As my husband, Paul, took a DVD out of the player, he said, “Remember when the labels on videos told you to rewind?
Ah, yes. The good old days. We have come a long way from my childhood, when we were lucky to get the three major TV networks.
When Paul and I first starting dating in the 1980s, VCRs were first coming on the market. You could rent them for, say, a weekend. Video stores had yet to emerge; we would rent a video through a mail order company.
We thought this was the grandest thing because we liked high-quality and foreign films, and that’s not what was usually playing at the local multiplex. (Note: In those days, the multiplex was no more than three theaters.) This company provided more options for us to see the kinds of movies that we wanted to see.
Eventually, of course, it became affordable for most people to own VCRs, and video rental stores mushroomed. Younger adults found themselves in the position of helping their parents and other elderly relatives select and set up VCRs. We had to teach them how to use the devices. Then, when we went to visit, we were the ones who went out to find the movies and play them. And, of course, rewind the cassettes before returning them.
The video store itself became a cultural icon. The 1990s sitcom “Seinfeld” had at least two episodes involving video stores (and more that featured VCR issues). In one, the character Elaine becomes “involved” with a store clerk who shares her taste in movies.
In another, George Costanza joins a book club to impress a new girlfriend. He finds it difficult to read the selection, Truman Capote’s “Breakfast at Tiffany’s,” so he goes to the video store to rent the movie. It’s out, but he manages to see who has it. In typical George fashion, he goes to the apartment of the renter and manages to convince the family to let him watch the movie with them.
It would not be an overstatement to say the video store played a central role in people’s lives for over a decade. The demands to rewind and the fees customers had to pay if they did not return their films in a timely manner became a sort of running joke. This continued as the shops began to include DVDs, as they transitioned to DVD-only outlets. The sitcom “The Big Bang Theory” featured an episode that revolved around a long overdue DVD. (The character Leonard had to wear an “itchy” sweater as penance for not returning the DVD, which was rented on his roommate Sheldon’s card.)
For Paul and me, the video store was a relationship land mine. I’m not sure why this was, because we almost always enjoy the same types of movies. Yet, when we got to the store, we had a hard time agreeing on what to rent. For one thing, the typical neighborhood shop would not have many of the arty movies we preferred. They might have 10 copies of the latest blockbuster, but only one of the films on our list.
Some of these video stores were kind of dark and murky, and the clerks behind the counter looked shifty. Invariably, Paul and I would have to decide whether we wanted to watch a movie — any movie — so badly that we would lower our standards. Sometimes this discussion got snarky.
We were so happy when Netflix came along. We could calmly discuss what we wanted to watch ahead of time, put it in the queue and just wait for it to come in.
In the last few years, options for viewing have exploded. We still have our Netflix DVD account, because not everything we want to see can be streamed. A recent example is the excellent movie “A United Kingdom.” We also stream Netflix and have enjoyed some top-notch series such as “The Crown”and “Broadchurch” and “Alias Grace.” We have Amazon Prime. Sometimes we watch PBS Online. We also borrow DVDs through the Minerva library consortium.
We are binge-watchers, but usually catch just watch one episode (sometimes two) at a time. When I say binge, I mean watching a whole season over a week or so, depending on the length of the series.
With all these choices, it seems quaint to think we used to sometimes walk into a video store and come out empty-handed.
The child within me who grew up with black and white television (that was it until about 1968) and those three channels (cable did not arrive until around 1980) marvels that I can watch movies and series on a television screen, a laptop, an iPad or even my phone. Streaming is not perfect. One night our Fire Stick simply refused to work. If there’s a power surge, I have to set everything up again; trying to “type” a login and password using a remote is not something I’m adept at.
But I shouldn’t complain. At least we don’t have to rewind anymore.
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