Alfred Hitchcock Conducts a Politically Incorrect Sound Test on the Set of Blackmail (1929)

Above we have a young Alfred Hitch­cock on the set of Black­mail (1929), con­duct­ing a rather naughty sound test with actress Anny Ondra (1929).

In case you don’t know the back­sto­ry, Black­mail was orig­i­nal­ly meant to be a silent film. How­ev­er, with talkies becom­ing the rage, Hitch­cock decid­ed mid-stream to make the film a talkie. That deci­sion did­n’t come with­out its own prob­lems. Anny Ondra, a Czech actress, spoke Eng­lish with a heavy accent and could­n’t pass as a Lon­don­er in the film. So Hitch­cock per­formed some cin­e­ma mag­ic and had Eng­lish actress Joan Bar­ry dub Ondra’s lines. In those days, dub­bing could­n’t take place in post-pro­duc­tion. It all had to hap­pen in real-time. Thus, as the cam­era rolled, Bar­ry stood out­side the frame and spoke the dia­logue into a micro­phone, while Ondra pan­tomimed the words. Through­out, Hitch­cock direct­ed Ondra while lis­ten­ing to Bar­ry through a pair of head­phones.

hitch with hair

You can watch Black­mail (Britain’s first talkie fea­ture film) online here or find it in our col­lec­tion of 23 Free Hitch­cock Films Online.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

37 Hitch­cock Cameo Appear­ances Over 50 Years: All in One Video

Lis­ten to François Truffaut’s Big, 12-Hour Inter­view with Alfred Hitch­cock (1962)

The Plea­sure Gar­den, Alfred Hitchcock’s Very First Fea­ture Film (1925)

Animated Louis CK Shows Demonstrates How “Animation Lets You Do Anything”

Father­hood is a fer­tile sub­ject for come­di­an Louis C.K.

Kids do say the darnedest things, but Louis’ obser­va­tions reveal the depth of his invest­ment.

He lit out after stan­dard­ized test­ing and the Com­mon Core on Twit­ter.

He made a pas­sion­ate case against giv­ing kids smart­phones to Conan O’Brien.

Is it any won­der that the “dumb­er, fun­nier” ver­sion of him­self he cre­at­ed for his TV show is pre­oc­cu­pied and often thwart­ed by his respon­si­bil­i­ties as the sin­gle dad of two young daugh­ters?

(Real life may pro­vide inspi­ra­tion, but the writer and star dis­plays appro­pri­ate bound­aries when he says that his actu­al daugh­ters are marked­ly dif­fer­ent char­ac­ters than their TV coun­ter­parts.)

But the knife of father­hood cuts both ways. Louis’ trou­bled rela­tion­ship with his own dad gets less atten­tion than the father-daugh­ter bond, but it’s there in his work. The prospect of spend­ing time with his estranged father caus­es the fic­tion­al Louis to vom­it at the din­ner table in sea­son three.

The ani­mat­ed approach seen above, gives Louis more con­trol over the sit­u­a­tion. Ani­ma­tion, like read­ing, makes pos­si­ble flights of fan­cy where­in children—including grown ones like Louis—can do “absolute­ly any­thing.” Fly­ing and using a rain­bow as a slide are among the fan­tas­ti­cal activ­i­ties the 2‑D Louis sam­ples. Mean­while, the qual­i­ty of his nar­ra­tion con­veys an under­ly­ing dis­taste for the sort of canned “imag­i­na­tive” sug­ges­tions foist­ed on chil­dren by well-mean­ing edu­ca­tion­al pro­gram­mers.

Left to their own devices, most kids will come up with sce­nar­ios and pow­ers far weird­er than any­thing ped­dled to them by an adult. Why “swim through the ocean like a fish” when you can anthro­po­mor­phize your elder­ly father as a malev­o­lent spi­der, lodged in your chest, poop­ing out reg­u­lar lit­tle “infes­ta­tions of hate”?

Ani­ma­tion lets you go all the way, and C.K. cer­tain­ly does, lop­ping off heads, and (SPOILER!) inad­ver­tent­ly Bon­nie and Clyd­ing him­self from with­in.

