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Posts Tagged ‘Videoville’

Inject that cinema straight into my veins!

Posted in Movie Mania, tagged , , , , on January 12, 2026| Leave a Comment »

A truly beautiful film.

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.

 

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Well, I mean, it could be drugs…

Posted in Movie Mania, tagged , , , , on August 1, 2024| Leave a Comment »

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?

The irrational dream lives on for another day.

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“It’s a fuchin’ miracle!”

Posted in Movie Mania, tagged , , , , on April 23, 2024| Leave a Comment »

A little piece of history, it is.

“What’s the plan, Uncle David?”

“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.

While crying tears of regret…

David’s one current VHS tape.

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Farewell to a class act

Posted in In memory, tagged , , , , on April 9, 2024| Leave a Comment »

Miriam and Frank Meyer

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.

For that, I will always be grateful.

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I want that 24/7/365 Reese’s Pieces smell, baby!

Posted in Movie Mania, tagged , , , , on March 27, 2024| Leave a Comment »

Ooh baby, baby…

I came from the turbulent sea, where whitecaps rocked our boat at all hours and the smell of decaying seafood forever scarred my nose hairs.

It was … what … yes, it was Penn Cove, and not the Bering Strait … it was still horrifying.

No, I’m not being a fancy lad … well, maybe a little bit … but I still have nightmares, thank you very much.

Back in 1994, when I fled the mussel rafts after multiple months of “learning about life,” the chance to work in a video store — especially a snug lil’ popcorn-scented joint like Videoville — was like gaining entrance to heaven itself.

VHS tapes crammed ceiling to floor, a movie on the TV screen, the smell of “butter” in the air, easy access to Reese’s Pieces … I was never leaving.

And I didn’t, for a very long time.

A year in the small house in which Videoville began, then another 11 in the “new store,” which introduced Cow Town to the concept of paying extra for your coffee thanks to Miriam’s Espresso.

The bigger store wasn’t quite as snug as the house, maybe, and the popcorn machine was replaced with a giant gumball dispenser.

But it also had three TV’s instead of one, so I could play Bugsy Malone and the ’70s version of Gone in 60 Seconds in surround-vision.

And I still got paid to stand around and scarf Reese’s Pieces and tell people they were missing out on the finer things in life if they didn’t accept Bottle Rocket as their true lord and savior.

While staying far, far away from the mussel rafts.

They will rock you.

Miriam Meyer, who was my boss from 1994-2006, was more than a boss.

She was a second mom, and she let me largely run wild, ordering movies that often had no business being on the shelf of a small-town video store.

Suicide Club. Shortbus. Ichi the Killer. Hands on a Hardbody. Doggy Poo.

The last one was a Korean animated short film about a pile of doggy doo-doo seeking inner peace and enlightenment. Seriously.

The first four?  The one that sounds like porn (Hands) was completely not, while Shortbus was … an arthouse … film. Or something like that.

Videoville never had an X-rated section, but we did appeal to the higher-minded nudie lovers who wanted overly complex plots crafted by pretentious artistes.

We used to put little notes on movies sometimes to give customers at least a fighting chance to know they would be renting something likely to offend.

Or to allow me to rant and rave about the quality of small gems that otherwise would be invisible.

Love Serenade, where a weathered disc jockey transforms into a fish and swims away from a small-town love triangle.

Margaret’s Musuem, where a lonely woman collects “bit and pieces” of each dude who dies in the town’s coal mine.

Strictly Ballroom, a passionate ode to big hair and bigger dance moves.

Dead End Drive In, where teens are trapped in a Hellhole of endless junk food and junkier movies and can’t leave … and, wait, how is that a bad thing??

Basically, what I’m saying is my years in the video store biz are bathed in a hazy, golden nostalgia, and the mere smell of Reese’s Pieces makes me weep that one day I had to return to doing actual work.

Having busted my back as a landscaper, farm hand, booze pusher, dishwasher, onion chopper, and on other assorted gigs, writing ain’t that hard.

But it’s not video store life.

So, from time to time, I get caught up in the lure of recapturing the olden days and I amass movies in my duplex.

I’m doing it again, having gone from a couple of DVDs to 600+ and counting in the last week or two, thanks to people doing spring cleaning in a streaming world.

It begins … again.

Yes, it’s a slippery slope.

One day you have just The Abyss and Moulin Rouge, and the next you wake up to find the back bedroom turned into a shrine to my Reese’s-scented days.

My sister and landlord shake their heads, while my youngest nephews, who weren’t around in the video store days, are captivated by this reoccurring burst of mania.

“You should get VHS, too, Uncle David!! Be a real hoarder!!! I mean … history preserver.”

And then they giggle as their mom shoots them an arched eyebrow and they return to looking on Ebay for cheaply priced mystery boxes of movies they can buy me for my upcoming birthday.

I hope…

 

Want to beat them to the punch?

I’m taking in all your tired, your poor, your huddled masses of DVD (not VHS!) yearning to breathe free and have a forever home with a view of Penn Cove.

The address: 165 Sherman, Coupeville, WA, 98239. There’s a porch in front and another in back, just waiting for your drop-offs.

Or find me, or my dark green, dirt splattered Xterra, at a CHS baseball or softball game this spring and take me back to my golden days.

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