When Netflix announced that DVD.com would cease to exist, I had temporarily suspended my account because the Folly didn't have a smart TV-compatible DVD player. Although not quite a luddite, I am slow to change and for the past several years I'd been watching DVDs on my old Sony tube TV. Even I had to acknowledge that the viewing experience suffered in comparison to the set-up I had at 47 Pianos. So the service suspension felt a little like AI justice: Netflix calculated that streaming had stolen my affections.
It hadn't. Not by a long shot but by the time I returned to New York and renewed my subscription, it was obvious how DVD.com had become an empty shell. Every Friday morning, I would add the latest movies well-reviewed by the New York Times to my queue, as I had done since opening an account 16 years ago. Although these titles typically wouldn't be available until after their theatrical runs, Netflix was so on the ball that you could immediately add them to your queue. That was no longer true in May. The search box reported "no results found" for most of titles that had accumulated on the list I had been keeping since January although I did nab Tar. What was I going to do?
If you've never used DVD.com you probably don't understand--or care--why I find its loss so devastating. I wasn't greedy; my plan shipped only one DVD at a time. Hardy Candy, in November 2006, was the first, when I was still in my early 50s. It's a pretty good example of the other 734 red envelopes delivered to my mailboxes by the United States Postal Service, an average of 44 per year. My criteria for selection remained consistent: well-reviewed movies that I felt no urgency to see because of buzz or special effects. I LOVED Netflix--so much more convenient than the years I spent going to the video rental store or standing in line outside of movie theaters (fun fact: I once waited nearly three hours in subfreezing temperatures to see The Exorcist when it opened in Manhattan). And a lot cheaper, too.
In the five months before its imminent demise, I re-prioritized my queue to emphasize classic films unavailable on streaming services which essentially are the vast majority of movies ever produced. I'd already seen many of them and while I'm not the kind of person who typically repeat views, age had piqued my curiosity: were the great movies I'd seen in the 70s really as wonderful as I remembered? Sunday, Bloody Sunday and One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest, most definitely; The Godfather and Five Easy Pieces, not so much, although they're still pretty good.
Apparently I wasn't the only maven with a plan: for the most part, "very long waits" were indicated for the top 20 titles in my queue. I never knew what would show up next and time was getting so short that separating the wheat from the chaff became imperative. But La Dolce Vita and Imitation of Life--neither of which I'd ever seen-- did make it through. Both got four out of five stars, a ratings system I refused to share with Netflix because I hate cultural recommendation algorithms.
I already can hear what you film snobs are saying: it's heresy to equate Federico Fellini and Douglas Sirk unless, of course, you ask Todd Haynes whose affection for the latter's films led me to the pick. Sure Imitation is almost campy melodrama but watch it before you judge me. If you can find it.
The "very long wait" for The Godfather Part II, which held the top spot in my queue, turned into forever today. I found a bit of cosmic irony in my mailbox instead: Hitchcock's' The Lady Vanishes.
Just like DVD.com.
No, Netflix, it doesn't soften the blow that I get to keep the last disc (which I'll add to my personal collection of nearly 150 at the Folly where you can pick 'em up for a buck at Goodwill), or that I'll have access to my queue (284 titles remain) and history for another month.
Thanks for rubbing salt in the gaping wound you've left. It may be good customer service, but it still stings.
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