This Christmas, it will be 20 years since I left Videoville.
That capped a 12-year run behind the counter at two stores, running from 1994 to 2006.
First, a year in the lil’ house converted into a snug video store — where the squirrels dashed in the open front door to try and snatch up fallen popcorn and where someone (probably me…) cracked the front window by playing the Jurassic Park laserdisc WAY too loud one time.
The T-Rex roared, the glass gave up with a whimper, we told Miriam a bird hit the window, and she sort of half-believed us.
After that, the building that has been housing physical therapy businesses the last couple of years was built across from the elementary school, and Miriam’s Espresso joined the now HUGE Videoville.
Over the next 11 years I ate a lot of Reese’s Pieces, (literally) golfed a lot of gumballs into the then-empty field where the Pizza Factory now sits and tried to convince a lot of customers to rent “Bottle Rocket.”
Customers are the life blood of any store, and we had some who were great, and a few who were genuine Grade-A asses.
Two decades down the road, at a time when the current generation has no clue what a video store was, or why they should miss it, I tend to remember the good customers more than the bad.
Well, except for the one who completely shattered a chair merely by sitting on it, and probably the one who tried (and failed) to flush a really full diaper, flooding the bathroom.
You tend to remember those ones…
But mainly I remember ones like Russell Torres and Kathy Christensen, who were both customers and parents of some of my best co-workers.
Both passed away this month, and both will be genuinely missed, even if I hadn’t seen either one in person in some time.
Kathy Christensen
Russell, whose son David and daughter-in-law Erin worked on video and espresso, respectively, was a straight shooter and I mean that with the deepest respect.
He was a kind man, a friendly face, always, and a proud husband, father, and grandfather, a man who loved his God and his country while allowing others the grace to hold their own beliefs.
Simply put, Mr. Torres earned your respect through his actions and his words, and the way he carried himself. He was a class act.
Kathy Christensen had a lot of the same attributes.
Her daughter Jodi(Christensen) Crimmins and daughter-in-law Shawn (Evrard) Christensen, who both worked as baristas for Miriam’s, are miracles of happiness, two of the nicest human beings I know.
That love of others was always on display when Mrs. Christensen swung by the store, either as a customer or to check on her girls.
The weather could be lousy outside, but she always brought the sun indoors with her.
Coupeville is a better place for having been graced with the presence of these two, and I hope the Torres and Christensen clans find some peace in troubled times with the knowledge of how positively their loved ones were regarded.
You can take the man out of Videoville, but you can’t entirely take Videoville out of the man.
Come the Christmas holidays of 2026, it’ll be 20 years since I left the best job I ever had, putting a cap on 12+ years of being paid to eat Reese’s Pieces and annoy customers with my burning belief they should be watching more weird-ass foreign films.
While video stores aren’t a thing anymore, and good luck finding anyone under 30 who evens remembers them at this point, my lifelong obsession with watching films continues to burn.
Some years I document everything I’ve seen from Jan. 1 to Dec. 31 — in 2023, for example, I hit 600, counting feature-length films and shorts — and others I don’t.
The year which recently wrapped up was one of those in which I didn’t keep a nice, handy list for myself on Lettrboxed, which I now regret as I make a late U-turn to ramble on about my favorite films from the year.
So, this won’t be a complete breakdown, though, as always, I continued to search out down ‘n dirty ’70s movies I have yet to see.
Shoutout to Tubi, the best free-if-you’re-fine-with-some-ads streaming site, as it recreates the experience of an old-school video store full of dust-covered VHS boxes with lurid artwork beckoning you to come closer.
I finally marked off “King of Marvin Gardens” with repressed radio talk show host Jack Nicholson uneasily coexisting with his back-slapping con man brother, Bruce Dern, then followed that up by accidentally discovering the drenched-in-sleaze “Hollywood 90028.”
You might need some antibiotics after viewing this tale of a cameraman as he embraces the serial killer within, complete with a sense-shattering WTF finale which punches you in the face, but I’ll take that over “Avatar 17: Electric Boogaloo FernGully” any day.
Anyways, since I don’t have a complete list of my year in film — but will next year! — this list will focus on films released in 2025, which I also saw in 2025.
While there were a lot of mediocre films released, and some absolute stinkers like “Megan 2.0,” “Love Hurts,” “I Know What You Did Last Summer (2025),” “Osiris,” and “Him,” the worst movie of the year was “Fixed,” a laugh-free “adult” animated film which should have been taken out back behind the barn and put out of its misery.
Burn the negative.
But on to stuff I enjoyed!
