“Have I ever told you about Blade Runner?” asks my Dad. I was 12 years old and we were driving to the South Mountain Reservation. Compared to my two older brothers, I didn’t get as much one on one time with my Dad growing up, so I made up for it by riding in the back of a cramped, white CRV accompanying him on his Saturday routine.

Back in the car, I shake my head.

“No?” His face lights up with excitement as he parks behind a rusted gate. “How do I know you exist? I know for a fact that I am real, but how can I prove the rest of the world isn’t just a figment of my imagination?” I listen intently. Not once do I question the relevance of his monologue and how it relates back to Blade Runner.

Fast forward five years. It’s Friday, 7:15 PM. We enter the old theater for the 7:00 show. The dark red curtains draping the screen vanish as a cascade of fiery light runs above the towering skyscrapers of Los Angeles. The film takes a deep breath and exhales a universe. The widescreen of the theater catches every detail, and the booming echo of the sound system reinforces the monumental scale with each and every electronic synth chord. Rick Deckard, a bounty hunter for rogue androids, sets up the machinery required for the Voight-Kampff test, which will determine whether or not Rachael is human. The character Rachael makes first appearance on the screen and is forced to question her own humanity via the test. She fails. Her memories are lies, programmed into her mind in hopes of creating the ultimate replication of human response.

Even as Rachael is forced to rethink her existence, I realize that I had been told every detail of the movie before during many a car ride with my Dad.

A bolt of sparks erupts from Deckard’s gun as another replicant is retired and the second act of begins. An empty coke cup rests underneath my seat as I reach for more popcorn. The cold, flavorless puffs of dried grain fall into my mouth just Deckard’s blood spills into a glass of water.

Old memories begin to snap into place but I realize the last piece is missing. Despite the endless conversations over long car rides and lazy afternoons, I can’t recall the ending. He never told me the ending.

The cool night sky of futuristic pollution fades away as the projector begins to flicker with repeated film reel. The lights of the theater extinguish the universe. A fellow audience member a few seats back begins to discuss the themes of the movie with a friend. They mention Deckard’s humanity and whether or not he truly is human. “Huh,” says my dad “I never thought of it like that before.”