Facial expression

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Facial expression is the combination of motions or positions of the muscles in the skin that conveys the emotional state of the individual to observers. Facial expressions are a form of nonverbal communication.


  • "We know this to be a primary autonomic response, the so called 'shame' or 'blushing' reaction to a morally shocking stimulus. It can't be controlled voluntarily, as can skin conductivity, respiration, and cardiac rate." He showed her the other instrument, a pencil-beam light. "This records fluctuations of tension within the eye muscles. Simultaneous with the blush phenomenon there generally can be found a small but detectable movement of...
"And these can't be found in androids," Rachael said.
"They're not engendered by the stimuli-questions; no. Although biologically they exist. Potentially."
  • Reaction time is a factor in this so please pay attention. Answer as quickly as you can.
  • Rick, selecting question three, said, "You are given a calfskin wallet on your birthday." Both gauges immediately registered past the green and onto the red; the needles swung violently and then subsided.
"I wouldn't accept it," Rachael said. "Also I'd report the person who gave it to me to the police."
After making a jot of notation Rick continued, turning to the eighth question of the Voigt Kampff profile scale
  • You’'ve got a little boy. He shows you his butterfly collection plus the killing jar. What do you do?
"I'd take him to the doctor." Rachael's voice was low but firm. Again the twin gauges registered, but this time not so far. He made a note of that, too.
  • You'’re watching television. Suddenly you realize there’s a wasp crawling on your arm.
Rachael said, "I'd kill it." The gauges, this time, registered almost nothing: only a feeble and momentary tremor. He noted that and hunted cautiously for the next question.
  • "In a magazine you come across a full-page color picture of a nude girl." He paused.
"Is this testing whether I'm an android," Rachael asked tartly, "or whether I'm homosexual?" The gauges did not register.
He continued, "Your husband likes the picture." Still the gauges failed to indicate a reaction. "The girl," he added, "is lying face down on a large and beautiful bearskin rug." The gauges remained inert, and he said to himself, An android response. Failing to detect the major element, the dead animal pelt. Her — its — mind is concentrating on other factors.
"Your husband hangs the picture up on the wall of his study," he finished, and this time the needles moved.
"I certainly wouldn't let him," Rachael said.
"Okay," he said, nodding "Now consider this. You're reading a novel written in the old days before the war. The characters are visiting Fisherman's Wharf in San Francisco. They become hungry and enter a seafood restaurant. One of them orders lobster, and the chef drops the lobster into the tub of boiling water while the characters watch."
"Oh god," Rachael said. "That's awful! Did they really do that? It's depraved! You mean a live lobster?" The gauges, however, did not respond. Formally, a correct response. But simulated.
"You rent a mountain cabin," he said, "in an area still verdant. It's rustic knotty pine with a huge fireplace."
"Yes," Rachael said, nodding impatiently.
"On the walls someone has hung old maps, Currier and Ives prints, and above the fireplace a deer's head has been mounted, a full stag with developed horns. The people with you admire the decor of the cabin and you all decide — "
"Not with the deer head," Rachael said. The gauges, however, showed an amplitude within the green only.
"You become pregnant," Rick continued, "by a man who has promised to marry you. The man goes off with another woman, your best friend; you get an abortion and — "
"I would never get an abortion," Rachael said. "Anyhow you can't. It's a life sentence and the police are always watching." This time both needles swung violently into the red.
"How do you know that?" Rick asked her, curiously. "About the difficulty of obtaining an abortion?"
"Everybody knows that," Rachael answered.
"It sounded like you spoke from personal experience."' He watched the needles intently; they still swept out a wide path across the dials. "One more. You're dating a man and he asks you to visit his apartment. While you're there he offers you a drink. As you stand holding your glass you see into the bedroom; it's attractively decorated with bullfight posters, and you wander in to look closer. He follows after you, closing the door. Putting his arm around you,he says — "
Rachael interrupted, "What's a bullfight poster?"
"Drawings, usually in color and very large, showing a matador with his cape, a bull trying to gore him." He was puzzled. "How old are you?" he asked; that might be a factor.
"I'm eighteen," Rachael said. "Okay; so this man closes the door and puts his arm around me. What does he say?"
Rick said, "Do you know how bullfights ended;"
"I suppose somebody got hurt."
"The bull at the end, was always killed." He waited, watching the two needles. They palpitated restlessly, nothing more. No real reading at all. "A final question," he said. "Twopart. You are watching an old movie on TV, a movie from before the war. It shows a banquet in progress; the guests are enjoying raw oysters."
"Ugh," Rachael said; the needles swung swiftly.
"The entree," he continued, "consists of boiled dog, stuffed with rice." The needles moved less this time, less than they had for the raw oysters. "Are raw oysters more acceptable to you than a dish of boiled dog? Evidently not." He put his pencil down, shut off the beam of light, removed the adhesive patch from her check. "You're an android," he said. "That's the conclusion of the testing."
  • "My briefcase," Rick said as he rummaged for the Voigt -Kampff forms. "Nice, isn't it? Department issue."
"Well, well," Rachael said remotely.
"Babyhide," Rick said. He stroked the black leather surface of the briefcase. "One hundred percent genuine human babyhide." He saw the two dial indicators gyrate frantically. But only after a pause. The reaction had come, but too late. He knew the reaction period down to a fraction of a second, the correct reaction period; there should have been none.
"Thanks, Miss Rosen," he said, and gathered together the equipment again; he had concluded his retesting. "That's all."
  • Mr. Freeze: You beg? In my nightmares I see my Nora behind the glass, begging to me with frozen eyes. How I've longed to see that look frozen on you.
  • Deckard: You're in a desert, walking along in the sand when all of a sudden you look down and see a tortise, 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. Why is that?
  • Deckard: Describe in single words, only the good things that come into your mind about your mother.
    • Blade Runner screenplay by Hampton Fancher and David Peoples
  • Adrian Veidt: I've known John long enough to see he isn't devoid of emotion. His subtle facial twitches wouldn't have been noticed by the layman but to me, he might as well have been sobbing.
  • There yet appeared some touch of their delicate lineaments, preserving the sweetness of proportion, and expressing itself beyond expression.
  • A motion picture must be true to life. If a picture portrays a false emotion it trains people seeing it to react abnormally.
  • A nervous tic, an unconscious look of anxiety, a habit of muttering to yourself—anything that carried with it the suggestion of abnormality, of having something to hide. In any case, to wear an improper expression on your face (to look incredulous when a victory was announced, for example) was itself a punishable offence. There was even a word for it in Newspeak: FACECRIME, it was called.
  • Patience and sorrow strove
    Who should express her goodliest. You have seen
    Sunshine and rain at once: her smile and tears
    Were like a better way.

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