something so lifelike that it needs to rely on the emotional solace of “sheep jumping over a fence” in order to fall asleep? The second interpretation asks if it is a distinctly and exclusively human attribute to feel compassion and love for fellow creatures in a modern, mechanized, and cold society. It would appear that the answer the film gives to this question is no, for even the replicants themselves see animals as being representative of humanity, and prove it by their efforts to slowly transform into them. In Sebastian’s apartment, Pris becomes a “spider-woman.” (Scott). She changes from a meek innocent girl into a pouncing tentacled sexual beast. Similarly, Zhora runs her stripper-act as the snake-woman Salome, a mythic reference not belied by her onstage performance. Even Batty, who after discovering the mauled body of Pris, reacts with “lupine howls of anguish” and morphs into a half-naked lycanthrope, playing a cat-and-mouse game with Deckard. (Stiller 1991, 199) When these characters revert to their animal states, they become sexual, erotic, ravenously heated, and only further substantiate a zoophilic passion.
In one scene of the Director’s Cut, Deckard dreams of an ethereal garden, where a dashing, muscular, and elegant unicorn, photographed in heavenly soft focus, gallops around in sexy mane-waving slow motion. The bizarre sensuality of the dream makes it reminiscent of Peter Scaffer’s play Equus and the not-so-subtle theme of an unhinged sexually-charged beatification of something projected to be holy. In Blade Runner, this godhead, rather than a horse, is a unicorn, a creature that would technically be the rarest of “animals,” all the way in the realm of fiction. Comparable to another “animal” of this classification, the dragon, whose reality is shrouded in the mysticism on which some ancient cultures bestowed a worshipful adulation, the unicorn in Blade Runner, dancing in what could easily be interpreted as Eden, acts as the ultimate “Holy Grail” to Deckard. Is there a hierarchy mapping certain animals to higher emotional and psychological rewards? Should we believe that Deckard’s aspirations run higher than attaining an organic sheep? Is “owning” a unicorn the way Deckard envisions finally becoming self-actualized? From all this, it would appear that owning a real animal is this culture’s symbol of finally achieving what Americans today would call their “pursuit toward happiness.”
The unicorn
Voyeurism, in of itself, can be interpreted as an act caused by a sexual need or want that is not being traditionally expressed or fulfilled. Society in Blade Runner allows man to delve into voyeuristic activity using the social stratification of its cities and the advanced technology of its times. Indeed, Deckard’s own lines substantiate voyeurism as part of the norm when he, “searches a dressing room for “little dirty holes they drill in the walls so they can watch a lady undress.'” Due to Los Angeles 2019’s social hierarchy, rich white men afford the ability to spy on peasantish inferiors from the top of their metaphorical “high towers” (or in Tyrell’s literal case, a ziggurat). Even when a layer of pollution-trigged fog separates the upper class from having a perfect view of the proles, police-cars compensate, perpetually hovering over the floor-level, slicing their searchlights through the smoky underworld. They now behave like the anonymous eye from above, and in so, maintain a constant record of the plebeian activities. Surveillance is abound and attempts at privacy are persistently thwarted by the structure of the city, where bars are open air, glass is a popular building material, and steaming potholes and wall cracks are plenty… as well as, one could say, distastefully kinky in their conjuring of gaping orifices. Not even payphones maintain anonymity, as they too now have video transmission. A smaller version of a tool by which to engage in this sexually-gratifying activity is the Voight Kompff machine, a technology able to expose replicancy among the masses, forcing a private identity to be exposed and ultimately examined against the subject’s will. How is that not voyeurism of the mind?