Someone’s made a lot of progress since the 90’s, when he used his time on Dr. Katz’s ani­mat­ed couch to dis­cuss K‑Mart and Chips Ahoy.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

The Sur­re­al Short Films of Louis C.K., 1993–1999

Sein­feld, Louis C.K., Chris Rock, and Ricky Ger­vais Dis­sect the Craft of Com­e­dy (NSFW)

20-Year-Old Louis CK Per­forms Stand Up (1987)

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, home­school­er, and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

Watch Carl Sagan & Richard Dawkins Present the Royal Institution’s Famous Christmas Lectures

If only some­one could have invent­ed the inter­net by 1825. Not only would we have reached unimag­ined realms of com­mu­ni­ca­tion by now, but we would have a full 189 years of Christ­mas lec­tures to stream online at our leisure. A pro­duc­tion of the Roy­al Insti­tu­tion in the Unit­ed King­dom, the Christ­mas lec­tures began with the edu­ca­tion­al endeav­ors of elec­tro­mag­net­ism and elec­tro­chem­istry pio­neer Michael Fara­day. Between 1827 and 1860, Fara­day gave the first Christ­mas lec­tures on the Lon­don grounds of the Roy­al Insti­tu­tion, hold­ing forth on sub­jects like chem­istry, elec­tric­i­ty, and mat­ter in an effort to get the gen­er­al pub­lic excit­ed about sci­ence. Accord­ing to one of his sound­est prin­ci­ples of lec­tur­ing, “a flame should be light­ed at the com­mence­ment and kept alive with unremit­ting splen­dour to the end.” Gen­er­a­tions of sci­en­tif­ic lec­tur­ers have stepped for­ward to light and keep that splen­did flame to this day.

At the top of the post, we have the first of Carl Sagan’s six Christ­mas lec­tures on Earth, Mars, and our solar sys­tem from 1977. Just above, you can watch the first of Richard Dawkins’ 1991 Christ­mas lec­ture series enti­tled Grow­ing Up in the Uni­verse. Though Sagan and Dawkins osten­si­bly geared their lec­tures toward kids — just as Fara­day intend­ed his sci­en­tif­ic spec­ta­cles for a “juve­nile audi­ence” — don’t let that turn you off if you’ve already reached adult­hood. In fact, grown-ups may stand to gain more than kids, giv­en our ten­den­cy to binge-watch. Why not give your­self an edu­ca­tion­al hol­i­day treat by plow­ing through the past sev­er­al years of Christ­mas lec­tures archived at the Roy­al Insti­tu­tion’s web site? This Christ­mas, they’ve got pro­fes­sor Danielle George on “how the spark of your imag­i­na­tion and some twen­ty first cen­tu­ry tin­ker­ing can change the world” — so get ready to gath­er ’round with all the future world-chang­ers you know, young or old.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Carl Sagan Presents Six Lec­tures on Earth, Mars & Our Solar Sys­tem … For Kids (1977)

Grow­ing Up in the Uni­verse: Richard Dawkins Presents Cap­ti­vat­ing Sci­ence Lec­tures for Kids (1991)

Carl Sagan Explains Evo­lu­tion in an Eight-Minute Ani­ma­tion

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

O Frabjous Day! Neil Gaiman Recites Lewis Carroll’s “Jabberwocky” from Memory

When the young Neil Gaiman was learn­ing Lewis Carroll’s “Jab­ber­wocky” by heart, he sure­ly had no inkling that years lat­er he’d be called upon to recite it for legions of ador­ing fans…particularly on the Inter­net, a phe­nom­e­non the bud­ding author may well have imag­ined, if not tech­ni­cal­ly imple­ment­ed.

World­builders, a fundrais­ing por­tal that rewards donors not with tote bags or umbrel­las, but rather with celebri­ty chal­lenges of a non-ice buck­et vari­ety, scored big when Gaiman agreed to par­tic­i­pate.

Ear­li­er this year, a rum­pled look­ing Gaiman read Dr. Seuss’s “rather won­der­ful” Green Eggs and Ham into his web­cam.

This month, with dona­tions to Heifer Inter­na­tion­al exceed­ing $600,000, he found him­self on the hook to read anoth­er piece of the donors’ choos­ing. Carroll’s non­sen­si­cal poem won out over Good­night Moon, Fox in Socks, and Where the Wild Things Are

Like fel­low author, Lyn­da Bar­ry, Gaiman is not one to under­es­ti­mate the val­ue of mem­o­riza­tion.