20 (tie) — “The Home,” “Final Destination Bloodlines,” “Heart Eyes,” “Clown in a Cornfield,” and “Weapons”
Yes, we’re cheating right from the start, with a wild mishmash of gore-soaked flicks.
“Final Destination” reinvigorated the franchise, while “Heart” and “Clown” paid campy tribute to my beloved ’80s slasher flicks.
“Weapons” got all the box office and awards buzz, and the finale is appropriately bonkers, but where was the love for “The Home,” a something-is-seriously-wrong-at-the-rest-home schlock-fest which ends with an even-more WTF finale?
I’m not saying it’s a great movie, but if you’re not entertained by Pete Davidson opening a can of whup-ass on senior citizen cult members, can you even still feel anything?
19 — “The Day the Earth Blew Up”
Porky Pig and Daffy Duck vs. aliens. Pure bliss.
Legendary.
18 — “Friendship”
Deeply uncomfortable “comedy” about a dude who cannot read the room, ever, but is obsessed with being friends with his neighbor, a local TV weather guy. Psyche-scarring shenanigans ensue.
17 — “Eddington”
The pandemic fractures an already messed-up town in New Mexico, and that’s before Joaquin Phoenix totally loses his mind. A dark comedy painted pitch black.
16 — “Dangerous Animals”
A boat captain with some serious issues feeds his clients to the local sharks, until one tougher-than-she-looks surfer fights back, tooth and nail. Let the bodies hit the (ocean) floor.
15 — “Sew Torn”
A small-town seamstress who’s not as meek as she seems. A dangerous drug lord. A missing briefcase. Nice lil’ Coen brothers-style crime flick with more than a few surprises awaiting us.
14 — “Companion”
Don’t piss off the robot. Seriously. Just don’t do it.
13 — “The Damned”
A doomed village in Iceland. A boat crashed on the rocks, with the survivors left to perish in the cold waters by the people trying to scrape a living out of the cold soil. Guilt will drive you mad, in a cold, cold movie best watched from under a pile of blankies.
12 — “Freaky Tales”
Welcome to Oakland, 1987. Things are about to get frickin’ weird. Bizarre anthology flick mixes kung fu, Nazi’s, basketball urban legend Sleepy Floyd, Tom Hanks(!), and rap music into a brain-exploding flick.
11 — “Magazine Dreams”
Imagine if “Taxi Driver” was about a Black bodybuilder, with the main character’s anger issues made more problematic by the real-life troubles of actor Jonathan Majors.
10 — “One Battle After Another”
The Oscar frontrunner (with great work by Sean Penn), and I’m fine with that, even if it’s not my personal favorite film by director Paul Thomas Anderson.
Honoring the dude who made “Boogie Nights,”“There Will Be Blood,” and “Hard Eight?” I’m down with that.
9 — “Sinners”
On the one hand, it’s just “From Dusk Till Dawn” for a new generation. On the other hand, the musical number with the vampires dancing outside the barn is a knock-out, and Ryan Coogler goes surprisingly deep with his fangs vs. racism story.
8 — “Saint Clare”
A teenage girl with voices in her head operates as a serial killer (with a code of ethics), before turning out to be her town’s best hope against some real degenerates. Stylish, low-key, and utterly disturbing. So, just my kind of thing.
7 — “Neighborhood Watch”
A mentally ill man (Jack Quaid) and his neighbor, a seriously grumpy former security guard (Jeffrey Dean Morgan), get in deep after the former witnesses (maybe) an abduction in broad daylight. The duo stay prickly until the end, with no fakey friendship developing, which is a nice touch.
6 — “Frankenstein”
It’s alive! Gorgeous, old school monster flick is a true treat for the eyeballs.
“You talkin’ to me?”
5 — “The Surfer”
Nicolas Cage makes a lot of movies, and by gum, the man never half-asses it, fully committing to each project. This tale of a man trying to reclaim the glory of his youth in Australia, while being driven literally crazy in the heat, is a great throwback to late ’60s/early ’70s cinema about deeply lost men.
4 — “Mickey 17”
Robert Pattinson dies (and dies some more) as an “expendable” in this darkly funny sci-fi satire.
3 — “Bugonia”
Bonkers tale of a deeply damaged man (Jesse Plemons) kidnapping the CEO of a major corporation (Emma Stone) in a bid to expose her secret life as a space alien bent on world domination. It’s a remake of the 2003 South Korean film “Save the Green Planet,” which I loved back in the Videoville days, but not a carbon copy.