In fact, the image of “looking” is so conspicuous that in the film’s first few moments, an extreme close-up of an eye fills the screen, its pupil reflecting images of phallic fire-spewing. A few minutes later, another eye is given a close-up, when Leon is measured for iris dilation through the VK machine. The intent of the first eye-shot is unclear, and demands explanation. The shot does not appear to preview a scene shown later in the film, nor does it present itself as an excerpt from the narrative’s back story. Rather, it seems outside of the narrative altogether. One explanation suggests the eye could serve as a symbolic preamble, informing the viewer that the film’s setting and time is one where gaze is penetrating and the satisfaction that comes from it is commonplace. On the other hand, this image could also serve as a reminder that the film’s audience itself is guilty of scopophilic “looking,” as it is what they will be doing for two hours. To expand on this latter reasoning, we must first recognize that one of old cinema’s most ascribable props to a peeping tom character, excluding binoculars or a telescope, is that of slat blinds. Throughout the film, characters are often lit via segmented and layered light, lines of light that appear as if originating from behind horizontal blinds. This pattern is most obviously seen when Deckard and Rachel are about to have sex in his apartment, and most inexplicably seen, in the theatrical release of the film, on Deckard through a windshield, as he drives with Rachel across misty cliffsides. Why is this significant? Laura Mulvey writes of a motion picture as, “a hermetically sealed world which unwinds magically, indifferent to the presence of the audience, producing for it a sense of separation and voyeuristic phantasy.” (1975, 8) Further, “the extreme contrast between the darkness in the auditorium and the brilliance of the shifting patterns of light and shade on the screen,” in addition to the regimented tier-like isolation of the viewing audience, “promotes a voyeuristic separation.” (Mulvey 1975, 12) A man hidden in moonlit brush outside someone’s window watches the spectacle indoors not unlike a movie patron studies the screen in a theater. Hence, the film itself provides “an illusion of looking on in a private world.” (Mulvey 1975, 17) Therefore, one can deduce that if the viewers of Blade Runner are seeing so many of the film’s characters, during scenes of deep intimacy (the car scene) or emotion (the sex scene) through these stratified lines of light, then the Blade Runner audience is the voyeur, peeping through slats.
Deckard’s piano top
Photographs provide the characters of Blade Runner with a scopophilic release, reflecting their personal desires for something real, if only through another fake mechanical medium. Rachel latches onto pictures of her “mother,” and is emotionally distraught when she learns of their artificiality to her. Leon cherishes “precious photographs” of his replicant friends, as evidenced by Roy’s derogatory quip to him. Deckard has dozens of family photographs lining his piano top. Even the film’s most straightforward character, Officer Bryant, has framed photographs casually placed on his desk. Bizarrely, all these photographs are in black and white or subdued grayish colors, composed with grain and poor lighting — something very anachronistic given the technological modernity of the times. This makes the photographs almost surveillance-like and, with exception to the portrait shots, laces them with candid “homemade” feelings. For Rachel, the photographs serve as a mode of self-identification with humans. Her longing to become something real is placed on the photograph as a projection of repressed desire, much like Laura Mulvey states people in an auditorium weigh their repressed desires on the hero of the film they are watching. For Deckard and Officer Bryant, photographs suggest a longing for reality in a world where their jobs as “robot-hunters,” daily commute, and home life revolve around the mechanical and manufactured. However, the most obvious of scenes supporting the scopophilic nature of photographs occurs when Deckard uses the Esper machine to analyze Leon’s photo. He delves deeper and deeper into the picture, pressing zoom on an imaginary Rear-Windowesque telescope, until he reaches the softly diffused accidental portrait of Zhora, seemingly nude, under a blanket. This is perhaps the most straightforward use of a photograph for potential erotic purposes, and the most up-front presentation of the voyeur fetish. Nonetheless, for Leon, the photo is only important to combat feelings of isolation, a memento to his membership of the replicant race, and therefore an item that reflects his need to exist, even if not as a human. This begs the question: can the photograph’s erotic qualities only be appreciated by Deckard, the real humans, and the Blade Runner audience, or could replicants find interest in them, and hence each other, as well?
The kiss of death from Roy Batty to Tyrell
Shunned by today’s society, incest is a taboo act that may lead to the sexual repression of any individual who secretly desires it. Blade Runner places replicants as vehicles by which humans and other replicants can fulfill unconscious incestual desire. As all replicants are created by the Tyrell corporation, there can be construed a familial link between them. Much like blood and genes link humans, the manufactured organs constructed from the same stock bind replicants. Therefore, when Roy kisses Pris, he is kissing his sister freely, breaking the platonic convention by making it deep and on the mouth. Later, Roy delivers a strong kiss of death to his Frankensteinian father, Tyrell. Rachel, after examining a photograph of Deckard’s mother in his apartment, unleashes her hair and strings it in an attempt at emulation. This action apparently courts Deckard. They have sex shortly afterward. Furthermore, Rachel looks and behaves like Tyrell’s “Stepford wife,” leaking with a pent-up eroticism and uncontrollable amenability that we can only assume must, at some point, have been exploited by the middle-aged, apparently spouse-less Tyrell. We are told Rachel’s implanted memories belong to Tyrell’s niece; so, in a Descartian sense, since Rachel thinks like his niece, she is his niece. This is something Tyrell is not only privy to, but has arranged himself.
