June Expiration Watch: Art of the Tease

Turns out some of the more impressive additions to Instant these last few months were little more than loaners. I'm not really sure the point of acquiring streaming rights to a film for only two or three months (why not six? or a year?), but if you were excited by such recent additions as The Terminator, Chinatown, Angel Heart, and classic Kubrick and Scorsese—not to mention the perennially peripatetic James Bond films—then you better get your licks in while you can.

And since no one else seems to be tracking this, here are the most notable films that debuted on the service in recent months that are now expiring:

Arrived in May

Bang the Drum Slowly (1973)
James Bond Films (list below)

Arrived in April

Angel Heart (1987)
Bad Company (1972)
Chinatown (1974) - review
Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977) - review
Dragonslayer (1981)
Lars and the Real Girl (2007)
The Odd Couple (1968)
Roger Dodger (2002)
Spanglish (2004)
Rocky (1976) + sequels
The Running Man (1987)
The Terminator (1984)

Arrived in March

As Good As It Gets (1997)
Dr. Strangelove (1964) - review
Gattaca (1997)
Taxi Driver (1976)

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.

May Expiration Watch: Breaking It Down (2014)

An interesting mix of titles are expiring this month, which I'll group loosely into three categories:

Not Charlie's Angels

1. GOING TO EXTREMES

In the mood to have your mind bent, broiled, or otherwise contorted into a WTF curlicue? Any one of these films will leave you variously scratching your head, choking on your popcorn, or considering life in a monastery.

Bad Lieutenant (1992)

Abel Ferrara directs Harvey Keitel in this intense tale of a New York cop battling his inner demons in the original Sin City (i.e., NYC in the early '90s).

Deadly Blessing (1981)

Gorgeous 1970s actress Maren Jensen (Athena in the original Battlestar Galactica) in one of only two movies she starred in before leaving showbiz. This one, a creepy horrorfest directed by Wes Craven, co-stars a young Sharon Stone and an old Ernest Borgnine sporting a Quaker beard. (For trivia buffs, Jensen's other starring role was in the even more obscure Beyond the Reef., a.k.a. Sharkboy of Bora Bora.)

The Lair of the White Worm (1988)

Kinky horror madness from the king of extreme himself, director Ken Russell (Tommy, Altered States, Women in Love). Featuring the unlikely cast of Amanda Donohue, Hugh Grant, and (Holy '80s, Batman!) Catherine Oxenberg.

More Than a Pretty Face: MISS FISHER'S MURDER MYSTERIES

I admit it: mysteries, crime procedurals, and courtroom dramas—with their rote formulas and seemingly predetermined outcomes—tend to trigger my yawn reflex. I prefer stories with characters less bound by the strictures of narrative destiny. It may only be an illusion concocted by a clever writer, but I need to believe a character can at any moment do something that will surprise me, turn the story on its head, or at the very least make me believe the conclusion isn't preordained. And, with apologies to Columbo, TV murder mysteries are about as predictable as it gets: someone is killed, the hero investigates, and, by way of wits and the overcoming of obstacles, the killer is apprehended—all within a neatly wrapped hour. Except by that point I've usually reached for the remote.

But then I got my first glimpse of Miss Phryne (pronounced Fry-nee) Fisher. Sleek and mischievous behind glossy lipstick and jewels, brandishing a pearl-handled revolver and bright blue eyes and that fatal Louise Brooks bob, she made me forget all about my impatience with overly ritualized storytelling. Flappers with perfectly structured cheekbones trump snobbery every time, leaving me little choice but to spool up the first episode of Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries.

The Instant Classic: PAPER MOON

When Paper Moon was first released, in 1973, it was already a throwback. Compared with other great films of that amazing year—The Exorcist, Mean Streets, The Long Goodbye, Serpico, American Graffiti (among so many others)—it must have seemed downright archaic. Part buddy film, road movie, and picaresque, the film's contrasty black-and-white cinematography, long takes, and classical storytelling techniques ensured its status as an instant period piece. And yet this jaunty cross between The Sting (also 1973), The Grapes of Wrath, and The Little Rascals, with an unlikely love story at its center, became a sizable hit and remains one of the more purely enjoyable movie experiences.

As any student of film will tell you, for a few brief years in the early 1970s, Peter Bogdanovich was God. After cutting his teeth as an actor, Esquire film critic, and eager acolyte of low-budget king Roger Corman (for whom he directed 1967's Targets), Bogdanovich took the cinematic world by storm with his morose, artful adaptation of Larry McMurtry's novel, The Last Picture Show (1971). Critical hosannas greeted the cocky wunderkind, whose devotion to his Old Hollywood idols—notably John Ford, Orson Welles, and Howard Hawks—was reflected in every carefully composed frame of his black-and-white potboiler.

