‘Blade Runner 2049 has a women problem,” cried the internet this weekend, as the critically praised sci-fi sequel hit cinemas. Tweets and blogs cited the fact that female characters were treated as sex objects, and that the narrative was almost entirely driven by men, including Ryan Gosling’s replicant-hunter K and his predecessor Rick Deckard (Harrison Ford). Outrage quickly spread, including from those who had not yet seen the film.

As someone who has, I’m not surprised. While I was transfixed by the film’s visual prowess, score, fascinating plot and fidelity to the original, I was troubled by the character of Joi (Ana de Armas) in particular. An operating system who is bought by K to act as a doting, doe-eyed housewife, she appears to him in hologram form as and when he dictates, wearing and saying whatever she thinks suits his mood. Understandably, Joi has been called “a sci-fi fanboy’s wet dream”. Her owner’s emotional demands dictate whether she is in sexy or demure mode (flashback to Arnold Schwarzenegger creating his dream girl in Total Recall). How are we supposed to admire a hero whose key relationship is with a woman of his own creation who will submit to his every demand and can be switched on and off as he pleases?

I was reminded of the highly problematic scene in Ridley Scott’s 1982 original, Blade Runner, in which Deckard strong-arms replicant Rachael (Sean Young) into kissing him. This scene was on my mind when I interviewed Blade Runner 2049 director Denis Villeneuve, who said he was attracted to the script (written by two men) partly due to the many female characters. “It’s a movie that shows different facets of femininity,” he said. I was hopeful.

And, indeed, there are a number of characters. Robin Wright is terrific but underused as K’s slick, strong, black-clad boss, Lieutenant Joshi, and Sylvia Hoeks’s icy baddie Luv is great fun, but in thrall to her male boss (sinister replicant-creator Wallace, played by Jared Leto). Mackenzie Davis’s Mariette shows initial promise as a strong character who can give as good as she gets, but she is also a sex worker who is literally used as a puppet. Visually, sexualised images of women dominate the stunning futuristic cityscapes, from pirouetting ballerinas to giant statues of naked women in heels looming over K as he goes on his journey. Of course, one of the themes of Blade Runner 2049 is a world littered with artifice, from replicants to sexbots – but these mainly seem to cater to heterosexual males. A hint of a woman considering a “pleasure model” is brief and unexplored. Meanwhile Wright’s Joshi appears attracted to K, but she is not permitted to use him for her sexual pleasure. Where is her holographic lover, her Joi?

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Sylvia Hoeks as Luv. Photograph: Allstar/Warner Bros.

Tweeters have also declared that Blade Runner 2049 fails the Bechdel test, which requires a film to feature two named female characters talking to each other about something other than a man. Personally, I think Blade Runner 2049 could narrowly pass, but the point remains: the film revolves around its male heroes and their needs. And it is not just strong women who are under-represented; there are very few non-white characters. One of the few who does appear on screen is a sex worker who barely speaks – so it is little surprise that the film is being criticised for its lack of diversity.

Meanwhile, 2049’s defenders have said the film is set in a dystopian future – and that it is not our future, but the future of the Blade Runner universe, as set by the 1982 film based on Philip K Dick’s 1968 sci-fi novel. This much is true: so why not explore that world’s treatment of women, rather than have it as a decorative backdrop, huge breasts and ballet-dancing holograms included?

While some women are questioning whether or not they should see the new film, I would not suggest boycotting it for its depiction of women. That audiences today are alert to discussing depictions of female characters in film is progress in itself. But it is worth thinking about whether this is the future we want for women in film. I hope Blade Runner 2049 gets its own sequel: there is the raw material for a much more nuanced depiction of gender relations. And perhaps a woman could write or direct the next one, too.