One interesting element of Blade Runner’s variegated visual feasts is the spacial contrasts between different locations, such as the high-rise apartments where characters reside, as opposed to the messy street level transit below, or even the same space across different parts of the film.
J.F Sebastian’s house, for example, is a contrast unto itself during two separate sequences. We first meet J.F. when he is returning home and, shortly after, enjoying his time with Pris and Roy. The house, or apartment, seems full—of animated toys and ornate furniture—and is alive with possibility, bright and colourful. The home seems open and lived-in.
J.F. amongst his menagerie, including a massive vase in the background and—for those with an interest in the meta-commentary surrounding the film—a unicorn on the far right. Image: Twentieth Century Fox
The three of them discuss the ongoing chess game between J.F. and Tyrell—the real reason why the replicants have supposedly “stumbled” upon Sebastian—and their mutual “accelerated decrepitude”. Although much of his home (particularly the exterior) seems run-down and neglected, it nevertheless retains a quality which seems homely and welcoming. He is even greeted by his creations at the door, with a lively “goooooood evening, J.F.!” The abode offers an impression that Sebastian is a practical man, more interested in his toys and genetic engineering than housekeeping.
His home is full of items used in uncommon ways, such as a large pile of books acting as a pillar for a giant iron vase in the entrance-way. Potential knowledge surrendered to support an item of substance. When he first invites Pris into his home, it is shown as open, empty and somewhat sparse, much like his life at the time. J.F. is obviously lonely, a trait which Pris carefully exploits. Yet, once she is inside and comfortable, the home seems to fill up; more of the toys and instruments are shown on and around Sebastian’s workbench.
Later, when Pris, Roy, and Sebastian have created a kind of pseduo-family, the homely kitchen is presented, with boiling eggs, the chess table, more engineered figures and chairs, clocks, a fireplace and the billiard-come-kitchen table. Framed by large curtains at the back of the room, light sprays through the window, one of the few times direct sunlight is seen in the film. The home seems to become more and more inviting as time goes on.
Yet, by the time Deckard arrives to kill Pris, the house has become dark, dusty and seemingly decrepit; it is hard not to associate this with the recent death of its owner, after which the abode itself seems to have lost much of its spirit. Light is no longer constant as it was previously, but flashing artificial beams from the floating advertisements overhead swing back and forth across the space like the spotlights of a prison. The home not only appears run down but is actively more sinister; industrial pumps and steam generators billow clouds and mist through the ever-present searchlights.
The barred grates which Roy howls behind are shown in several shots, transforming the building into a prison or cage which Deckard is challenged to escape. He enters as a hunter but quickly becomes prey. Water is shown running down the walls, as though weeping for Sebastian (or perhaps that the entire place is about to collapse). More angles of broken floorboards and flaking paint on the ceiling suggest that the entire building is indeed decrepit. Roy does not hesitate to break holes in walls with his arms and head, and nor does he appear to have the slightest difficulty doing so (even though we are already aware of his enhanced strength).
Sebastian’s former home is transformed into an arena, a place of battle and blood.
Interestingly, the stairwell immediately outside Sebastian’s house does not change at all; it remains backlit, damp and glum in its iterations. It does not seem any darker when Roy arrives the second time—to find Pris dead—than it did the first time. The outside world is rendered consistently banal in this film; for all its striking imagery, Blade Runner is thematically interested in interiority, empathy, the soul of a place, than exteriority, physical flesh, or material buildings themselves.