You know when you have severely limited time for sitting on your arse watching tv, to the point where you actually kind of forget how to do it? And then when you’re suddenly faced with a free evening on your own, with full access to the remote control, you just panic?
I hate Netflix. I mean, I love it. It’s an incredible achievement. Tell 12 year old me, with her cherished collection of taped off the tv double bills (Dirty Dancing & Uncle Buck, anyone?) that one day she’d be able to watch films on demand. WITHOUT ADVERTS! She’d promptly give up school and commit to an education via the Police Academy franchise.
But it’s hard work, all those films. It’s not like flicking around the tv channels of an evening and landing on ITV2 showing Mission: Impossible III again, and you might as well leave it on as it’s the blowing up the Lamborghini scene soon. This is a billion different films all vying for your attention and you have to pick one. And then watch it without all the while thinking ‘oh, I wish I’d scrolled a little further & found something better.’
The arbitrary categories don’t help. Sports Movies, for example, aren’t guaranteed to all be as heart wrenching as Jerry Maguire. Annoyingly, some of them will just be about sport. I don’t want to be pigeon holed into watching a Romantic Movie (a section which may just as well be renamed ‘J-Lo filmography’) and I can’t watch a Foreign Movie because it’s Friday night and my attention span is small, and how am I supposed to tweet and read subtitles? Also: is the entire Netflix catalogue on these scrolling categories? Or are there extra secret films for people who know what they want to watch, and remember the names of stuff?
I default to Action & Adventure Movies because, well, Die Hard. And I remember Face/Off being good, John Woo and all that. However my thought process throughout goes something like ‘there’s Joan Allen – she was in Pleasantville – with Jeff Daniels – King of Newsroom – I wish there were new Newsroom episodes to watch immediately!’ And then someone on twitter tells me I’d really like teen drama Gilmore Girls, so I have to pause the film and see if it’s on Netflix (it’s not, for shame!) and then I get an email about a hen do I’ve been invited to, which contains a 13 part questionnaire, so then there’s that to deride on all available social networks. And so it goes, to the point where, an hour in, all I’ve really got is Nic Cage’s hilariously manic laughter and a vaguely recurring theme of peaches.
Two hours later I’ve made weekend shopping plans with my mum, had an in depth discussion about nursery rhymes on twitter, and smirked at Nic Cage’s naked arse. There are two fundamental flaws to this movie, one being that they left Sean Archer’s removed face just flopped out on the side, instead of putting it under police protection or at least locking it in a fridge somewhere. The other is that Sean and his wife didn’t have some secret code word for just these situations. Adopting a code phrase to be used in the event of duress is the second rule of marriage, for crying out loud! The first is preparing a Zombie Apocalypse contingency, and the third is not arguing about the washing up.
I could have watched seven episodes of Parks & Recreation in that time. I could’ve made my own personal best of Jim & Pam tribute. I could’ve learnt Latin via the last episode of season two of West Wing. Besides which, as if that distraught family (not a patch on the Bauer clan, by the way) would just adopt Castor Troy’s kid as a replacement for their own dead son. C’mon! Film is slowly losing me to tv, one Over The Rainbow montage at a time.
Suggestions for you to watch now…Braveheart. Oh do fuck off, Netflix.