Blade Runner

Blade Runner 

Screenplay by       Hampton Fencher

          David Peoples

Produced by       Michael Deeley

Directed by       Ridley Scott

Cast List:

Harrison Ford      Rick Deckard

Rutger Hauer     Roy Batty

Sean Young      Rachael

Edward James Olmos   Gaff

M. Emmet Walsh    Bryant

William Sanderson    Sebastian

Brion James     Leon

INT. TYRELL CORPORATION LOCKER ROOM – DAY

THE EYE

It's magnified and deeply revealed. Flecks of green and yellow in a field of milky blue. Icy filaments surround the undulating center.

The eye is brown in a tiny screen. On the metallic surface below, the words VOIGHT-KAMPFF are finely etched. There's a touch-light panel across the top and on the side of the screen, a dial that registers fluctuations of the iris.

The instrument is no bigger than a music box and sits on a table between two men. The man talking is big, looks like an over-stuffed kid. "LEON" it says on his breast pocket. He's dressed in a warehouseman's uniform and his pudgy hands are folded expectantly in his lap. Despite the obvious heat, he looks very cool.

The man facing him is lean, hollow cheeked and dressed in gray. Detached and efficient, he looks like a cop or an accountant. His name is HOLDEN and he's all business, except for the sweat on his face.

The room is large and humid. Rows of salvaged junk are stacked neatly against the walls. Two large fans whir above their heads.

LEON

Okay if I talk?

Holden doesn't answer. He's centering Leon's eye on the machine.

LEON

I kinda get nervous when I take tests.

HOLDEN

Don't move.

LEON

Sorry.

He tries not to move but finally his lips can't help a sheepish smile.

LEON

Already had I.Q. test this year – but I don't think I never had a...

HOLDEN

(cutting in)

Reaction time is a factor in this, so please pay attention. Answer quickly as you can.

Leon compresses his lips and nods his big head eagerly. Holden's voice is cold, geared to intimidate and evoke response.

HOLDEN

You're in a desert, walking along in the sand when all of a sudden you look down and see a...

LEON

What one?

It was a timid interruption, hardly audible.

HOLDEN

What?

LEON

What desert?

HOLDEN

Doesn't make any difference what desert – it's completely hypothetical.

LEON

But how come I'd be there?

HOLDEN

Maybe you're fed up, maybe you want to be by yourself – who knows. So you look down and see a tortoise. It's crawling towards you...

LEON

A tortoise. What's that?

HOLDEN

Know what a turtle is?

LEON

Of course.

HOLDEN

Same thing.

LEON

I never seen a turtle.

He sees Holden's patience is wearing thin.

LEON

But I understand what you mean.

HOLDEN

You reach down and flip the tortoise over on its back, Leon.

Keeping an eye on his subject, Holden notes the dials in the Voight-Kampff. One of the needles quivers slightly.

LEON

You make these questions, Mr. Holden, or they write 'em down for you?

Disregarding the question, Holden continues, picking up the pace.

HOLDEN

The tortoise lays on its back, its belly baking in the hot sun, beating its legs trying to turn itself over. But it can't. Not without your help. But you're not helping.

Leon's upper lip is quivering.

LEON

Whatcha mean, I'm not helping?

HOLDEN

I mean you're not helping! Why is that, Leon?

Leon looks shocked, surprised. But the needles in the computer barely move. Holden goes for the inside of his coat. But big Leon is faster. His LASER BURNS a hole the size of a nickel through Holden's stomach. Unlike a bullet, a laser causes no impact. It goes through Holden's spine and comes out his back, clean as a whistle. Like a rag doll he falls back off the bench from the waist up. By the time he hits the floor, big slow Leon is already walking away. But he stops, turns and with a little smile of satisfaction, FIRES at the machine on the table.

There's a flash and a puff of smoke. The Voight-Kampff is hit dead center, crippled but not destroyed; as Leon walks out of the room, one of its lights begins to blink, faint but steady.

EXT. DESERT – NIGHT

The horizon marked by a thin copper line that maybe the end, of the beginning of a day.

The train that follows, cuts through the night at 400 miles an hour.

INT. TRAIN – NIGHT

No clickitty-clack of track-bound noise, it's a long, insulated Pullman of contoured seats and low-keyed lighting, colored to soothe, and empty, except for the passenger half way down.