2 — “Train Dreams”
The most beautiful movie of the year, a haunting tale of a logger carving out a life among the trees of the Pacific Northwest while dealing with deep trauma.
1 — “Two People Exchanging Saliva”
It’s French. It’s shot in piercing black-and-white. It’s a 36-minute tale of a dystopian future where kissing is outlawed, you pay for things by getting slapped, and intimacy will get you put in a box and thrown off a cliff.
Literally.
It’s on the shortlist to be nominated for Best Live Action Short at this year’s Oscars, and we riot if it doesn’t make the cut.
Way back in 1993, when I was still writing movie columns for The Coupeville Examiner, I picked the Wallace and Gromit short, “The Wrong Trousers”, as the best film of its year.
“Two People” is similar in that it demonstrates a perfect film can be perfect at any length.
Sometimes you need three hours. Sometimes you don’t.
The last day of July was a good day for saving DVDs.
Can’t stop, won’t stop. This time I can save them all.
All things being equal, I’d rather be camped out at a video store than writing here on a sports blog.
Of course, video stores pretty much don’t exist anymore, and modern-day teens don’t even have a concept of what they were in the first place.
But I cling to the past, of days spent watching Bugsy Malone and eating Reese’s Pieces and somehow being paid to do so.
With the fuse relit by one basketball coach cleaning out the closet and sending DVD’s my way, I’m building Videoville 2.0 in a bedroom of my duplex.
From three films to making a run at 4,000 in a matter of months, I preserve a chunk of my past and once again marinate in the movie madness.
Some days it’s one or two. Yesterday, it was 83 DVD’s coming to their new (maybe) forever home on the shores of Penn Cove.
Three more Best Picture Oscar winners — Amadeus, Birdman, and Gandhi — the last two of eight Jesse Stone detective flicks starring Tom Selleck and his muscular mustache, two different versions of Sherlock Holmes battling The Hound of the Baskervilles, and Gregory Peck kickin’ unholy amounts of booty as The Chairman.
Plus, School House Rock!
Who gives that away to a thrift store and sleeps at night, I ask you??
So, in I swoop, basket in hand, ready to brain anyone foolish enough to try and get between me and The Ghost and Mr. Chicken or Hangin’ with the Homeboys.
While praying tomorrow will bring me another mystery box of DVDs courtesy someone embracing modern day life, streaming, and the allure of spring cleaning.
The Bad News Bears Go to Japan and Dudley Do-Right?
Eastwood pallin’ around with an orangutan and Schwarzenegger running wild through the futuristic world of … 2019?
“We’re going to have more movies than Scarecrow Video!”
“But I thought you said they had like 120,000 titles…”
“They do.”
“And you have?”
“1,310 DVD’s and one VHS. Not bad for someone who had like five DVDs a month ago.”
“I’m going to tell mom you’ve lost it…”
“I’m sure she already knows.”
“And what do you mean we??”
“It’s the royal we, my lad. And by we, I mean less talking by you, and more crawling down in that dusty bin at the back of the thrift store and looking for the DVD’s hiding down there.
“We will find “Song of the South! Some day!!”
“Great … Uncle David is going to have a section devoted to racist cartoons…”
“Exactly. That’s why we need those Tom and Jerry ones!”
As I alternate between entertaining my nephews and causing them to arch their eyebrows at me like they’re old money country club lifers and I’m Rodney Dangerfield storming the castle, my most-recent detour into embracing my video store past is going like gangbusters.
All it took was one basketball coach doing some spring cleaning and offering free DVDs and I’m right back at it, crafting a tribute to Videoville in my side room.
Five movies here, 200+ there, me trying not to scream like a little girl who found a pony under the Christmas tree when I discover a Criterion edition of the French film noir Le Corbeau for $1.00 at the thrift store.
Or when I go through a donation from a former Videoville customer and find … Jaws! Tommy Boy!! Indiana Jones!!! Cry Baby!!!!!
It’s a work in progress.
I have Lawrence of Arabia, but not On the Waterfront.
Have Chinatown, but not The Right Stuff.
Have The Fifth Element, and (somehow) the first five Resident Evil movies (viva Milla Jovovich and my autographed photo!) but not Blade Runner or The Last Starfighter.
Or Shock Treatment, The Apple, the ’70s version of Gone in 60 Seconds, Bugsy Malone, or Reefer Madness: The Movie Musical.
Yet.
But I do have Bottle Rocket, Memento, Spirited Away, both the Johnny Depp and the Angela Lansbury(!) editions of Sweeney Todd plus Riverdance, which is a direct touchstone to my Videoville days.
