About Your Privacy on this Site
Welcome! To bring you the best content on our sites and applications, Meredith partners with third party advertisers to serve digital ads, including personalized digital ads. Those advertisers use tracking technologies to collect information about your activity on our sites and applications and across the Internet and your other apps and devices.
You always have the choice to experience our sites without personalized advertising based on your web browsing activity by visiting the DAA’s Consumer Choice page, the NAI's website, and/or the EU online choices page, from each of your browsers or devices. To avoid personalized advertising based on your mobile app activity, you can install the DAA’s AppChoices app here. You can find much more information about your privacy choices in our privacy policy. Even if you choose not to have your activity tracked by third parties for advertising services, you will still see non-personalized ads on our sites and applications. By clicking continue below and using our sites or applications, you agree that we and our third party advertisers can:
  • transfer your data to the United States or other countries; and
  • process and share your data so that we and third parties may serve you with personalized ads, subject to your choices as described above and in our privacy policy.
Entertainment Weekly


Impeccably cool Blade Runner 2049 is a ravishing visual feast: EW review

Posted on

Even 35 years after the release of the original Blade Runner, Ridley Scott’s future feels like an invention modern cinema is still trying to catch up to. Other movies’ notions of nuclear-blasted dystopias or whiz-bang Jetsons kitsch seem to pale next to the haunting, soulful specificity of his vision: the Fritz Lang-meets-’40s-noir metropolis; the paranoid-android flair; the deeply un-sci-fi moments of melancholy. It was enough in some scenes just to watch the smoke curl from Sean Young’s cigarette, or follow the dust drifting through a bleached-white sunbeam.

Not that style substituted for plot — namely, the enigmatic tale, loosely adapted from a Philip K. Dick novel, of four genetically engineered slaves, known as replicants, on the run from Harrison Ford’s titular hunter in an apocalyptic Los Angeles circa 2019. The big reveal (or was it?) that Ford’s Rick Deckard may also be a replicant landed in an era long before internet spoilers and subreddit deep dives. Three-plus decades later, its sequel arrives in a cone of secrecy so fiercely guarded that unwise reviewers could meet a bottle of chloroform in a dark alley just for disclosing what happens in the first five minutes. Suffice it to say that Ryan Gosling’s stoic Officer K has picked up the badge approximately where Deckard left it, and that 2049 doesn’t look all that different, aside from the obvious improvements in high-def technology. The director’s torch has also been passed, to French-Canadian Denis Villeneuve (Sicario, Arrival), who faithfully retains Scott’s dusky golds and grays and retro ’80s pastiche (K’s official police vehicle is a steel-colored DeLorean straight out of Doc Brown’s garage; the LAPD computers look like standard-issue Eastern-bloc IBMs, with a few necessary upgrades). K’s boss, played with brisk, ruthlessly tailored hauteur by Robin Wright, sends him to a remote protein farm to hunt down possible replicant Sapper (Dave Bautista, a human Humvee in coveralls and stubble). There’s more than wriggling grubs beneath the neat rows on his property — a discovery that eventually leads K to the mad blind genius Niander Wallace (a bearded and robed Jared Leto, preening like a fashion-model monk with cataracts), Wallace’s watchful assistant Luv (Sylvia Hoeks), the outer limits of both the city and his psyche, and ultimately, to Deckard himself.


Villeneuve, one of the few filmmakers working today for whom the word auteur doesn’t sound like an unearned affectation, may have fallen a little too in love with his own creation; at two hours and 40 minutes, aesthetic shock and awe eventually outpace the narrative. But how could he not, when nearly every impeccably composed shot — a surreal six-handed love scene; a shimmering hologram of Elvis, hip-swiveling into eternity; a “newborn” replicant, slick with amniotic goo — feels like such a ravishing visual feast? Even when its emotions risk running as cool as its palette, 2049 reaches for, and finds, something remarkable: the elevation of mainstream moviemaking to high art. A–