This latent misogyny is just one way the crime genre is freshly revealed by the switch to sci-fi. Of course Alphaville's science-fictionality is a matter of assertion; famously, Jean-Luc Godard shot the whole picture in contemporary (1964) Paris, making what is now obsolete technology (enormous IBM computers, bare light bulbs, a fan) forever futuristic by constructing a B-movie sci-fi plot in front of it. Intermingled is Godard's patented bull-session philosophizing. Conversely, in 1982, Blade Runner's writers teased a B-movie plot out of Philip K. Dick's philosophical novel and then director Ridley Scott filmed it in and around one of the densest, most beautifully designed future-worlds ever imaged for film. Yet, point for point, Alphaville holds its own: It's as beautifully shot (in black-and-white, by Raoul Coutard) as Blade Runner's misty color work by Jordan Cronenweth. The scores, by Vangelis (Blade Runner) and Paul Misraki (Alphaville), contribute much to each film's melancholy romanticism. Both films, finally, depend for their ultimate impact on their handling of one of science fiction's most venerable conceits -- the attempted rescue of the mad scientist's beautiful daughter (or, in the case of Blade Runner, his "niece") -- against the venerable sci-fi landscape of a deprived, dehumanized future.
-- Gregg Rickman
Blade Runner screens Saturday, Feb. 8, at 1, 5:15, and 9:20 p.m., and Alphaville at 3:20 and 7:30 p.m., at the Castro, Castro & Market. Tickets are $6.50. Call 621-6120.
