So when a young, independent animator called Steven Lisberger approached the company, looking for someone to finance an experimental science fiction film about video games, it seemed like the perfect fit. This was the era of Pac-Man, Donkey Kong and Frogger, when home computing was beginning to make inroads and the potential of all things digital seemed limitless: the so-called “silicon revolution” had just arrived. What better way for Disney to remain relevant than to release a film that capitalised on such a current trend?

That film, of course, was Tron (1982). Combining back-lit animation, traditional animation and computer-generated imagery with live-action footage, this was Star Wars for the impending Information Age. Its setting was stark yet elegant and often beautiful; its themes struck at the heart of the increasing commercialisation of a market hitherto dominated by hobbyists and academics. In short, it was the mythology for a new age.

And yet in 1982, Tron was maybe a bit too “out there” for most people. Lisberger created a world that was intended to draw the average person into the romance of computer-geek culture, but instead it only alienated them further. Too many adults at the time had no relationship to computers or the culture that surrounded them, and so there was no entry-point to allow for them to connect with the characters.. For a lot of children, however, there were no such problems.

The story centres around Kevin Flynn (Jeff Bridges), a programmer and video arcade-owner whose original games were stolen by a ruthless former colleague, Ed Dillinger (David Warner), now an executive at software company ENCOM. When Flynn attempts to crack ENCOM’s system from within the company’s own R&D lab, hoping to gain proof of Dillinger’s theft, Dillinger’s Master Control Program (MCP) uses an experimental laser to zap Flynn into cyberspace.

As a computerised version of himself, Flynn soon meets Tron (Bruce Boxleitner) a video game warrior determined to destroy the MCP and restore freedom to the system. Along the way, he drinks from a water-like power source, flies a Recognizer (a vehicle of his own design) and, most memorably, rides a light-cycle, a bike which, when on the “game grid”, can only turn at right-angles.

The plot itself is more-or-less the standard hero’s journey, but what makes Tron unique is the then-cutting edge technology on display and the way the design works with its limitations rather than against them. Primarily the work of Jean “Moebius” Giraud (who had previously worked on Alien (1979)) and Syd Mead (who was also working on Blade Runner (1982) at the time), the backdrops, vehicles and costumes perfectly blend angular, geometric elements with softer and more natural curves and shapes. The result is a world that is both high-tech and spiritual, where an “I/O tower” becomes a digital cathedral and belief in the “users” of the system takes on theological importance. When combined with the backlit animation and the high-contrast black-and-white footage of the actors, you have something unlike anything else before or since.

What no doubt threw people off at the time was the notion of electronic avatars. Both Boxleitner and Bridges play two characters each, where their programmes take on the appearance of their “real world” counterparts. (Warner plays two characters and also voices a third.) And although “cyberspace” is not referred to directly, even the idea of a digital, virtual environment where the intangible resides was just not something most people were able to relate to.

It’s taken almost 30 years, but now Tron seems more relevant than ever. Later this year a sequel will be released, with Disney finally ready to see the franchise take off. And with games like World of Warcraft being totally mainstream forms of entertainment, the idea of a virtual world full of avatars no longer seems so foreign to most people. Most ironic of all, however, is the fact that without Tron preceding it, the highest grossing film of all time would have been unthinkable.

Tron has endured precisely because it was ahead of its time. It has minor flaws—it can be corny and stilted at times, though this stems more from its genre roots than anything else—but it seems more and more prescient with each passing year. And just as Star Trek bred a new generation of scientific pioneers in the Space Age, Tron has given rise to Generation X’s Information Age trail-blazers. It is we, the few, the proud, the geeky, who have carried on its legacy and allowed it to rise from the ashes, 28 years later.

Here’s hoping the sequel lives up to the original.

It is Los Angeles in 2019, and within the urban decay are four rogue “replicants” — sophisticated androids that are virtually indistinguishable from humans. Rick Deckard (Harrison Ford) is a former blade runner — a detective charged with tracking down and “retiring” (i.e. killing) rogue replicants — and he’s brought back on the job to retire the current four who are still on the loose.