New in May: Getting Adventurous (2014)

Minya, can you hear me?

If you like action and adventure, then this is your month. Perhaps in an effort to compete with Hollywood's big spring releases, Netflix is bulking up on its escapist fare. From the high cheese of Fantastic Voyage and all things Godzilla (including Rodan!) to the thrills of the Romancing the Stone flicks and the artful splatter of Quentin Tarantino's Kill Bill Vol. 1 and Vol. 2, there are any number of ways to get your streaming action groove on. Oh, and did I mention the latest return of Bond, James Bond? Yep, 007 is back again (some of him, anyway), although if recent history is any guide, he won't be around for long—so take advantage of that license to kill before it inevitably gets revoked. (Click here for an earlier rundown of select Bond titles.)

Raquel, I'm over here!

There's a little something for every taste, from every decade since the 1950s. Want to gawk at a miniaturized Raquel Welch, shrunk down and wetsuited to enter a dying man's bloodstream? Apparently, a lot of people did in 1966, which is where the aforementioned Fantastic Voyage comes in. Feeling the urge to bone up on the many moods and manifestations of Godzilla before the latest remake hits the big screen? Then plan to spend a lot of time sitting in front of the little screen, because over half a dozen Godzilla films have reemerged from the earth's core after being buried in January. Most of these are pretty crappy (including what's arguably the worst of all, Godzilla's Revenge), but if you take your monsters seriously—and prefer to avoid a talking baby Godzilla—then stick with the first installment, Godzilla, King of the Monsters (1956) or 1964's Godzilla vs. Mothra. Or, go ahead, queue up Godzilla's Revenge. As long as you're prepared to uncork a bottle of Awwws (and guff-awws) to randomly hurl at your screen. Talking baby monsters, indeed...

April Expiration Watch: Looking for Preston (2014)

As we begin this final weekend of April, it's time to once again take stock of the noteworthy titles leaving Netflix streaming. It's not the most painful list of deletions to come this blog's way, but some of them will sting, especially the handful of 1970s films that arrived only three months ago. Those titles, singled out here back in February, are Harold and Maude, North Dallas Forty, and Marathon Man, all of which contain the welcome grit and unpredictability that were hallmarks of 1970s cinema (and which seem so hard to come by amid today's endless sequels and remakes).

Other Me Decade flicks ascending to Netflix Heaven (or is it only Limbo?) are Paul Mazursky's touching and funny Harry and Tonto, which won Oscars for Mazursky's screenplay and Art Carney's lead performance; the original, made-for-TV, Brian's Song—the first movie to introduce my younger brother and me to cry-bonding when we were kids; and tough-guy director Don Siegel's Two Mules for Sister Sara, a western starring Clint Eastwood and Shirley MacLaine.

Stanwyck, Fonda

Masters of Comedy

All of the above will be disappearing in the final seconds of April 30, as will a couple of bona fide classics from even further back: Preston Sturges' screwball gem, The Lady Eve (1941), and Billy Wilder's Some Like It Hot (1959). The Wilder film—which has streamed only since January—should be familiar to even casual classic-movie (or Marilyn Monroe) fans, but the lesser-known Sturges flick remains an essential entry among screwball comedies of the 1930s and '40s. In fact, the genre was all but played out by 1940, until the man who cut his teeth as a screenwriter in the previous decade convinced a wary studio to let him direct, giving him the chance to take his unique mix of verbal wit and physical comedy to dizzying heights.

New in April: Revival of the Fittest (2014)

With the possible exception of zombies and radiation-breathing monsters, everyone loves a good resurrection, right? Especially if it means a second month in a row of Netflix reviving so many great titles from expiration lists past. It's tough to beat last month's bounty, with all its returning classics and Altman movies, but April's not too shabby either. Among personal faves I'll go ahead and plug Barton Fink (review) and Chinatown (review), both of which have already received attention here but can never be watched too often (and really, if you still haven't seen Chinatown, I'm not sure why you're even finishing this sentence. Go! Stream!).

Marilyn Monroe—and musical—fans also get some love this month, with renewed doses of There's No Business Like Show Business (1954) and Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (1953), the latter representing Monroe's second collaboration with director Howard Hawks (the first—Monkey Business (1952)—is already available). That brings MM's presence on Netflix to nine titles, and Hawks' to four. And while this still leaves a serious streaming gap in the classics department, it's a step in the right direction.

