Blade Runner

Blade Runner

Like the iconic skyscraper-sized geisha who seems to be popping a pill, Blade Runner is first and foremost a movie I consume on a basic level. So busy are my eyes devouring the delectable images, that there are still scenes I can't bother paying attention to even on this fourth viewing. From the perpetually nocturnal, gloomy L.A. that set the precedent for Fincher's similar vision in Seven, to the neon that would be wielded so potently by latter-day Refn, to the rain-drenched noodle stands that would eventually become even lonelier in Wong's In the Mood for Love, Blade Runner is arguably the most gorgeous movie of all-time and certainly one of the most influential.

In fact, it's that generous aesthetic that drives a wedge between movie buffs. For some of us, the overflowing style opens up the world and allows us to fall into the story, while others believe the visuals are all Scott's film has going for it, muting the emotional connections that blossom by the end. I'd be lying if I said this was one of my favorite movies and yet, it persists in my mind like a drone. Something I'm drawn to is the intangibility of Deckard. Ford's probably disinterested performance helps, but I love that he's a perfect noir hero not for becoming ensnared in a femme fatale's clutches or adhering to a strict moral code, but simply that the job is all he has and he's good at it.

I remember the first time I saw it, I was home alone with the lights off and the picture just seemed to pour outside of the frame, spilling into my living room. Even more romantic was seeing it on the big screen last night. 35mm would've been nice but that's a small price to pay to experience this with an attentive audience rapt by the screen.

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