janair fritzl phylibert
Cori Lenon
Hope someone can help! There is a movie in my Save List, specifically Glass Onion, which is a Netflix movie. I want to delete that movie from my list, and there is no option to do so. I do understand that Netflix doesn't work with the Save List, which is the problem - the movie must have been in the My Feed queue before it changed over to Save List, and now it's stuck there. Just as you can't add a Netflix movie to your save list, you also, apparently, cannot delete a Netflix movie from the list.
I want to be very clear, before a rep responds, that I absolutely already know how to add and delete movies from my Save List the standard ways, and I do it all the time. However, the option to remove this particular item is just not there. But there must be some kind of recourse or workaround so it doesn't just remain stuck there forever.
So, any words of advice from the community? Anyone else had this issue and resolved it? If a rep can help, that would be great! (I also can't figure out how to contact Roku directly anymore, as used to be available.)
This issue is annoying me so much that I'd happily clear my entire Save List and re-add everything, just to get this one movie to disappear, lol. If that's an option, I also haven't figured out how to do that - how to clear the Save List (hopefully without doing a factory reset, which I'm not sure would even solve the problem).
Otherwise, search Google for "Roku telephone number" and look at the results just below the "People also ask" section. I tried to post one of the links (P***edConsumer.com), but my post got flagged and deleted.
For what it's worth, I managed to chat with a Roku representative, who was not able to help me at all. Like, AT ALL. Kept telling me to sign into Netflix and remove it from that list. Somehow I doubt that would help, because it's a separate list! Not to mention I am not even currently subscribed to Netflix - I don't even think it was in my Netflix queue, and I can't view it anyway, obviously. Regardless, there's another title stuck in my Roku Save list that has nothing to do with Netflix, and it too is stuck there.
OMG, I went in infuriating circles trying to explain this on the chat, and ended up basically being told there's nothing anyone can do about it. Not great, Roku. I'm pretty patient and understanding about most things, but ugh.
So the gist is, if there's a title which found its way onto your Save List in the past, and is currently either a Netflix title or not currently available to stream anywhere (aka "no providers found"), then you cannot delete it. And apparently Roku cannot or will not delete it for you. (Nor can you clear your entire Save List and start from scratch, apparently.) Seems like a system bug that needs to be fixed, and maybe I should report it that way, at least.
Again, that option doesn't exist on my app. I may have a different version of the app, I don't know, but it is not there - there are no dots at all when viewing the list as a whole, instead there's a box to check or uncheck on each title. I'll try to include some photos, to show what I'm seeing on my app:
In my graduate proseminar on media theory and methods, I spend a great deal of time getting students to think about how they can draw on their own personal experiences and interactions with media to inform their scholarship. This was a central theme in Hop on Pop: The Politics and Pleasures of Popular Culture, which I co-edited with Jane Shattuc and Tara McPherson, which urges scholars to address the "culture that sticks to your skin," (a phrase inspired by Bruce Sterling's reference in Mirrorshades to "tech that sticks to your skin.") By this, we meant culture that is part of our everyday life, culture which provokes us either positively or negatively. The goal is to move cultural studies away from a language of distanced observation and towards an engagement that is up front and personal. It doesn't mean that we want only writing from fans (though of course it's no secret that I value the kinds of perspectives which fans bring to a topic.) It could also be a perspective that is antagonistic but open about its antagonism. It means being honest about where you are writing from and using a language which reflects your personal stakes in your topic. Popular culture is defined in part by its immediacy and it is not clear that one can meaningfully understand how it works or what it does without stepping at least temporarily into the realm of the proximate and the passionate. But it is not an easy thing to combine autobiography and theory effectively. I want to have my students struggle with what it means to balance these two pulls, to learn to reconcile these different languages and genre expectations through their writing. The students tell me that this is often the most challenging assignment they confront in the course. I have been grading these papers this weekend.Today, I wanted to share with you one of the papers to emerge from this assignment, with the permission, of course, of its author -- Debora Lui, who is a first years masters student in the Comparative Media Studies Program and one of the filmmakers working on the Project nml exemplar library. I felt that this particular essay would be of interest to my regular readers.
