One does not need a lot of brain to wonder in silence, utterly muffling incoherent words while bordering panic, about how out of his mind one has to be to think of this. Why? Why the need for a sequel to one of the best science-fiction pictures of all time? To what point? The ending of Blade Runner, the one which does not depict a shallow heavenly world of green, is an excellent ending. Probably one of the best acting sequences for Ford; picking up the origami unicorn, looking backwards and shutting the door. Hey you— he is shutting a door. Doesn’t that ring any bells? He does not want to be followed. We are supposed to remain here.

The ending of Blade Runner is an ending per se —it leaves you on your sit. I quote this, among other thoughtful reasons, from Binary Bonsai:

But more than anything else, consider that we already saw attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion in our minds eye, and it was a sight to see.

Orion is so powerful in our own heads that it shines in its absence; it also constitutes a ground effort to show how film really is about imagination. The often heard cite that “books let you imagine while films don’t” is, for the most part, shattered to pieces with this example. You are seeing Orion in Roy’s eyes and that is its substance; your mind is flying high with all those images you are conjuring while staring at the beauty of a dying Roy. And those images are intended to die, to fade away, out of human reach. What a good way to smash down this pure, and not so often explored, virtue of film; just throw a few wheels of fire and some light bulbs to stand for C-beams and, oh man, we shall enjoy it.

I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhauser Gate. All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain. Time to die.