Video Store Lament

I have fond memories of my childhood video store. In the mid-80’s we used to borrow my grandparents VCR when they were out of town. This meant that Friday afternoon, on the way home from school, my dad and I would hit Video Town. Video Town was a wonderful place where a child could learn the difference between VHS and Beta Max in a nurturing environment. Each empty display box was meticulously placed on the shelf equidistant from her neighbors on both sides. There was even a classy area behind a silken curtain, no doubt a lounge or mini-day spa, but I never ventured there.
At that time the home movie was a wonder. Films that people hadn’t seen in years could be borrowed for a nominal fee and watched (and rewound and watched again) in the comfort of a private abode. I was able to watch Marx Brothers movies and Little Rascals shorts in a way that no previous generation could have imagined. Video Town recognized that they were providing a magical service and treated the task with the necessary respect.
For years, Americans were happy with their local video peddlers. Family owned operations each with their own particular character. Then, out of nowhere, came the chain video superstore. I remember when the first one of these bad boys came to our town, with the fanfare of a postwar victory parade. We were amazed at the evolution in the video store experience. Compared to Video Town this place was enormous with wall after wall of videos. The store was replete with glitzy signage that made the costumer feel like they were walking the red carpet. Actual copies of the video behind the empty display box let us know if the video was available for check out. The films were categorized in impressive ways. Any male of my generation can remember the “Wild Action” section, which was a euphemism for films with explosions and at least one boob. Our shabby construction paper Video Town membership cards were soon lost in the euphoria over these seemingly perfect video vendors.
But it didn’t take long for the chain stores to lose their luster. These stores refused to carry NC-17 or unrated material. Those of us who have seen the R-rated version of Showgirls know how a move like this can kill a film’s narrative structure. This was done in order to secure a family friendly image. It seems a bit hypocritical to refuse to stock Kids, Happiness, or Y Tu Mama Tambien when R-rated films like Gator Bait, Femalien, and Gator Bait 2 were readily available (in the Wild Action section to be sure).
Rumors abounded that these stores were going so far as to edit the content of the movies that they stocked. I can prove these rumors to be true. You remember that part in Species where the alien chick (technically a “femalien”) kisses that guy and then kills him by sending her crazy alien tongue through the back of his head? I don’t because the copy I watched had that scene cut out. Some corporate fool thought he was keeping me safe from damaging material. All he succeeded in doing was robbing me of a major element of my coming of age.
Things turned from bad to worse. It seems these superstores only waited until most of the independent stores went out of business before they really started to let themselves go. By the late 1990’s these video stores took on the aura of Soviet Bloc pension offices. Video clerks had gone from being nerdy and knowledgeable to utterly incapable. Upon inquiring about the availability of Fellini’s 8 ½, I was asked, “How do you spell that?” Gone was a respect for cinema. Gone was a basic understanding of alphabetizing. Gone was the magic of Video Town.
I know that there still are amazing video stores out there. If you frequent one or work(ed) at one, we’d like to hear about it. The Middlebrow Film Society would like to highlight the work of individuals who are preserving the dying breed that is the quality video store. You are, of course, welcome to share your favorite video store horror stories as well.