Freud ascribes sadomasochism to sexual repression by pointing to childhood, a time when the individual fears punishment for acting out sexual wants. If this were to be assumed true, then all instances of S&M in Blade Runner are another channel by which the characters achieve erotic self-actualization. The women of Blade Runner are representative of feminine submissiveness, while the men, as Laura Mulvey explains, “cannot bear the burden of sexual objectification,” because the spectator sees the male character as an “image of his like …gaining control and possession of the woman within the diegesis” (1975, 20). Blade Runner illustrates this apparent dichotomy of gender roles through scenes of sadomasochist domination of the male over the female. As a result, this draws the female characters as little more than sexual objects. In her analysis of the film, Marleen Barr writes that the cityscape of Blade Runner‘s Los Angeles is full of “billboards picturing animated sexually enticing female faces.” (1991, 29) These artificial replications of attractive females pander to the male consumer via lust, something that apparently cannot be achieved by regular women of the society, as the only human female in the entire film is a wholly unattractive, one-eyed, masculine bartender.
Female submissiveness: Deckard and Rachel
Noticeable immediately is the fact that the only replicants actually retired by Deckard were Pris and Zhora, both female, and had there not been a romantic connection between Deckard and Rachel, one would assume Rachel would be the third easy target for extermination. In fact, there was originally slated to be another female replicant in the film, named Mary, that Deckard would retire. In the film’s most blatant scene of domination, Deckard violently manhandles Rachel into sexual acquiescence, demanding that she say, “Kiss me.” Obviously humiliated, Rachel complies in a typical BDSM submissive role. Near the end of the film, she responds to Deckard with complete servitude as she answers his “Do you love me? Do you trust me?” questions with mechanized responses, “I love you. I trust you.” These are much like today’s colloquial sexual taunts of “Who’s your daddy?” and similar I-am-your-slave responses. The chase with Zhora, too, can be modeled as metaphorical sex-play. Zhora’s thigh-high boots, black latex-looking clothing, and completely impractical jacket, whose only possible purpose is to be see-through, is utterly indicative of bondage wear, likely there less for any practical purpose than for audience titillation. Shot numerous times in the back, Zhora flails her arms and legs like a rag doll under Deckard’s control, before falling flat on her face in the final “humiliation act” of BDSM play.
Phallic fires
Male domination is even suggested by the unabated phallic imagery in Blade Runner. The towers of the L.A. skyline stand erect and spew (ejaculate) fire into the heavens. In Tyrell’s ziggurat above the clouds, two pillars, one slanted in a very recognizable phallic way, cut into the giant sun, showing that not even it maintains the reverence it once did. Less significant phallic symbols may include the nearly-comic headgear hanging off Chew’s forehead, limpened when Batty accosts him, and the unnecessarily erect nose on one of the more disturbing toys at Sebastian’s apartment, seemingly aroused by Pris’ role-play metamorphosis. The only vaginal symbol in Blade Runner is the wet road tunnel that Deckard plows his car through several times throughout the film. We see this tunnel most unexplainably after the death of Tyrell. Can it then be interpreted as a sort of birth canal in reverse? Whatever it is, Deckard, as a male, owns it.
During the course of the film, Captain Bryant twice refers to the Nexus-6 replicants as “skinjobs,” “a term which, the film tells us, replaces “nigger’.” (Barr 1991, 28) Immediately, a question arises as to why exactly this unusual synecdoche-like euphemism became part of the urban vernacular. But when one thinks of today’s similarly structured slang terms, such as “blowjob” or “handjob,” the sexual allusion becomes unmistakable. Is a “skinjob” what the female replicants are best used for? Does this include male replicants too? After all, Batty’s androgynous Abercrombie & Fitch sexuality is on display when he darts around the Bradbury building as the half-naked wolf-man. Notwithstanding, Batty, unlike the women, maintains a dominant standing, “”retiring” even more people than Deckard. There is male dominance even amongst the replicants. Only Leon fails to pass the “sexy robot” test.