And, as you can see in the picture above, I just got The Matchmaker, one of those films which evokes an enduring memory from my time behind the movie counter.
It’s a great little romantic comedy, but the reason it takes me back is this — there’s a crusty old coot in the flick who, in deep Irish accent, is prone to saying “fuchin.”
When you pronounce it that way, it seems somehow … more genteel. And slightly acceptable for saying in the store, as we did for many months after the VHS of the film hit in ’97/’98.
“You got some fuchin’ late fees here.”
“Did you just cuss?”
“Not likely. Just working on my Irish accent, you fuchin’ bastard.”
Ah, memories.
Now I just need to find a DVD for Margaret’s Museum, a lovingly crafted tale of Helena Bonham Carter collecting bits ‘n pieces from all the deceased coal miners in her small town.
“She put what in the jars, now?????”
“Oh yes, exactly what you’re thinking. But it’s a beautifully done movie … you fuchin’ bastard.”
“Not your cup of tea? Well, can I interest you in some possibly racist Tom and Jerry cartoons??”
PS — If you’re spring cleaning and want to help me marinate in the past, I’m accepting any and all DVDs and giving them a home with a view of Penn Cove.
You can find me at a Coupeville baseball or softball game or drop ’em on my porch at 165 Sherman.
If I had a warehouse, I’d take your VHS. But I don’t have a warehouse, so, unless it’s something that can only be found on VHS like the one below, I probably have to pass.
Frank Meyer, Sr., who passed away Friday at age 86, changed my life.
When he and his wife Miriam hired me to work at Videoville in 1994, they were rescuing me from life on the mussel rafts and giving me a chance to embrace the love of my life, movies.
Through two buildings — first in a small, converted house and then in a spiffy building which also housed the new-at-the-time Miriam’s Espresso and seemed imposingly large at first — it was my home away from home for 12+ years.
Miriam, who became like a second mom to me, was my daily companion in the early years, while Frank, who was wheeling and dealing in the world of real estate, swung by on a frequent basis.
The Meyer children — Frank, Jr., Jennifer, Michael, Kathryn, and Megan — all grew up in the store as well.
Over the years, they joined me and my sister, Sarah, and many others in renting movies, making drinks, and, in some cases, being pushed around the store while crammed in the rolling cart normally stationed under the video return slot.
From ages 23-35 I haunted Videoville, years which saw the birth of my first nephew and the passing of both my parents.
I often say that if video stores were still a thing, I would still be working at one, and you might not be reading these words, and it’s true.
It’s why, in recent days, I have begun a slightly cockeyed mission to recreate Videoville in a side room of my duplex.
Tuesday was the day new releases hit video stores. In tribute, we welcome 38 more DVD’s home today.
In a short period of time, I’ve gone from owning four or five DVDs to being up over 800, and I now spend my drive time scanning the sides of roads for anyone offering free bookcases.
I’ve begun to break my new wave of movies into sections, from traditional genres like sci-fi and suspense to things like Oscar Best Picture Winners, or more diverse sub-sections such as “Can’t Stop the Beat” or “No Hoes, Just Ho-Ho’s.”
In its own way, it’s a chance to recapture a bit of my hazy, lazy, Reese’s Pieces-eatin’ past, to use “Videoville 2.0” to keep alive the dream.
And it’s a past which was greatly shaped by Frank and Miriam, who not only hired me, and never fired me, but allowed me to have a surprising amount of say in the direction the store took over the years.
We outlasted many a video joint killed by Blockbuster, thanks to our diverse movie selection and small-town charm.
Plus, the power of a potently priced cup o’ coffee, as the rising tide of the espresso world helped keep the movie rental biz going in later years.
Through it all, through the heady days of renting 500+ VHS tapes on a Friday night in Cow Town, through the battle over the Big Rock, Frank was the calm, reassuring backbone of the Meyer empire.
Whether rolling big in the property biz, or sipping some freshly brewed java, one eyebrow slightly cocked, as he listened to my wild-eyed video store ideas, he was a genuinely rock-solid guy.
I am sad to hear of his passing, but will remember him for all he accomplished, and the many lives he touched.
Frank’s legacy lives on through his children, who have all gone on to make a positive impact, and his grandchildren, who are bright-eyed and brilliant.
And maybe it lives on a little each time I shepherd a DVD through the sliding glass door on my duplex, welcoming the disc to its new forever home.
Videoville is reemerging, in a fashion, in my spare room, and it’s partially because Frank and Miriam let me marinate in the movies.
Coupeville Sports 