You could see Avatar again. But the on-demand channels, online and on cable, should overshadow that option, especially if you can jack your computer into your TV and rent any one of a gazillion other things off Amazon for three clams. Case in point: newly available from Criterion on Amazon, Michelangelo Antonioni's L'Eclisse (The Eclipse, 1962), not to be confused with the new Twilight sequel or the recent Irish ghost film, but rather a New Wave-era landmark constructed like a handcarved coffin around the soullessness of the new postwar Europe.
Alain Delon may've been the prettiest human being alive in 1962 (he's hotter than hot co-star Monica Vitti, for starters), but the film might be Antonioni's best, which means it could mark your life with scalding wisdom. Fifty years from now, humans will have forgotten Avatar, but L'Eclisse will still be there, available if only by injection or wetware download.
At The Auteurs can you newly grab a hold of Raul Ruiz's Three Lives and Only One Death (1996), a Gordian knot of tale-spinning that has the fading-fast Marcello Mastroianni handle three roles that might be one, and might just be a Bunuelian gag about stories and how we listen to them (with idiotic trust and empathy). Ruiz, whom we last saw with the straight-to-DVD John Malkovich-starring biopic Klimt but has made at least eight films since, is a man born inside the mysterious process of moviemaking if ever there was one: Averaging three films a year for four decades, his movies always ask more questions (about your expectations, among other things) than they answer. A handful of his output has been released here since the '80s, and a bunch is on video, but Ruiz is virtually an undiscovered country for American movieheads.
Takeshi Kitano's semi-American yakuza saga Brother (2000) shows up fresh on HBO on Demand, and though Kitano's star has faded since his '90s heyday, he remains one of the modern movie culture's most distinctive and unpredictable personalities on and off the screen. But look to Flix on Demand, which uncages one of my favorite films of the Reagan era, Neil Jordan's The Company of Wolves (1984), a lycanthropic horror film that begins with Little Red Riding Hood, wraps one story inside another inside another and is actually an ideal Halloween rental. Whatever: Freudian fireworks blast out of this atmospheric work (men are beasts, after all, and virginity is a vulnerable quantity), and while the make-up F/X aren't up to the contemporaneous American Werewolf in London, the trippy Grimm-ness and overt sexual imagery make it a much stranger experience.