In the labyrinth of ’80s cinema, where shoulder pads battled synth beats for supremacy, there are bound to be lost treasures. For various reasons, these films may never have made it into circulation for a home audience or, if they did, have gone out of print. Rights issues surrounding the use of music or determining who owns the film’s negative regularly prevent a movie from getting its proper due. This is how long sought-after titles like Looking for Mr. Goodbar, the haunting Diane Keaton film from 1977, have barely seen the light of day on DVD, and even then, in less than restored quality.

There’s now one less title collectors can cross off their most-wanted list, thanks to the individuals at Kino Lorber and the 3-D Film Archive. While it’s no classic, 1983’s The Man Who Wasn’t There is a peculiar relic, a cinematic anomaly rushed into production by Paramount (who had a sizable hit releasing Friday the 13th Part III in 3-D the year before) and out to theaters to capitalize on the then-hot resurgence of 3-D in multiplexes. With its cheap 3-D gags, lame jokes, and abundance of nudity, you’d think the film would fit right into the raunchy comedies that were easy-sells to horny teens, but its delivery is completely amateur hour. Though it wants to position itself as a spy thriller with a Hitchcock edge, it never rises above a clumsily clunky one-dimensional cash grab.

Steve Guttenberg (pre-Police Academy stardom) plays Sam Cooper, a State Department employee about to get married to his longtime girlfriend (Morgan Hart). But, before the wedding, he must handle a big reception for ambassadors from around the globe. It turns into a juvenile food fight, a total disaster (and the film’s first foray into extremely dated/un-PC humor), embarrassing the State Department.  Eventually making his way to his waiting bride at a nearby hotel, Cooper crosses paths with a mortally injured invisible man on the run from a bizarre group of hitmen. Before the invisible man dies (but after he reappears naked as a jaybird), he passes Cooper a small metal sphere filled with liquid capsules with instructions to deliver it somewhere.

Naturally, Cooper is suspected of being the murderer and quickly becomes a fugitive from the law and is pursued by thugs and Russians (including Jeffrey Tambor, The Accountant) who want the sphere. Working (and falling into bed) with his fiancée’s sister (Lisa Langlois, Happy Birthday to Me) and not knowing who else to trust becomes a deadly business. Evading capture by figuring out the capsules contain a liquid that turns whoever drinks it invisible for a set amount of time, Cooper uses his new power to figure out who is behind the creation of the sphere and why they are willing to kill for it.

Now, let’s address the film’s saving grace, or rather, its life support: the 3-D Blu-Ray restoration. Much like a phoenix rising from the ashes, this forgotten gem has been brought back to life in three glorious dimensions. The restoration by the 3-D Film Archive is a testament to the magic of modern technology, transforming what was previously a forgotten cinematic oddity only available in the U.S. on VHS and low-quality streaming services into a visually stunning experience on BluRay.

Every glimmer of Langlois’s perfectly feathered hair, all the details in Tambor’s ugly suits, and each follicle on Guttenberg’s frequently seen backside pop off the screen with brilliant sharpness and defined depth.  Restoring this enigma in both anaglyph 3-D and the more easy-on-the-eyes polarized version (the format in which it was originally released) might seem audacious. Still, it’s precisely this necessary move that breathes new life into the film. The ’80s were a time of experimentation, and what better way to honor that spirit than by thrusting the audience into a world where the boundaries between reality and absurdity blur like a poorly rendered CGI effect?  While director Bruce Malmuth (who also costars as one of the weird crew after Guttenberg) doesn’t maximize the use of 3-D and desperately needs to edit the film down by a solid 20 minutes, there are a few dandy effects that will have you instinctively jumping back in your seat.

The commentary track from amiable Canadian critics Jason Pichonsky and Paul Carupe serves as a guide through Malmuth’s maze of absurdity, attempting to shed light on the choices made by the filmmakers. It’s a well-informed discussion, with anecdotes and dedication to navigate through the hackneyed plot, or lack thereof, with the wit and humor necessary to be observant of the film’s shortcomings while still celebrating it for what it does manage to accomplish.  Other extras on the disc are three trailers for the film.  Two of these are in 3-D, one of which will require the set of blue/red glasses that have kindly been included inside the case.

In the broader context of film history, The Man Who Wasn’t There occupies a peculiar space. It’s a relic from a time when filmmakers embraced risk, sometimes at the expense of conventional storytelling. A complete bomb when released in August of 1983, while it may not have achieved commercial success in its initial release (its tagline was prophetic: “the funniest thing you’ve never seen”), it has found a second life as a cult turkey, a proof of the willingness to adhere to the “see what sticks” attitude that defined ’80s cinema.

Watching it now, it’s evident The Man Who Wasn’t There is a product of its time, a misfire on everything but a creatively technical level. Had the studio taken more time to develop the story and matched it with the technology they were perfecting, the ideas taking shape might have had somewhere to go. Its lack of patience to get it right explains its initial reception, but in retrospect, it stands as a unique testament to the problems inherent in the spirit of unbridled creativity allowed to run amok in that era.

The 3-D Blu-Ray release of The Man Who Wasn’t There transcends a mere visual upgrade; it’s a celebration of the ridiculous and a journey into the surreal. The restoration breathes new life into this long-forgotten chunk of cheese, allowing audiences to experience the film in a way that attempts to recreate its initial release, only for the better. So, buckle up for a trip down memory lane, where The Man Who Wasn’t There becomes a three-dimensional enigma worth revisiting.