A very special episode of Family Feud

You could even argue that these last couple months represent a conscious replenishment of many director and star catalogs. For instance, the returns of Titanic and The Terminator mark a beefing up of director James Cameron's filmography on the site, providing backstory for the already-streaming Terminator 2—and simultaneously adding to the presence of Arnold Schwarzenegger. Ah-nuld, who recently saw the addition of The Last Stand and Last Action Hero to Instant, can now also be spotted sprinting through The Running Man—one of the more entertaining examples of his late '80s output (and one that fits neatly between two similarly themed films, 1974's Rollerball and 2012's The Hunger Games).

March Expiration Watch: More Musical Chairs (2014)

I'm hard-pressed to find any rhyme or reason in the licensing agreements between Netflix and the studios and distributors who provide its content. You'd think that if you're going to pay for the rights to stream, say, an all-time classic like Billy Wilder's Sunset Boulevard, you'd want it to stick around for more than a couple of months, right? And yet, after debuting in February, this brilliant Hollywood satire is now returning from whence it came (to some virtual equivalent of a studio vault?). The same goes for Play It Again, Sam (review) and Breakfast at Tiffany's, both of which reappeared in January after expiring last year and are once again exiting stage left. Finishing equally brief stays are the underappreciated Racing with the Moon and Catch-22—bringing to mind those on-again/off-again Coppola films last seen in January.

Olivia D'abo, Josh Hamilton

At least Darren Aronofsky's Pi (review) got to stick around for a full year before it gets the axe on the 31st [update: it's been renewed], which is more than can be said for 1995's Kicking and Screaming, which showed up less than 30 days ago and is already getting its pink slip. It's hard to believe the streaming rights to such a small film cost all that much, so why not pay for a longer-term license? Else why bother? After all, despite its many charms, Noah Baumbach's first feature is hardly the kind of prestige flick that will get people signing up for Netflix in droves. Such a brief visit seems far more appropriate (if cynical) for a recent blockbuster, no? Netflix could even build a marketing campaign around it: "Now, for one month only, catch up on all the X-Men movies before the new sequel's premiere!" Heck, do that several times a year prior to big summer and holiday releases, and it would boost business for all concerned (and Netflix might even be able to score a licensing discount in exchange for the joint publicity).

New March Titles: Exiles' Return (2014)

So many new and returning titles this month! Whether by accident or design, Netflix seems to be making up for some of its recent deletions. Already back from the January 1 "great purge" are a number of classics including Easy Rider (1969), Roman Holiday (1953), Serpico (1973), and True Grit (1969), along with popular favorites The Bad News Bears (1976), Dirty Dancing (1987), and As Good As It Gets (1997). Fans of the late Phillip Seymour Hoffman will also be pleased to see Capote (2005) return to the fold.

Also returning: a veritable slew of Robert Altman films, from the good to the great to the misguided, bringing the director's total number of streaming titles to an impressive nine. No telling how long they'll stick around this time, but must-sees are The Long Goodbye (1973) and Thieves Like Us (1974); should-sees are Streamers (1983), a stark, underappreciated adaptation of David Rabe's play, and the Tim Roth tour de force, Vincent & Theo (1990). In the "misguided but rarely seen" category is O.C. & Stiggs (1985), Altman's satirical attempt at a teen comedy that remains fascinating despite its flaws. This intermittently funny oddity is worth watching for Dennis Hopper alone, who seems to be reprising his stoner-photographer character from Apocalypse Now, complete with a "Ride of the Valkyries" attack. Martin Mull, Ray Walston, and Jane Curtin also join the fun. Bizarre? Entertaining? Misunderstood? I can guarantee you at least two.

February Expiration Watch: Spreading the Pain (2014)

Netflix offers up its inevitable end-of-month misery to movie lovers in the next couple of days, pulling the plug on a wide mix of titles that many of us would rather stay right there in our queues, thank you very much. Certainly there's consolation to be had from the coming return of a number of lamented losses (including several by Robert Altman), but it will be tough to say goodbye to the pulpy-but-fun Black Snake Moan (2007), the goofy antics of John Cleese in Clockwise (1986), the corny romance of An Officer and a Gentleman (1982), the shocking irreverence (and sad truths) of Bill Maher's Religulous (2008), and even the well-crafted do-goodism of Kevin Costner's undeniably entertaining Dances with Wolves (1990).