The videog­ra­phy may be casu­al, but his off-book per­for­mance in an undis­closed tul­gey wood is the stuff of high dra­ma.

Cal­looh!

Callay!

Is that a mem­o­ry lapse at the one minute mark? Anoth­er inter­preter might have called for a retake, but Gaiman rides out a four sec­ond pause cooly, his eyes the only indi­ca­tor that some­thing may be amiss. Per­haps he’s just tak­ing pre­cau­tions, lis­ten­ing for tell­tale whif­fling and bur­bling.

If you’re on the prowl to make some year end char­i­ta­ble dona­tions, recre­ation­al math­e­mu­si­cian Vi Hart and author John Green are among those World­builders has in the pipeline to per­form stunts for suc­cess­ful­ly fund­ed cam­paigns.

Jab­ber­wocky is a poem that appears in Car­rol­l’s Through the Look­ing-Glass, the 1871 sequel to Alice’s Adven­tures in Won­der­land (1865). You can find both in our col­lec­tion, 800 Free eBooks for iPad, Kin­dle & Oth­er Devices.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Neil Gaiman Reads The Grave­yard Book, His Award-Win­ning Kids Fan­ta­sy Nov­el, Chap­ter by Chap­ter

Neil Gaiman Gives Grad­u­ates 10 Essen­tial Tips for Work­ing in the Arts

Where Do Great Ideas Come From? Neil Gaiman Explains

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, home­school­er, and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

Watch Bob Dylan Play a Private Concert for One Lucky Fan

On Novem­ber 23rd, Bob Dylan played a live con­cert for one awed fan. As Rolling Stone described it, “Fredrik Wik­ings­son walked into Philadel­phi­a’s Acad­e­my of Music, took a seat in the [sixth] row and pre­pared to watch his hero play a con­cert just for him.” “At this point,” Wik­ings­son said, “I still thought I was about to get Punk’d.” “I thought some ass­hole would walk onstage and just laugh at me. I just could­n’t fath­om that Dylan would actu­al­ly do this.”

But it was­n’t a joke. Dylan treat­ed the super­fan to a per­son­al con­cert, play­ing cov­ers of songs from the ear­ly days of Amer­i­can rock n roll. And it was all filmed for a Swedish TV series called Exper­i­ment Ensam (Exper­i­ment Alone), where indi­vid­u­als take part, alone, in activ­i­ties usu­al­ly meant for groups. The video of the exper­i­men­tal con­cert went online yes­ter­day. You can watch it above.

For more news bring­ing togeth­er Bob Dylan and Swe­den, see our recent post: Swedish Sci­en­tists Sneak Bob Dylan Lyrics Into Their Aca­d­e­m­ic Pub­li­ca­tions For Last 17 Years.

Fol­low us on Face­book, Twit­ter and Google Plus and share intel­li­gent media with your friends. Or bet­ter yet, sign up for our dai­ly email and get a dai­ly dose of Open Cul­ture in your inbox.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Bob Dylan Reads From T.S. Eliot’s Great Mod­ernist Poem The Waste Land

Bob Dylan and The Grate­ful Dead Rehearse Togeth­er in Sum­mer 1987. Lis­ten to 74 Tracks.

Bob Dylan and George Har­ri­son Play Ten­nis, 1969

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Lou Reed Reads Delmore Schwartz’s Famous Story “In Dreams Begin Responsibilities”

Schwartz_Reed

 

In a gal­lop­ing vignette in Tablet, writer Lee Smith man­ages to evoke the essences of both sen­ti­men­tal tough guy Lou Reed and his lit­er­ary men­tor and hero, “Brook­lyn Jew­ish Trou­ba­dour” Del­more Schwartz. Although Schwartz’s “poet­ry is his real lega­cy,” Smith writes, that rich body of work is often obscured by the fact that “his most famous work is a short sto­ry,” the much-anthol­o­gized “In Dreams Begin Respon­si­bil­i­ties” (1935) It’s a sto­ry writ­ten in prose as lyri­cal as can be—with sen­tences one wants to pause and linger over, read­ing again and again, out loud if pos­si­ble. It’s also a sto­ry in which we see “a direct line… between Schwartz and Reed,” whose song “Per­fect Day” per­forms sim­i­lar kind of mag­i­cal cat­a­logu­ing of urban imper­ma­nence. For Reed, one­time stu­dent of Schwartz at Syra­cuse Uni­ver­si­ty, “Del­more Schwartz is every­thing.”

