Vangelis and the Past Future of LA
The person runs, futility in motion. The water cascades down, each window and mortar wall a riverbed. The drains overflow with a mixture of muck, covering the cracked ground with black filth. It is the middle of night, but the darkness lies above and below. Here, at street level, the effulgence of neon signs blinds anyone who look anywhere but down.
They splash their way down the high street, screaming for help. People look up, notice the blaring red and blue illuminations, and look down again. There is an order to things, and this is no aberrance. The runner looks back and sees the flying lights nearing. They pivot into an alley and rush past dumpsters, lightly floating but tightly chained. The darkness has crept in here, but not enough to hide in; nothing can shroud those chased by the hunters of the sky.
The person slips and falls into a thick splatter. Tar! The ever-seeping liquid asphalt abundant below the crevasses. This city eats people. Those living in alcoves a little easier to pick clean from its stained edifices.
“Halt!” The car blares as it rounds the corner. “Replicant, halt!” It is almost over their broken body, breathing heavy as the fumes of the city begin to overwhelm them.
“I am no replicant!” The plea goes unheard. “I am a threat to no one!” They unstick themselves and stand up, a stark silhouette against a malicious glare.
An eardrum-shattering blast echoes and the lights dim as the cruiser descends. It settles some way from the still heap lying beneath a black trench coat. The effluvia of a metropolis astray envelopes its latest prey.
Badged men exit and approach, wading indifferently through the deluge. “It doesn’t matter who you are,” one of them utters, “what matters is what we say.”
The figure is tagged and dragged away. A being no more now that their last breath has escaped. A statistic to be used, to every end but their own.
Los Angeles sees a handful of rainy days each year. I got to witness a couple over the past long weekend. The combination of smog settling in its basin and mist allowed by the unusual cool temperatures gave the city a real Blade Runner vibe. Vangelis’ iconic score was running through my head whenever there was a silence in conversation.
Left: a screenshot from Blade Runner’s opening sequence – a fictional Los Angeles in 2019. Right: the city as seen from Griffith Observatory on February 18, 2024.
Pardon the depressing piece of fiction above – I write mostly at night, and the mind tends to drift along with certain quieter currents at late hours. My first impressions of LA were quite positive. It is many cities masquerading as one, a true embodiment of the diversity within the US. With ethnic enclaves around every corner, incredible food, pleasant temperatures (for the most part), and plenty of activities and events to indulge in, it was a difficult goodbye at the end of the four packed days I spent there. Not all things were rosy of course – it is definitely a ‘car’ city, though the public transit is apparently making strides. The multi-lane freeways weaved together and stacked above concrete paths, metro stations, and parking lots reminded me of the worst of Beijing. It also had a lot in common with other cities of its ilk – opulence coupled with scarcity; Hollywood and affluent suburbs balancing the encampments of those homeless and fractured infrastructure outside the oft-visited locales.
A place I definitely need to visit and explore again.
Another set of tracks comes to mind as I look forward to next week, a visit to Yukon and the most Northern parts of BC. I am hoping to meet my old friends, the dancing atoms that whittle imagination.
May they underlie a curious, continuing case of optimistic blues that this winter has brought us, its ebbs and flows as uncertain as the next snowfall.