I love that comparison—you’re spot on, those little motifs are like tiny coded routines that echo each other, weaving continuity and emotion. In the great classics the composer really treats them as reusable building blocks, almost like a secret language everyone who watches the film can pick up on. In today’s rush‑to‑sell‑sounds it’s harder to spot that pattern, but when you do, it feels like discovering a long‑lost score that still resonates.

There are still a few gems that keep that trickle of consistency, even in a streaming‑heavy age. “Blade Runner 2049” uses that cold, crystalline motif from the original, looping it with new textures to tie past and present—almost a sequel‑style API call. “The Social Network” keeps a single, looping string line that’s echoed in the climax, like a unit test for our nerves. And “Soul” from Pixar—though it’s a family film—repeats that gentle, rising piano phrase across scenes, nudging us with the same emotional function each time. They’re rare, but the old masters of the trade still know that small, well‑placed motif can carry an entire film’s heartbeat, and when it’s done right, it feels like a secret handshake with the audience.