Reed ded­i­cat­ed the last song, “Euro­pean Son,” on the first Vel­vet Under­ground album to Schwartz, and wrote an elo­quent for­ward to a reis­sue of Schwartz’s first col­lec­tion of sto­ries and poems, also titled In Dreams Begin Respon­si­bil­i­ties. And just above, you can hear Reed him­self read the sto­ry aloud, savor­ing those lyri­cal sen­tences in his Brook­lyn dead­pan. It’s easy to imag­ine Reed writ­ing many of these sen­tences, such was Schwartz’s influ­ence on him. They shared not only com­mon ori­gins, but also a com­mon sen­si­bil­i­ty; in Reed’s songs we hear the echo of Schwartz’s voice, the satir­i­cal world-weari­ness and the lyri­cism and long­ing. In the bio­graph­i­cal doc­u­men­tary Rock and Roll Heart, Reed says that Schwartz showed him how, “with the sim­plest lan­guage imag­in­able, and very short, you can accom­plish the most aston­ish­ing heights.” Read­ing, and lis­ten­ing to Schwartz’s aston­ish­ing “In Dreams Begin Respon­si­bil­i­ties” may help you under­stand just what he meant.

This read­ing has been added to our col­lec­tion, 1,000 Free Audio Books: Down­load Great Books for Free.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Lou Reed Rewrites Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven.” See Read­ings by Reed and Willem Dafoe

Rock and Roll Heart, 1998 Doc­u­men­tary Retraces the Remark­able Career of Lou Reed

Teenage Lou Reed Sings Doo-Wop Music (1958–1962)

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Eastern Philosophy Explained with Three Animated Videos by Alain de Botton’s School of Life

“Among the founders of reli­gions,” writes Walpo­la Rahu­la in his book What the Bud­dha Taught, “the Buddha…was the only teacher who did not claim to be oth­er than a human being, pure and sim­ple. […] He attrib­uted all his real­iza­tion, attain­ment and achieve­ments to human endeav­or and human intel­li­gence.” Rahula’s inter­pre­ta­tion of Bud­dhism is only one of a great many, of course. In some tra­di­tions, the Bud­dha is mirac­u­lous and more or less divine. But this quote sums up why the gen­er­al­ly non-the­is­tic sys­tem of East­ern thought is often called a psy­chol­o­gy or phi­los­o­phy rather than a reli­gion. With the video above, Alain de Botton—whose School of Life has recent­ly brought us a sur­vey of West­ern philoso­phers—begins his intro­duc­tion to East­ern thought with Bud­dhism. The Buddha’s sto­ry, de Bot­ton says, “is a sto­ry about con­fronting suf­fer­ing.”

Born the son of a wealthy Indi­an king and des­tined for great­ness by a prophecy—or so the sto­ry goes—Siddhartha Gau­ta­ma, the future Bud­dha, dis­cov­ered human suf­fer­ing dur­ing brief excur­sions from his palace. Appalled and dis­turbed by sick­ness, aging, and death, the Bud­dha left his lux­u­ri­ous life (and his wife and son) and prac­ticed many rit­u­als and aus­ter­i­ties before find­ing his own path to enlight­en­ment and Nirvana—the extin­guish­ing of desire.

One fruit of his real­iza­tion is the doc­trine of “the Mid­dle Way,” a medi­a­tion between extremes that one source com­pares to Aristotle’s gold­en mean, “where­by ‘every virtue is a mean between two extremes, each of which is a vice.’” The Buddha’s enlight­ened under­stand­ing of the essen­tial con­ti­nu­ity of life gave him com­pas­sion for all liv­ing beings; of the thou­sands of sutras, or say­ings, attrib­uted to him, his teach­ing can be con­cise­ly summed up in what he called “the Four Noble Truths,” the acknowl­edge­ment, cause, and rem­e­dy of inevitable pain and dis­con­tent.

Most of what de Bot­ton does in his intro­duc­tion to the Bud­dha will be famil­iar to any­one who has tak­en a com­par­a­tive reli­gions class. But true to his task of approach­ing Bud­dhism philo­soph­i­cal­ly, he avoids Bud­dhist meta­physics, cos­mol­o­gy, and ques­tions of rebirth, instead inter­pret­ing the Buddha’s teach­ings as a kind of East­ern Aris­totelian ethics: “We must change our out­look (not our cir­cum­stances). We are unhap­py not because we don’t have enough mon­ey, love, or sta­tus, but because we’re greedy, vain, and inse­cure. By reori­ent­ing our minds we can become con­tent. By reori­ent­ing our behav­ior, and adopt­ing what we now term a ‘mind­ful’ atti­tude, we can also become bet­ter peo­ple.”