The veiled Pris
On the other hand, it could be argued that Leon is a man holding back, as evidenced by his demonstration of Oedipal rage at the start of the film. Still, Zhora and Pris are depicted the most, out of the replicants, as objects. They’re not really women. They’re not even people, while Leon and Batty could be seen as that. They’re packaged merchandise in factory sealed boxes, with little plastic transparent windows. Zhora’s window was the glass store display, which she managed to break through when her death elicited some sympathy from Deckard. Pris’ window was the veil-like net she willingly draped over herself in Sebastian’s apartment, right before becoming the sexual beast she was destined to be. Both women met their fates amongst plastic dolls, either mannequin or toy, further solidifying their status as sexual play objects, ripe for male picking. Men control this future world. They are the Top, in more ways than one.
Blade Runner overflows with this quiet sensuality that lends itself to the objectification of Blade Runner‘s female characters and lionization of its male through the use of sound and lighting. Most apparent in its erotic undertones is the soundtrack, composed by Vangelis. The music persists with a calming ambience, enhanced with jazzy Taxi-Driver-esque flourishes and crescendos that hit at seemingly inappropriate times, such as Zhora’s death. However, when one sees Blade Runner as a film wrought with sexual fetishism, the music attains a level of appropriateness. In fact, there is reason to go further with the Taxi Driver comparisons. Deckard’s travels through the sleezy, smoky, dirty, crowded underworld of the LA floor-level is not unlike Travis Bickle’s taxi rides through the “debauchery” of the crime-ridden, seedy, grimy streets of New York. Yet the music of Taxi Driver is just as jarringly unnatural for these scenarios as Vangelis’ in Blade Runner. Perhaps it is like this because there’s almost something sexy about the full-out sordidness of these places, like the prostitution and porno theaters in Taxi Driver, and the bars and strip-joints in Blade Runner.
The Blade Runner cityscape
Almost all lighting in Blade Runner consists of sharp, directed beams, spotting a character like an exhibition at an art show; an object, art relic, up for display. There are very specific times where Rachel has a nearly blinding light outlining her features. One instance is when Deckard contacts her through the videophone at the bar, and a hard ray of light traces the left side of her face, almost completely unnaturally. Another is when Rachel is at Deckard’s apartment, and the “searchlights” from the window totally saturate the screen whenever she’s on camera. Even the first time we are introduced to Rachel, she takes her hobble-skirt-impeded stride like a Japanese fembot, then cuts through a shadow and hits her mark under a more defining light. This is all in support of the idea that Rachel is constantly lit like the most valuable jewel in a museum, the kind encased in glass on a pedestal — the type spies go to great lengths to steal. She’s a desirable item, a precious doll.
Deckard and Leon
Character voice speaks volumes of this male-female divide. Rachel’s voice is one of a repressed little girl’s, a persistent softness and wobbly nature, starting with the first subtle voice-crack in her self-introduction, “I’m Rachel.” Pris’ voice too is young and naïve, like a teenage runaway from home. This characterization is most obvious through her exchanges with Sebastian, the only male character who shares the feminine submissive, and who, indeed, is dying from it. By comparison, Deckard speaks with an authoritative confidence, undiminished by his many pitfalls, and Roy talks with the eloquence and articulated thoughtfulness of an 18th century poet. The slightly dim-witted Leon, too, can go into testosterone-fueled tirades, like his altercation with Deckard after Zhora’s death. The power of voice in explaining the male sex-slave dominance over the female is not limited to the replicants either. The feminine computer voice in Tyrell’s bedroom is one of soft, alluring lustfulness, especially when compared to the flagrantly mechanical voice of the curbside crosswalk computers looping “Walk” and “Don’t Walk.” Even Tyrell is guilty of using androids, robots, or house computers as “pleasure models.”
