Six Streaming Services, Zero Results: Why I Still Buy Blu-rays

Six streaming services. Not one had my favourite childhood film. Buying it digitally didn't feel like owning it. That's when it clicked.

Hemant Naidu·
Six Streaming Services, Zero Results: Why I Still Buy Blu-rays

"Is this David G. Osborne?"

My friend pauses. He always pauses.

"...Yes."

"Gooood."

We've been doing this on the phone for decades. If you've seen Cloak & Dagger, the 1984 spy thriller, you're smiling right now. If you haven't, it's a film about a kid named Davey who gets caught up in a real-life spy conspiracy, starring Henry Thomas two years after E.T. made him a household name. I watched it an embarrassing number of times growing up. It hit something particular for me, the way certain films only can when you're eight and the stakes feel enormous.

In October 2022, that film floated back into my head out of nowhere. I was 47. I hadn't watched it in years. I wanted to sit down with it, and I had two sons, eight and eleven at the time, who I thought might be ready for it.

I opened Netflix. Not there. Disney+. Not there. Amazon Prime. Not there. Crave. YouTube Premium. Apple TV+.

I pay for six streaming services. I live in Canada, where every platform's catalog is already thinner than what you'd find in the US. And none of them had a film from 1984 starring one of the most recognizable child actors of that era.


I found it on Apple TV to buy outright. Reasonable price. I bought it.

That same evening, we made it a Family Movie Night. Home theater, sons aged eight and eleven, roughly the ages I was when I watched this the first time. I kept glancing over to see if it was landing for them the way it had landed for me. All the nostalgic warmth came back on my end: the spy plot that felt impossibly tense when I was a kid, the specific tension of watching a character navigate something dangerous that adults weren't taking seriously, the phone call exchange that my friend and I have apparently preserved in amber.

But when it ended, I noticed a feeling I hadn't expected.

I didn't quite feel like I owned it.

This is a strange thing to articulate. I had paid for it. It was sitting in my Apple TV library with a download icon next to it. But I kept thinking: Apple licenses this content. Licensing agreements expire or don't get renewed. Digital purchases have disappeared from people's libraries before. If Apple ever lost the rights to Cloak & Dagger, would my "purchased" copy go with it?

It probably wouldn't happen. But it could, in a way that is simply not possible if I have the disc on a shelf.

A Blu-ray doesn't have a licensing agreement. It doesn't know or care what deal was struck between a studio and a platform. It plays. That's it. The film is on the disc, and the disc is mine, and those two facts are not subject to renegotiation by anyone else.

That's a different kind of ownership than what I'd bought that evening. Not worse, necessarily, for what it was. But different.


Which led me to the obvious next question: didn't I already own a DVD of this?

I genuinely couldn't remember. I have a large physical collection built up over many years, spanning formats and decades. Some of it is organized. Some of it is in boxes in storage I haven't opened in a while. I suspected there was a Cloak & Dagger DVD somewhere in the house, but I had no way to confirm it.

This is its own problem, separate from streaming. You can be fully committed to owning physical media and still not know exactly what you own, because knowing what you own requires a record, and most collectors don't have one. You have a general sense, a few current shelves, a few boxes that are behind on everything, and a mental catalog that stopped being accurate somewhere around three years ago.

I know I own Chronicle on Blu-ray. I've held it. I bought it. I cannot tell you where it is right now.


This is the problem Arkiv was built to solve. When I started seriously cataloguing my collection, I found gaps I hadn't expected: films I thought I had, formats I'd forgotten I'd upgraded, a few surprises in both directions. The habit that changed things is simple: when a disc comes in the door, it goes into Arkiv immediately. Not eventually. Right away. Because "I'll add it later" is how you end up owning Chronicle and not being able to find it.

For Cloak & Dagger, I'm still waiting. There's a box in storage I need to get to. If the DVD is in there, I'll add it in. If it isn't, the Blu-ray goes on the shelf and into the app the same day it arrives. Either way, I'll know.


I still subscribe to all six of those streaming services. They're useful for a lot of things. But the evening I spent searching for a childhood film across every platform I pay for, coming up empty, and then buying it digitally and sitting with a quiet unease about what I'd actually purchased, it clarified something I'd been circling for a while.

The disc is the thing I actually own. Everything else is access.


Arkiv is a platform for tracking your physical media collection. If you've got shelves of Blu-rays, DVDs, 4K UHDs, and VHS tapes and you're not entirely sure what you have, it was built for exactly that. There are also some genuinely fun things to uncover as your collection grows, which you won't find anywhere else.

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