Netflix Has Become Obsessed with a Mostly Forgotten 1995 Sigourney Weaver Film

While Netflix originals usually dominate their top ten on the television side, most original movies on the platform don’t stick around long, because, frankly, most of them are lousy. The weekly top ten often ends up padded with forgettable Gerard Butler, Kevin Hart, Adam Sandler, or Mark Wahlberg vehicles — kid-friendly fare like The Minions, Sing, or The Emoji Movie; or—no joke—White Chicks, which somehow ranked as the second most popular licensed film on Netflix in the back half of 2024, behind only Bad Boys 2. (This may warrant further investigation.)

The point is: Netflix is remarkably good at surfacing mediocre, long-forgotten films. The latest to crack the top ten is notable only because it predates Y2K: 1995’s Copycat.

I saw it when it was first released, and before rewatching it for this piece, I remembered exactly two things: Harry Connick Jr.’s performance as a serial killer, and the extremely bad computer graphics used by the film’s primary killer. (I can’t recall if they were considered bad in 1995 or not.)

I want to say Copycat is a terrible knockoff of a David Fincher movie, but it came out the same year as Se7en, so Fincher wasn’t yet copy-worthy. More likely, Copycat was trying to ride the coattails of Silence of the Lambs — and it does so, poorly.

Directed by Jon Amiel (Sommersby, Entrapment), one of those reliable studio hired hands of the ’80s and ’90s, back when studios ripped off movies instead of just remaking them, Copycat stars Sigourney Weaver as a criminal psychologist who narrowly survives a brutal attack in a public restroom by a repulsively charismatic killer, played by Harry Connick Jr.

Following the attack, Weaver’s character, Helen Hudson, becomes agoraphobic and refuses to leave her home. That doesn’t stop her from phoning in unsolicited tips to the police, eventually drawing the attention of Inspector Monahan (Holly Hunter) and her rookie partner, Ruben (a young Dermot Mulroney). Together, they realize the killer they’re pursuing is mimicking infamous serial killers, re-enacting their most notorious murders.

It’s not a good movie. Even in 1995, it felt like it was nursing an ’80s hangover. The gender dynamics are very strange — despite being female-led, awkward male love interests are jammed in. The writing is clunky. The plot is nonsense. In theory, a procedural mystery leads to cops and profilers cracking the case. But here, spoilers, they just follow clues the killer spoon-feeds them until he finally shows up. Mulroney’s character is pointlessly killed off for the sake of a dumb callback, and I have no idea what Will Patton’s character is even doing in the film.

But what really sinks Copycat is its killer — he’s just incredibly dull. William McNamara, who plays him, has over 150 acting credits to his name, yet I couldn’t name a single one without Googling. He’s like a Dollar Store Cary Elwes. And if you want your serial killer movie to be memorable, you need a presence like Buffalo Bill or Kevin Spacey in Se7en, not someone who looks like the fifth lead in a Revenge of the Nerds sequel.

Weaver and Hunter give it their all, considering what little they have to work with, but the tone is a mess. The movie is lit like a romcom. The victims are given zero focus or empathy. There’s even a stereotypical gay best friend—in a serial killer movie. And at no point does it bother to build any real atmosphere or suspense.

It’s bad. It’s too long. And I have no idea why it’s suddenly trending, other than the Netflix algorithm being excellent at resurfacing cheap-to-license trash. Ignore your curiosity. It’s not worth it.