Lastly, the numerous and varied costumes of Blade Runner hint at a sexual fetish of role-play, something often used to enhance a dying eroticism, and therefore, another example of characters striving to reignite their sexuality. When Deckard first meets Rachel, she is in conservative, office-garb, with padded shoulders and grayish colors. Her hair hangs limply in a mess of bangs; the rest rolled up in a bun. Her gaze is professional and serious in nature. She’s no-nonsense, a refined businesswoman, the modern-day “secretary fetish,” complete with the clichéd “unrolling of hair” later at Deckard’s apartment. Deckard is the stereotypical film noir detective, with overcoat and perpetual grimace. It is no surprise these two become love interests. The femme fatale is represented best by Pris, whose role-play takes the form of a rampaging animal at Sebastian’s apartment. She takes this character to heart. Pris’ rapid jolts of the head suggest animal-like instincts, “perking of ears” as Deckard approaches her. Her blindfold-like war paint and frizzy hair evoke an image of a spider. Deckard’s fight with Pris can be viewed as a sexual game. When Pris attacks Deckard, there is a brief BDSM switch, where Deckard becomes the submissive, the Bottom, and Pris becomes the dominant, the Top, as she squeezes his head between her legs, “a potentially lethal action which, of course, reverses the intent of the birth process.” (Barr, 26) However, Deckard gains the upper hand with his gun, his phallic symbol. Pris’ warlike screams are then speckled with subtle moans. Indeed, the extremeness of her savage behavior, especially when compared to her placid behavior in the alleyway with Sebastian, can best be interpreted as something of a sexual rage. When Deckard finally “tames” her with his gun, Pris goes into convulsions indicative of a full-body orgasm.
“Pris becomes the dominant”
Sexual fetishisms in Blade Runner result from attempts both humans and replicants make to fulfill their sexual needs, desires, and wants. For replicants, it is the longing to become human. For humans, it is the need for self-actualization and freedom of sexuality. Human craving for social status is illustrated through Deckard’s intent on buying a real sheep, but to satiate emotional desires, and hence truly be self-actualized, humans work through replicants. By way of sadomasochism, human males can achieve their dreams of authority and dominance over women. Further, and again using the replicant as a conduit, humans can engage in taboo sexual fantasies like incest and address psychological (Oedipal) vacancies, without the stigma of social inappropriateness. The replicants themselves achieve a sort of unity with man through their incestuous behavior. They attempt to connect to humanity by becoming man’s archetypes through role-play and through their transformations into other “real, living things,” like animals. Further, replicants practice Laura Mulvey’s theory of projecting repressed desires onto the screen by doing so onto photographs. Because these wants drive the story both metaphorically and diegetically, self-actualization should be seen as perhaps the most important underlying theme of Blade Runner. Consider that both the antagonist’s and protagonist’s inner conflict reflect this. Roy’s motive was to demand a longer lifespan from Tyrell, and, in effect, become nearly indistinguishable from a human. Similarly, Deckard fills his own personal void by allowing himself to have Rachel in all her servitude, complacency, motherliness, and secretaryness. These are, and always were, the two character motivations that drive all conflict in the film.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Barr, Marleen. “Speciesism and Sexism in Blade Runner,” in Retrofitting Blade Runner: Issues in Ridley Scott’s Blade Runner and Phillip K. Dick’s Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, edited by Judith B. Kerman, 25-31. 1991. Reprint, Bowling Green State University: Popular Press 3, 1997
Guokas, Jayme. “Blade Runner: Tee-Vee or Not Tee-Vee?.” Scribble.com. http://www.scribble.com/uwi/br/brtv.html (accessed May 9, 2009).
Mulvey, Laura. “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema.” Screen 16.3 (1975): 6-18.
Scott, Simon H. “Is Blade Runner a Misogynist Text?.” Scribble.com. http://www.scribble.com/uwi/br/br-misog.html (accessed May 25, 2009).
Sobchack, Vivian. “The Virginity of Astronauts: Sex and the Science Fiction Film,” in Alien Zone: Cultural Theory and Contemporary Science Fiction Cinema, edited by Annette Kuhn, 103-115. New York: Verso, 1990.
Stiller, Andrew. “The Music in Blade Runner,” in Retrofitting Blade Runner: Issues in Ridley Scott’s Blade Runner and Phillip K. Dick’s Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, edited by Judith B. Kerman, 196-200. 1991. Reprint, Bowling Green State University: Popular Press 3, 1997.
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Unless otherwise noted, all images are screenshots from the film(s) being discussed.
