Not replicant. Repli CAN. BOOYAH.

Film director Ridley Scott is a man’s man. He wrestles tigers. He has cigars for fingers. His movies lock and load, and mess you up, and make much use of heavy lens filters. Last year he did American Gangster, which might as well have just been called Balls. Now he’s adapting Cormac McCarthy’s novel Blood Meridian, which makes No Country for Old Men look like Little Women. Hell, Scott’s so macho, he once made Demi Moore shave her head and shout “Suck my dick!” in a close-up.

But long before the 1997 catasterpiece G.I. Jane, Scott actually made more interesting, less ludicrous films. His most enduringly popular, and possibly least mantastic, is 1982’s Blade Runner, a shadowy, rainy, neo-noir futurist melodrama based on fiction by Philip K. Dick, with Harrison Ford thinking about his feelings and chasing androids (and maybe being one, oooh) in silly costumes.

Why do people keep coming back to this movie? Two reasons. First, for all its armor of brutish urban dystopia, it has a gooey center. Just look at the rapport between Ford and fellow soft-hearted tough guy Rutger Hauer, who plays his opponent. Yes, Blade Runner is, for Ridley Scott at least, a curiously delicate picture. Sensitive, even. The other, probably more significant reason moviegoers can’t stay away from it, though, is that Scott just keeps releasing different versions of the damn thing. And different versions of the versions. So indecisive. How manly is that?

By now you can get the two-disc DVD set of Blade Runner: The Final Cut, or the 4-disc one, or the 5, which comes in a shiny suitcase declaring your official resignation of a social life. Or—OK, and—you can see it properly, on a big screen, this week at the Crest. It runs from Friday, February 29, through Thursday, March 6 (skipping Monday, March 3), and then it’s gone again—at least for five years, until the release of Blade Runner: The Yeah, Sorry About Implying That Last One Would Be Final, 30th Anniversary Cut. Of course, who knows if it’ll be as good then. Word is Scott’s cutting that one with his own rusty straight razor.