2007 | 118 minutes | Rated R
You know what the trick is to enjoying this endlessly-praised, virtually plotless, depressingly beautiful neo-noir? It's a trick the members of its cult often learn by their third or fourth viewing—Harrison Ford's Rick Deckard is a giant piece of shit, and he also really sucks at his job. Once you stop expecting anything resembling "heroics" out of him, and realize you definitely shouldn't be rooting for him, the film's focus naturally shifts to his shared targets, Roy Batty and Rachel, and that's when the ponderous, accidental genius of Ridley Scott's film locks in and takes hold. That all-timer of a score by Vangelis doesn't hurt, either.
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