In the midst of two extensive knee surgeries in 2003, I discovered Netflix. Pumped up on painkillers, feeling groggy and uninspired, I went online one day to check out the service. I had vaguely heard of Netflix before, but had never been motivated to join. At the time, I had just graduated from college and was too busy with my "real" life to let my usually rampant movie-watching aspirations tie me down. When I moved back home in the Fall following graduation however, I was in a totally different situation. I had just injured both of my knees (tearing both Anterior Cruciate Ligaments - an amazing feat, I assure you) and my parents convinced me to move home in order to have the surgery I required. I was unemployed and living in the suburbs; watching movies suddenly became appealing again. I received my first Netflix DVD shortly after my first knee operation.
To this day, I have still remained a loyal subscriber of the service despite the rise of stronger competitors like Blockbuster (with its coupons for free in-store rentals) and the more hip GreenCine (with its Indie movie lists and user blogs). But what was it about that particular time and situation that allowed Netflix to become such an intrinsic part of my life? The website provides a very simple, yet seemingly generic service. The basic gist of Netflix (according to the simple "instructions" listed on their website) is that you create list of DVDs you want to watch online, you wait for them to be sent to you, watch them, and then return the DVDs through the mail. It is not apparent, then, why I felt such an attachment to Netflix in particular or why the service had such an exceptional hold on me. After closer examination, however, I realized there are three aspects of Netflix that allowed it become such an integral part of my life, my constant guide and companion. First, Netflix provided me a source for continuous escapism; second, it gave me a never-failing sense of accomplishment; and third, it allowed me a platform for on-going identity construction and reconstruction.
The first rental I received was the first disc of Dennis Potter's BBC series, The Singing Detective. Day and night, I was curling up with Potter's onscreen alter-ego Philip E. Marlow. I had not realized the irony at the time, of course. It would an understatement to say that Marlow wasn't the most loveable of characters, but there were some obvious similarities between us so I identified with him. I, too, was home-bound and bed-ridden, constantly feeling as if I was unable to participate in the world. Marlow created stories in his head to help him escape, and I watched Marlow create stories in his head in order to help me escape. It was a vicious cycle. Whether it was Marlow, the cast of characters for Cowboy Bebop, or Gregory Peck's character in Spellbound (respectively, my second and third rentals), I lived vicariously through their trials and travails.
Of course I wanted to escape - I was jobless, in post-surgery pain and just wanting to forget it all. Films were the perfect outlets through which I could continuously run away. The best thing about Netflix, though, wasn't that it provided me just one avenue for fleeing, but rather a continuous stream of raw material within which I could lose myself. I enjoyed all the conveniences that were initially advertised by the company; the three-at-a-time DVD plan was perfect for me. Unlike the far inferior one or two-at-a-time plans, where I might end up with nothing on hand while waiting for the next DVD in the mail, my plan allowed me nonstop opportunities for watching. One disc could be in the player, one on deck, and one could be sent back in expectation of another. In that way, anticipation of upcoming DVDs became as important as the experience of watching a movie itself. Browsing through Netflix's 75,000+ titles eventually became almost as satisfying as watching the movies themselves.
Through browsing occupied much of my time, my ability to compile the effort of these searches into a Netflix queue was what really drew me into the service. I had always been attached to making and checking things off lists (as many people are, as evidenced by the superfluity of "best of" movie guides these days), but Netflix technologized (and in a way, concretized) this interest by giving me tools to manage these lists dynamically. Unlike other static lists (such as the one in The A List: The National Society of Film Critics' 100 Essential Films which I bought shortly before I started subscribing to Netflix, incidentally), my personal queue on Netflix was constantly changing. It was an active list that morphed and transformed itself according to my mood and inclination. If I was suddenly feeling down and noticed that my next film was the soul-crushing Dancer in the Dark, for example, I could easily move The Triplets of Belleville and There's Something About Mary to the top of my list if need be. In a way, tightly controlling the list felt like self-medication of sorts. I could give myself larger or smaller doses of happiness, romance, or sobering reality based on what I added or removed from the list. The power to alter my mood and outlook became extremely addictive to a person in my post-operative position.
90f70e40cf