This is our cultural heritage. Especially “Croczilla.” Do not let them go quietly into that good night.
There is a time in all of our lives that has a special glow in our memories.
For me, it is the 12+ years (Oct. 4, 1994-Dec. 31, 2006) I spent as manager at Videoville, the Coupeville video store that held its own against Blockbuster as countless other Whidbey movie outlets fell under less-than-friendly fire.
Top of the Hill Video (1 and 2). Quality In-House Video. Crazy Mike’s Video. Sunset Home Video. Coupeville Video.
At some point, I had a rental card for you all (and so many more).
But, like a good independent video store champion, I can state that not once did I ever rent a movie from Blockbuster. NEVER. EVER.
Videoville survived and thrived for longer than most for many reasons.
Being connected to Miriam’s Espresso helped.
Having a strong employee base and an owner (Miriam Meyer) who basically let us run wild as long as we didn’t burn the joint down or kill too many customers was huge, as well.
We couldn’t match Blockbuster’s new release wall in sheer numbers, but we beat them in selection.
Our foreign and documentary sections — my children — were the best on the Island. There is no doubt about that.
Blockbuster moved product.
We cared about movies and we made people watch Bottle Rocket and The Young Poisoner’s Handbook and The Limey and Box of Moonlight and Ichi the Killer (whether they wanted to or not).
Now, of course, video stores are all but dead, and it is a tragedy, one of the greatest of our lives.
You can argue that people have more choices than ever before, more access to films than at any point in the history of the motion picture, and that is true.
But it is impersonal, it is cold and removed and, frankly, Netflix and its computers do a terrible job of recommending movies for people to see.
It is super easy for them to say “Hey, Guardians of the Galaxy is fun!,” (it is — I saw it six times in the theater) but the next time their algorithm points you to Margaret’s Musuem or Rover Dangerfield or Samurai Fiction will be … never gonna happen.
In the years since Videoville, I have bounced through a number of jobs, all of which pay the bills but do little to stoke the inner fire.
It’s not their fault. They’re … jobs.
Videoville was a once-in-a-lifetime experience where I was paid to goof off for 12 mostly-transcendent years. It is, and probably will always be, my gold standard (especially since I am a lifelong movie fanatic).
Back in real life, I went a number of years without owning any DVDs, until, recently, a friend cleaning out her house suddenly gifted me with 150+ of them.
Since that point, realizing more and more people are throwing their movies away (I recently pulled 67 out of a dumpster at my aunt’s apartment complex) as they fully commit to a digital world, I have put the call out.
I want to retain a piece of my past. I want to build a secret, underground Videoville (I still have the original store sign in the weeds behind my duplex), a solid testament to what once was.
It’ll never be a store again, but it will endure. In some fashion.
Currently the collection sits at 667 DVDs and is growing.
Which is where you, the ones who are still reading at this point (even if you are rolling your eyes), come in.
Do you want to reclaim space in your house again? Have you been enslaved by Netflix and downloads?
Send your movies (rom coms to ’80s slashers, I want ’em all) my way (no VHS, sorry, my duplex is, after all, a duplex and not a 30-room mansion) and I will give them a retirement home with a view of Penn Cove.
Help me honor the past and keep the memory of it alive into the future.
Entrust me with the task of keeping a golden age alive. It is my one true destiny.
DVDs can be dropped any day of the week at Christopher’s on Whidbey (103 NW Coveland in Coupeville, next to the Post Office). Help keep the dream alive!!
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