Blade Runner is an important film for a number of reasons. Firstly, it helped to define the “cyberpunk” subgenre: its world was a grimy, sprawling urban landscape fused with high-tech industry, and this became the paradigm upon which so much science fiction was later built. Secondly, its themes of humanity, creation and the nature of memory are dealt with seriously but never in a heavy-handed manner. And finally, it’s yet another case of a film that was relatively unsuccessful at the time of release but whose influence was so marked that it’s now regarded as a classic almost by default.

This is the work of an auteur whose vision so dominates the film that it could never have been made by anyone else. The sets are exquisite, with the lighting and cinematography striking just the right mood for any given scene, and every shot, every frame, every cut announces that This is a Ridley Scott film. This is the sort of cinematic experience whose images linger long after the credits roll — if one word describes Blade Runner, it is “haunting”.

There are, however, flaws that cannot be ignored. There is a rather detached feel throughout that keeps the audience at arm’s length, and this is only compounded by the romance between Rachel (Sean Young) and Deckard, which is never quite convincing. The love scene in particular is rather awkward and (it could be argued) borders on being a rape fantasy. Still, these are minor quibbles when examining the film as a whole.

The most interesting twist in the Blade Runner saga is that now, 25 years after its initial theatrical run, comes Scott’s so-called “Final Cut”, itself 15 years after the apparently misnamed “Director’s Cut” of 1992. This is, without a doubt, the definitive version of the film, combining the best qualities of the prior cuts while subtly tweaking areas that still needed some attention. Never do the changes feel gratuitous (unlike the special editions of certain other beloved science fiction films of the era), although some are still radical if you’re comparing this to the 1982 theatrical cut: as with the Director’s Cut, Ford’s voice-over narration is missing, and the unicorn dream is still included. Both alterations are, in my opinion, for the better, but purists should note that the theatrical cut is available on DVD with certain Blade Runner boxsets.

Ultimately, then, is Blade Runner — in any cut — a perfect film? No. Is it a great film? Yes, and already that sets it apart from most other films released in the intervening years.

In tandem with the recording of The Wall were plans to create an elaborate stage show and concert film, and while the stage show went ahead, the film began to take on a different role. No longer would it be a concert film supplemented with additional dramatic footage starring Waters; instead, Bob Geldof was cast as the lead and the film would feature no actual footage of the band. Gerald Scarfe (who had illustrated the album and provided animations for the stage show) would remain the animation director, however.

The film itself, directed by Alan Parker (Fame, Midnight Express), is a pretty sombre affair. Geldof plays Pink, a rock star burnt out by excess and facing a gradual psychological meltdown, obviously still traumatised by the death of his father in World War II as well as possessing various other gripes. Pink eventually turns completely inwards, building a metaphorical wall as a defence mechanism and developing an utter contempt for the adulation of his fans.

Of course, very little of this is told in a strictly literal fashion. For the most part, the visuals help illuminate the soundtrack (and vice versa), creating a symbiosis of artistic purpose that communicates through the surreal imagery of Scarfe’s animations and Parker’s live-action interpretations thereof.

Where Pink Floyd The Wall fails is that the live-action sequences often seem devoid of any irony. Whereas the album had a kind of self-mocking playfulness to it, the film takes itself far too seriously, particularly since many of the themes are the stuff of teenage angst.

Yet Scarfe’s animation is what ultimately saves the project. “Goodbye Blue Sky” and “What Shall We Do Now?” are particularly memorable, as is the iconic moment of the marching hammers in “Waiting for the Worms”. If the rest of the film were this good, there wouldn’t be a problem.

Notably, Waters and Scarfe had strong disagreements with Parker on his ultimate vision for the film, which perhaps helps to explain the disparity in tone.

I’ve seen the footage shot for the original concert film, and I can’t help but feel that, had things progressed along that course, a more artistically successful film would have resulted. As it stands, Pink Floyd The Wall is a flawed classic that contains enough greatness to make it worthwhile.