While Bud­dhist schol­ars and sages would argue that enlight­en­ment entails a great deal more than self-improve­ment, the sum­ma­tion suits the pur­pos­es of de Botton’s School of Life—to help peo­ple “live wise­ly and well.” These videos—like his oth­ers, ani­mat­ed by Mad Adam films with Mon­ty Pythonesque whimsy—distill East­ern thought into fun, bite-sized nuggets. Just above, we have a short intro­duc­tion to the Chi­nese sage Lao Tzu, pur­port­ed author of the Tao Te Ching, the found­ing text of Dao­ism. Where­as de Bot­ton seems to take the Buddha’s sto­ry more or less for grant­ed, he admits above that Lao Tzu may well be a myth­i­cal char­ac­ter, “like Homer,” and that the Tao is like­ly the work “of many authors over time.”

Dao­ism is often inter­twined with Bud­dhism and Con­fu­cian­ism, but its own par­tic­u­lar phi­los­o­phy is dis­tinct from either tra­di­tion. At the heart of Dao­ism is wu wei, which trans­lates to “non-action” or “non-doing,” a mode of being that seeks har­mo­ny with the rhythms of nature and a ceas­ing of pre­oc­cu­pa­tion and ambi­tion. Anoth­er “key point” of Lao Tzu’s instruc­tions for real­iz­ing the “Tao,” or “the way,” is get­ting “in touch with our real selves,” some­thing we can only accom­plish through recep­tiv­i­ty to nature—our own and that out­side us—and through free­dom from dis­trac­tion, a most dif­fi­cult demand for tech­nol­o­gy-obsessed 21st cen­tu­ry peo­ple.

The third video in de Botton’s series sur­veys a Japan­ese Zen Bud­dhist sage and con­trasts him with West­ern philoso­phers, who gen­er­al­ly write long, obscure books and clois­ter them­selves in lec­ture halls and offices. In the Zen tra­di­tion, de Bot­ton says, “philoso­phers write poems, rake grav­el, go on pil­grim­ages, prac­tice archery, write apho­risms on scrolls, chant, and in the case of one of the very great­est Zen thinkers, Sen no Rikyu, teach peo­ple how to drink tea in con­sol­ing and ther­a­peu­tic ways.” Born in 1522 near Osa­ka, Rikyu reformed and refined the chanoyu, the Japan­ese tea cer­e­mo­ny, into a rig­or­ous but ele­gant med­i­ta­tive prac­tice. Rikyu coined the term wabi-sabi, a com­pound of words for “sat­is­fac­tion with sim­plic­i­ty and aus­ter­i­ty” and “appre­ci­a­tion for the imper­fect.” Wabi-sabi offers not only the foun­da­tion for a way of life, but also for a way of design and archi­tec­ture, and its prac­tice informs a great deal of tra­di­tion­al Japan­ese aes­thet­ics.

Like Lao Tzu, Rikyu intend­ed his prac­tices to help peo­ple recon­nect with the sim­plic­i­ty and har­mo­ny of nature, as well as with each oth­er, inspir­ing mutu­al respect free of sta­tus-con­scious­ness and com­pe­ti­tion. Rikyu’s wabi-sabi phi­los­o­phy is premised on Zen’s under­stand­ing of the imper­ma­nence, imper­fec­tion, and incom­plete­ness of every­thing. There­fore he eschewed the trap­pings of lux­u­ry and pre­ferred worn and hum­ble objects in his cer­e­mo­ni­al instruc­tions. Whether we call Rikyu’s prac­tices reli­gious or philo­soph­i­cal seems to make lit­tle dif­fer­ence. In the case of the three thinkers pro­filed here, the dis­tinc­tion may be mean­ing­less and intro­duce West­ern con­cep­tu­al divi­sions that only obscure the mean­ing of Bud­dhism, Dao­ism, and Japan­ese Zen. When it comes to the lat­ter, anoth­er West­ern inter­preter, Alan Watts, once deliv­ered an excel­lent talk called “The Reli­gion of No Reli­gion” that helps to explain prac­tices like Rikyu’s chanoyu.