The pain is distributed evenly, at least: if you like classic Hollywood stars, then take a last look at Clara Bow in It (1927), Marilyn Monroe in There's No Business Like Show Business (1954), Shirley MacLaine in Woman Times Seven (1967), and, um, that giant blimp in Black Sunday (1977).

If you're into Pam Grier blaxpoitation flicks, then this month's expirations may especially hurt. Three of her better-known movies are on the chopping block: Coffy (1973), Friday Foster (1975), and Sheba, Baby (1975). Fortunately, she'll still maintain a respectable streaming presence, with her "cage" pictures and a number of more recent actioners and melodramas sticking around, including Quentin Tarantino's latter-day ode to her, Jackie Brown (1997).

So Long, Harold

Harold Ramis (1944-2014)

Too often when a veteran performer or filmmaker dies, they've so outlived their cultural relevance it's only natural to find yourself callously wondering, "Wasn't he dead already?"

Not so with the recent loss of Harold Ramis (and Philip Seymour Hoffman before him). In Ramis' case, even though he hadn't directed a feature film since 2009's underrated Year One, he never seemed irrelevant. Granted, in boxoffice terms he didn't have a commercial hit since 2002's cash-grab Analyze That, but he continued working as a TV director (The Office) and actor through 2009—presumably when his illness began to get the better of him.

But over the decades Ramis had accrued so much good will from both audiences and the movie industry—as not only actor and director, but co-writer of some of the most well-loved comedies of the 1980s and '90s—it was impossible to think of him as anything but a very current, and very alive, contributor to pop culture.

Netflix Instant isn't streaming many of Ramis' films—no Caddyshack, no Stripes, no Groundhog Day or even Analyze This. But the three it does offer are topnotch entertainments, including Ghostbusters (1984), probably the biggest boxoffice hit of his career (as co-writer and actor); one of his least commercially successful but most artistically rewarding films, 2005's bitingly funny The Ice Harvest; and as co-star in the Diane Keaton 1987 romantic comedy, Baby Boom (which admittedly hasn't aged well). These three serve as fitting testimony to Harold Ramis' versatility and his warm, affable presence both behind and in front of the camera. Thanks, Harold, for sharing your humor and talent with all of us.

(A full review of The Ice Harvest can be found here.)

UPDATE: Since the publication of this post, Ghostbusters has expired while Analyze This and Analyze That are now streaming. This may or may not still be the case by the time you read this.

Crash and Burn: DIRTY MARY, CRAZY LARRY

As a follow-up to last week's post, here's one more example of the loose, no-rules cinema that dominated a decade of anti-establishment filmmaking.

The car chase movies of the 1970s were a fabulous form of escape for anyone who grew up watching them at drive-ins or chopped up between commercials on fuzzy black-and-white TV's. Gritty, disposable, outrageous—their fast-forward journeys as existential as they were literal—these future cult flicks reveled in automotive excess and the ingenuity of their clearly insane stunt crews.

The genre came into its own in 1971, its stripped-down, no nonsense sensibility showcased in the classic threesome of Vanishing Point, Two-Lane Blacktop, and Steven Spielberg's Duel (made for American TV but released theatrically everywhere else). Not content to simply feature an epic car chase as centerpiece (à la Bullitt or The French Connection), these movies for the most part were the car chase. And unlike the physics-defying stunts in recent action pics (no matter how fast or furious), the chases and crashes in these films had a visceral buzz often missing from today's computer-generated pileups.

Further refinement—and more elaborate stunts—emerged in 1974, a banner year that featured Spielberg's The Sugarland Express, the ultra low-budget Gone in 60 Seconds, and the gonzo Dirty Mary, Crazy Larry. Most of these flicks sported a nihilistic, authority-flouting temperament as defiant as any racing stripe, none moreso than Dirty/Crazy.

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.

What's on WHAT'S ON NETFLIX NOW?

Given the recent bump in visitors (due to some generous readers on Reddit, Facebook, and Twitter--I thank you all), I thought it would be a good idea to revisit an earlier blog entry so that newcomers have a better idea of what this site is about. Yes, the What's New and What's Expiring lists are always going to be a big draw, especially as word continues to spread. But there's also a distinct point of view to them, and especially to the editorial content. It's never been my goal to cover everything and anything that comes to Netflix. Instead I want to bring a sense of curated content, as informed by decades of watching, studying, and (occasionally) making films. So, you may rightly ask:

"What's Your Angle?"

Or: What Kind of Weird Stuff Will You Be Pushing On Us?

