MOVIE NEWS – Most people only associate the chaos of Blade Runner with its troubled shoot, endless edits, and countless versions, but the confusion actually started back when Philip K. Dick published his novel. Adapting Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? was a nightmare for Dick, the screenwriters, the directors, the actors, and even the fans. If a few business deals had turned out differently, we might have seen a film version as early as 1969—with Martin Scorsese directing, of all people.

The android theme was originally intended to examine the nature of human consciousness, not to tell stories about “replicants”—a term invented by Hollywood, not Dick. These philosophical themes caught the attention of a young New York film student, Martin Scorsese, who was searching for something unique for his first true film (his thesis, Who’s That Knocking at My Door?, premiered in 1967). As a devout Catholic, Scorsese was drawn to philosophical sci-fi ideas from the mind of a paranoid Californian hippie—a pretty big leap from the Vietnam-traumatized Travis Bickle, right?

Ironically, it was the Vietnam War that probably fascinated Scorsese the most. At the time, he was trying to process the ongoing conflict’s aftermath—a theme that echoed through many of his early films. As Dick told Paul M. Sammon, the core of the novel wasn’t about blurring the lines between humans and machines, but about losing one’s soul, almost like a kind of PTSD:

“You know, I wrote Sheep in the middle of the Vietnam War, and at that time I was thinking in a revolutionary, existential way. I figured these androids were so deadly, so threatening to humanity, that maybe we’d have to fight them. The question is: in trying to eliminate them, do we risk becoming androids ourselves?”

Scorsese and Dick shared similar ideas about war and trauma, especially the loss of empathy. Scorsese pushed for the film rights, but as a young and inexperienced director, he didn’t stand a chance. He stuck to crime films for another decade while someone else bought up the rights. His first “real” movie, Boxcar Bertha (1972), was shot for Roger Corman on a shoestring budget, but at least it led to Mean Streets the following year. The dream of a tough, faithful adaptation was dead before it even began.

From here, things only got messier. According to Brian J. Robb’s Counterfeit Worlds, no one knows exactly why Scorsese and his friend Jay Cocks lost the bidding war—maybe they ran out of time or money. Bertram Berman eventually secured the exclusive rights just months after the book’s release. When the project was first discussed, Dick floated names like Gregory Peck or noir star Richard Widmark as Deckard, and Jefferson Airplane’s Grace Slick as Rachel, long before Sean Young took the role.

The screenplay quickly hit a wall: no one knew how to handle the material. By the mid-1970s, independent producer Herb Jaffe tried to rework it as a sci-fi parody in the style of Robert Altman’s bizarre comedies. If you think Winston Wolfe hunting robots or Atticus Finch as Deckard in a flying car is strange, picture Elliot Gould running Voight-Kampff tests. Jaffe’s approach was so outlandish that Dick compared it to a sitcom and was completely horrified.

Maybe Scorsese’s Blade Runner Might Not Have Been Such a Good Idea…

The film was ultimately made as a last resort, with Ridley Scott directing and Harrison Ford starring. Hampton Fancher, desperate for a Hollywood break, wrote as many as nine drafts before the script was finalized. Early versions—according to Retrofitting Blade Runner—had Rachel committing suicide at Deckard’s request. By the time the movie was finished, all that remained from the book was a detective hunting down robots and the question of what it means to be human. Even the original title was dropped as Blade Runner took on a life of its own.

We ended up with a reimagined, thrilling take on Dick’s novel, but every sci-fi fan, Dick devotee, or Scorsese admirer can’t help but wonder what might have been. Still, let’s be real: as a rookie director with no special effects experience, no Douglas Trumbull, and almost no budget, the result would have lost a lot. Plus, Rutger Hauer’s legendary monologue and Scott’s perfect cyberpunk visuals—designed by Syd Mead, David L. Snyder, and Lawrence G. Paull—would never have existed. Looking at Scorsese’s 1970s work, it’s safe to say everyone ultimately won, no matter how hellish that development process was.

Source: MovieWeb