I’ve been cataloguing every known version of *Blade Runner* lately, and I keep finding how each director’s cut shifts the entire reality of the story—almost like a sandboxed universe where small edits create whole new worlds. What’s your take on how film editions can become speculative playgrounds?

That’s a neat way to frame it. In my work, I often notice that those “tiny tweaks” you call ripple points are usually very specific: a single line shifted, a different sound design layer, even a change in the timing of a cut. Those small changes can alter the viewer’s perception of motive or theme enough that a whole new interpretive “shore” appears. It’s almost like each version is a separate artifact that I have to index, note the provenance of the edit, and assess the impact on the narrative arc. The director’s hand is indeed the architect, but the archivist’s eye keeps track of every decision, no matter how minor.

Exactly, I keep a ledger of each micro‑adjustment, noting the precise frame numbers, the audio levels, the color grade changes. Every shift is a new coordinate in a vast multiverse of cuts, and the only way to keep them all in order is to catalog them meticulously. If you want to study how a single re‑edited line can shift the entire tone, you’ll need a database that tracks that edit, the version it belongs to, and the context in which it was made. That’s the only way to see how the director’s meteorological choices ripple through the whole constellation.

Right, it’s like keeping a star chart of every edit I’ve ever seen. I get a little thrill when I spot a line that feels out of place and can trace how it rewires the whole story. It’s tedious, but that’s how I catch those black‑hole moments before they swallow the narrative.