In the course of starting this blog, I may have conveyed the idea that these little writeups are aimed at movie buffs and other heavy-duty Patrons of Cinema. That's not actually the case. At least I hope that's not how this comes across.

Maybe it was misleading to have kicked things off with a classic like His Girl Friday. What I really hope to do here is appeal to not just film geeks but average and casual viewers--those who enjoy above-average entertainment but don't always know how to find it. I'm no film buff myself (honest), but as a sometimes-filmmaker trying to understand the intricacies of his craft, my goal has always been to see as much of the good stuff, and as little of the bad, as possible. That's meant developing plenty of blind spots (which is why I don't consider myself a proper "buff"), but what I do know about I feel pretty secure in sharing.

January Expiration Watch: Déjà Vu All Over Again (2014)

Another month's end, another round of expiring titles, some leaving for the first time, others zipping past on a lazy Susan of cinematic temptation. Here comes Coppola...there goes Coppola...no, wait, he's back, and... Darn, gone again. Is that Buckaroo Banzai appearing on the horizon? By gum, I think it is. Oh, never mind—there he goes, zooming off in that crazy jet car, tossing fellow '80s stalwart Flesh + Blood into the back seat then extending one arm to snag Last Tango in Paris before crashing through a wall into the 8th dimension of streaming limbo. Rutger and Marlon, we hardly knew ye! But you'll be back, right? Pretty please?

Along with Coppola and Last Tango's Bertolucci, the seemingly obligatory monthly loss of movies by big-name directors continues, with a few titles more well-known than others. The most significant would be Robert Zemeckis' equally praised and reviled Forrest Gump (1994), Robert Redford's Ordinary People (1980)—which I'll never forgive for stealing the Best Picture Oscar from Raging Bull—Mira Nair's Monsoon Wedding (2001), and Fred Zinnemann's classic, High Noon (1952), starring Gary Cooper and Grace Kelly. None of these needs me to sell its virtues (or faults) before it's gone on February 1—unlike Robert Altman's Cookie's Fortune (1999), a pleasant, small-town crime comedy that was one of the director's better films during a lull in creative highs between Short Cuts (1993) and Gosford Park (2001). Four generations of actresses—Patricia Neal, Glenn Close, Julianne Moore, and Liv Tyler—are up to shady doings as a family of eccentrics with their reputations at stake when one of them takes her own life.

Shades of Gray: ABDUCTION OF EDEN

I wasn't sure what to expect from Abduction of Eden (called simply Eden in its theatrical run). I knew it received excellent reviews and that it was directed by emerging Seattle filmmaker Megan Griffiths, whose last movie was the micro-budgeted, nicely observed The Off Hours. But the subject matter—true-life* story of Korean-American teen abducted into human trafficking ring—was a tough sell, loaded as it was with predictable melodrama and potential agendas. I knew from reviews that Griffiths was taking a restrained, less exploitative approach, but that also gave me pause: how do you tell a story of forced teenage prostitution without getting a little down and dirty? It's like watching those American actresses (they know who they are) play strippers who don't actually, you know, strip—Hollywood prudishness at its least believable.

Still, despite this and the unfortunate title change, I remained intrigued by the film for the obvious intelligence and vision Griffiths brought to The Off Hours, a small-town slice of life that paved little new territory yet captured its characters and milieu with an admirable confidence and empathy. I was curious to see what the director would do next.

Expiration Watch: THE PUBLIC EYE

I'll go ahead and predict right now that this will be among the least viewed—and least searched for—of my blog posts. But, hey, no one said trumpeting the obscure is about getting attention, right?

One benefit of the high licensing fees Netflix pays to stream popular movies is that a lot of lesser-known (and thus, cheaper) titles are acquired which get to make a case for themselves long after their initial release. These can be anything from last year's Drinking Buddies, a low-gauge indie charmer starring Jake Johnson and Olivia Wilde, to films from 30 or 40 years ago that have somehow faded into obscurity. Case in point: 1972's The Public Eye (released in England as Follow Me!)

Along with being the final movie by British director Carol Reed (The Third Man, Our Man in Havana, Oliver!), The Public Voice was written by playwright Peter Shaffer (future scribe of Equus and Amadeus); stars Mia Farrow—between high-profile roles in Rosemary's Baby (1968) and The Great Gatsby (1974)—and Topol, Oscar-nominated the year before for Fiddler on the Roof; and boasts a score by John Barry, who was already well on his way to legendary composer status by virtue of his James Bond films. In other words, A-level talent across the board.

So, what happened? Why has this amusing, and occasionally trenchant, comedy-drama been almost completely forgotten?