It’s probably no surprise why I would give “Copycat,” a serial killer movie from 1995, a review. Netflix has been putting it on blast and it’s in their top ten.

I saw the movie when it came out, and recall enjoying it. So how does it hold up thirty years hence?

Not bad. The plot is clever enough. Holly Hunter’s San Francisco detective is trying to solve a string of murders of young women. She requests the help of Sigourney Weaver’s psychologist, who had a near fatal brush with a hillbilly maniac played by Harry Connick Jr. This encounter has left her agoraphobic and housebound, but eager to help.

One twist, it turns out, is that the killer is actually duplicating the methods and crime scene layouts of previous (real) serial killers—The Son of Sam, the Hillside Strangler, Dahmer, etc.

The story is solid, but I did feel like the execution wandered, struggling to fill out it’s two hour runtime. And some of the tension is manufactured by characters doing really dumb things.

It’s easy to see the film’s DNA from other movies. Hunter’s character is basically a cockier Jodie Foster from “The Silence of the Lambs.” The killer is a riff of Jame Gumb, Ted Levine’s psychopath from the same film.

I was also reminded of Olivia de Havilland in “Lady in a Cage” as Weaver struggles to fight off her attacker in the confines of the apartment she is trapped in due to her phobia.

All the acting is top-notch, in particular William McNamara as the killer. Where did he go? (I looked it up, and he’s an animal advocate.)

So, the film is certainly worth a watch, though you might stifle a few yawns.