All of the videos here are part of the School of Life’s “Cur­ricu­lum.” Vis­it de Botton’s Youtube chan­nel for more, and for short videos offer­ing advice on every­thing from anx­i­ety to rela­tion­ships to “the dan­gers of the inter­net.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Alain de Botton’s School of Life Presents Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tions to Hei­deg­ger, The Sto­ics & Epi­cu­rus

What Are Lit­er­a­ture, Phi­los­o­phy & His­to­ry For? Alain de Bot­ton Explains with Mon­ty Python-Style Videos

A Guide to Hap­pi­ness: Alain de Bot­ton Shows How Six Great Philoso­phers Can Change Your Life

Alain de Bot­ton Shows How Art Can Answer Life’s Big Ques­tions in Art as Ther­a­py

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Blade Runner Spoofed in Three Japanese Commercials (and Generally Loved in Japan)

Blade Run­ner’s vision of a thor­ough­ly Japan­i­fied Los Ange­les in the year 2019 reflects the west­ern eco­nom­ic anx­i­eties of the ear­ly 1980s. And while that once far-flung year may not have come quite yet, Japan — giv­en the burst­ing of its post­war finan­cial bub­ble and the “lost decade” of the 1990s that fol­lowed — looks unlike­ly to own a frac­tion as much of the Unit­ed States as Rid­ley Scot­t’s Philip K. Dick adap­ta­tion (and many oth­er futur­is­tic sto­ries besides) assumed it even­tu­al­ly would. Still, the film’s cul­tur­al proph­esy came true: even dur­ing its eco­nom­ic stag­na­tion, Japan exer­cised more “soft pow­er” than ever before, turn­ing the world to the unique claims of its cul­ture, from the refine­ment of its cui­sine to the hyper­ac­tive exu­ber­ance of its music and ani­ma­tion to the match­less ele­gance of its tra­di­tion­al aes­thet­ics.

Even as Blade Run­ner showed us how much Japan­ese style would one day influ­ence, the style of the film had, for its part, an imme­di­ate influ­ence on Japan. Though famous­ly unap­pre­ci­at­ed by west­ern­ers on its ini­tial release (“a waste of time,” said Siskel and Ebert), its pro­to-cyber­punk sen­si­bil­i­ty won the hearts of Japan­ese view­ers, and Japan­ese cre­ators, right away. The video at the top of the post col­lects three Japan­ese tele­vi­sion com­mer­cials that both spoof and pay homage to Blade Run­ner: the first for the Hon­da Beat, a Japan-only road­ster; the sec­ond (an astute par­o­dy of a par­tic­u­lar­ly mem­o­rable scene) for Meni­con con­tact lens­es; and the third for mobile ser­vice provider J‑Phone.

But the movie’s effect on Japan did­n’t stop at the adver­tis­ing indus­try. The 1987 ani­mat­ed series Bub­blegum Cri­sis, which fol­lows the adven­tures of a cyborg-bat­tling team in the “Mega Tokyo” of 2032, plays so much like a home­grown Blade Run­ner that a fan could cre­ate the sec­ond video above: an ani­mat­ed recre­ation of Blade Run­ner’s trail­er, using all its orig­i­nal sound, with Bub­blegum Cri­sis’ footage. The 1988 video game Snatch­er stars the decid­ed­ly Har­ri­son-For­dian Gillian Seed, a detec­tive in pur­suit of the tit­u­lar killer androids in the “Neo Kobe” of 2044. You can still semuch of what the film inspired, and what inspired in the film, in major Japan­ese cities today. Even Los Ange­les has made strides here and there toward the Blade Run­ner future, though I regret to admit that we still await our tow­er-side geisha.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Art of Mak­ing Blade Run­ner: See the Orig­i­nal Sketch­book, Sto­ry­boards, On-Set Polaroids & More

The Blade Run­ner Pro­mo­tion­al Film

Blade Run­ner: The Pil­lar of Sci-Fi Cin­e­ma that Siskel, Ebert, and Stu­dio Execs Orig­i­nal­ly Hat­ed

Philip K. Dick Pre­views Blade Run­ner: “The Impact of the Film is Going to be Over­whelm­ing” (1981)

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

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