His eyes closed, head rested against the glass. Ten years ago, DECKARD might have been an athlete, a track man or a welter-weight. The body looks it, but the face has seen some time – not all of it good.

INT. TRAIN – REFRESHMENT DISPENSER – NIGHT

Deckard comes down the aisle, slips a coin into the mechanism, receives a beer and returns to his seat.

INT. TRAIN – NIGHT

Tired of the program, he takes off the headset and drops it next to three empty beer bottles and a sandwich wrapper, adjusts his position and winds up staring at his reflection in the window. Runs a hand over his face, it could use a shave. He leans closer and peers through the glass.

Out there in the black a sign flashes past: "SAN ANGELES, THREE MINUTES"

EXT. PLATFORM – NIGHT

The train slides in, smooth as an eel, and stops with-out a sound. Carrying a bag and umbrella, Deckard disembarks ahead of the other passengers and into the sweltering night.

INT. CORRIDOR – NIGHT

Deckard has got his coat swung over his shoulder, his shirt already damp, as he walks down the long, hollow passage under orbs of yellow light.

EXT. TERMINAL – NIGHT

Deckard unlocks his car and gets in. Turns the ignition and hits a sensor. The dash console glows and Deckard sits back waiting for the air unit to cool things off.

DECKARD (V.O.)

It was 97 degrees in the city and no hope of improvement. Not bad if you're a lizard. But two hours earlier I was drinking Acquavit with an Eskimo lady in North East Alaska. That's a tough change to make. It was so good, I didn't want to leave, so I left a day early.

A little detached, Deckard taps another sensor on the panel, lights up a cigarette and watches as his messages flash across the viewer stating date, time and caller. The last one is repeated five times. Deckard sighs, switches off the viewer and gets on the radio.

DECKARD

Contact. This is Blade Runner One calling Com-fast 27.

The SOUND OF A CHIME precedes the mechanical female voice that answers.

VOICE

Blade Runner One, stand by please.

A pause. Followed by a husky male voice.

VOICE

Deckard.

DECKARD

Yah, Gaff.

GAFF (VOICE)

Where the hell you been?

DECKARD

You know where I been. I been on vacation.

GAFF

Next time you go on vacation, do me a favor, let us know where it is.

DECKARD

What's up?

GAFF

Holden got hit.

There is a pause. That was bad news.

DECKARD

Bad?

GAFF

Severed spine. You'd better get in here. Bryant's waiting for you.

DECKARD

I'll see you in a minute.

The ENGINE REVS, the wipers rake two weeks of dust off the windshield and Deckard jams out of the lot.

INT. THE HALL OF JUSTICE – NIGHT

An enormous grey vault of a building. A businesslike Deckard strides down a long corridor with his briefcase and police ID pinned to his coat.

DECKARD (V.O.)

I-X-4-P-D referred to as a Nexus-6, The Tyrell Corporation's new pride and joy. Holden was administering the Voight-Kampff test when one nailed him.

The door in front of Deckard slides open and he walks through.

DECKARD (V.O.)

The Nexus-6 must be fast because Holden was as quick as they come. The report said there were six of them. Three males and three female. Led by a combat model called Roy Batty.

INT. INSPECTOR BRYANT'S OFFICE – NIGHT

The INSPECTOR is in his fifties. The deep creases in his face, the broken capillaries in his nose say brawler, spoiler, drinker, but the diplomas on the wall say something else. Bryant's kneeled at his safe trying to open it. Deckard it sitting on the edge of the desk reading the print-out.

DECKARD (V.O.)

They escaped from the colonies two weeks ago. Killed twenty-three people and jumped a shuttle. An aerial patrol found the ship in the desert. No crew.

Bryant gets the safe open and brings out a bottle of whiskey.

DECKARD (V.O.)

Bryant's got a liver problem. A couple years back he handed me a bottle and said have a drink for another man. I been drinking for him ever since.

Deckard sets down the report and takes the shot Bryant just poured for him.

DECKARD

Six, huh?

BRYANT

Five. Three nights ago one of them managed to break into the Tyrell Corporation. Killed two guards and got as far as the Genetic Sector before he got fried going through an electro-field.

DECKARD

What was he after?

BRYANT

There wasn't much left of him, so we can't be sure. But bio-chemical data and morphology records of the Nexus-6 were reported missing. Going on the possibility they might try to infiltrate we send Holden in to run Voight-Kampff tests on the new employees. Guess he found himself one.