New in June: Go Big or Go Home (2014)

Netflix continues to bolster its back catalog of important directors. There are new additions this month from Woody Allen (Annie Hall), Jim Jarmusch (Coffee and Cigarettes), Howard Hawks (El Dorado), Steven Spielberg (1941), and three more from Robert Altman, not to mention the return of those itinerant Francis Ford Coppola films that never seem to stick around for more than a month or two. And in the No News Is Good News department, the handful of James Bond movies that showed up last month remain available—a first in the year-plus since this blog began. Bond titles, as many of you know, usually vanish after 30 days. But one of the bigger stories in June is the streaming debut of a movie as infamous as it was unavailable (at least in the U.S.), and as underrated as it was underseen—the one, the only:

Ishtar (1987)

"Honest and popular don't go hand in hand"

An early example of a movie reviewed for its budget rather than its quality, Ishtar sits only a notch below Heaven's Gate in terms of the critical scorn and audience indifference hurled its way. It may not have ruined a studio, but it certainly helped ruin the directorial career of Elaine May (who also wrote it), and long served as one of a handful of poster children symbolizing Hollywood excess prior to today's Tentpole Era. Me, I've always thought the movie got a bum rap. Having seen it during its initial—extremely brief—theatrical run, I remember being puzzled by the critical pummeling. Certainly it wasn't The Greatest Comedy Ever, but it was clever, entertaining, and silly in equal portions. Essentially a big-budget homage to the Bob Hope-Bing Crosby road pictures (anyone remember those?), it revels in the absurdity of Dustin Hoffman and Warren Beatty, as two of the world's worst songwriters, getting dragged into an international crisis involving the CIA, gunrunners, and Middle Eastern revolutionaries. Hoffman and Beatty have a blast playing against type (Beatty is hopeless with the ladies), bringing real zest to their off-key interpretations of the deliberately awful Paul Williams songs they're meant to have written. Some of it may be dragged out and, at times (yes), excessive, but like the characters in a Will Ferrell or Farrelly Brothers movie, these are very smart people playing stupid, and most of the time they get it right—especially Charles Grodin, whose sly underplaying steals every scene he's in.

New in February: More '70s Tales (2014)

Some classic 1970s flicks found their way to Netflix Instant this month, partially making up for recent losses in that department. And who better to represent the last golden age of cinema than directors Robert Altman, Hal Ashby, and John Schlesinger; and actors Elliott Gould, Donald Sutherland, Bud Cort, Peter Fonda, and Nick Nolte? But even if that era leaves you cold (and if it does, you may need to check your pulse), you can also now stream Billy Wilder's transcendent Sunset Boulevard (1950) and Bryan Singer's deliciously beguiling The Usual Suspects (1995)—two films worthy of permanent residence in your queue (or as permanent as Netflix allows). [Note: Both have since expired.]

M*A*S*H (1970) - EXPIRED 1/31/15

It seems that each time a Robert Altman film leaves Netflix, another one appears, H.Y.D.R.A.-like, to take its place. In this case one could argue it was a fair swap. Out with Cookie's Fortune, in with M*A*S*H, the director's first big hit? Yes, please—especially if you've never seen this anarchic, groundbreaking comedy that marked the beginning of a long career filled with nearly as many highlights as lowlights—which is saying a lot, considering Altman's numerous duds. (They can't all be winners, right? Just ask Woody Allen, who's having a career resurgence similar to Altman's in the '90s.) Not only did M*A*S*H spark the careers of Altman, Elliott Gould, Donald Sutherland, and Sally Kellerman (among others) while providing the template for one of television's most successful TV shows, it also introduced a new mode of screen comedy (raunchy and adult), a loose, semi-improvisatory acting style, and a level of overlapping dialogue not heard since 1940's His Girl Friday. The advances in sound recording and mixing alone make M*A*S*H noteworthy, but of course that's ignoring the realistically casual performances and still-shocking black humor. Sure, some of the political incorrectness and a seemingly endless football finale may draw frowns, but the film retains a freshness and daring that ensure its place in the pop-culture canon. Not to mention it makes the characters on the ensuing TV series seem practically neutered.

October Expiration Watch (2013)

As with every month, it's time to say goodbye to some exceptional titles that will no longer be streaming on Netflix. This time around, those among the fallen include Wes Anderson, the Coen Brothers, Woody Allen (again), Sam Raimi, a Best Picture winner, a sci-fi sleeper, and two of Francis Ford Coppola's most interesting, least-seen films (along with one of his best). Oh, and Jack Nicholson playing faux Jimi Hendrix in a ponytail.

The Evil Dead (1981)

If this wasn't the first of the "cabin-in-the-woods"-type horror films (it wasn't), then it certainly helped codify the rules for such movies, igniting a mini-franchise for first-time director Sam Raimi, a cult following for star Bruce Campbell, and a subgenre that's been exploited to the point of post-modern excess (see: Joss Whedon's giddily entertaining The Cabin in the Woods). Sure, Raimi's budgets and technique would improve exponentially in the years to come, but there's no mistaking his ghoulish glee at mixing horror, humor and gore with founts of foul, unidentifiable fluids. We'll consider it a sick joke on Netflix's part that this movie expires at midnight on Halloween. Meanwhile, Evil Dead 2 remains available if you're still looking for something gooey and dangerous to lock in your cellar. Trivia note: We all know the heights to which Raimi's career eventually reached (can you say Spider-Man?)—but did you know The Evil Dead's young assistant editor was none other than Joel Coen? Speaking of whom...