I haven’t been to Blockbuster in years. Not because I don’t watch movies, but because I’ve switched to Netflix, HBO, and Cinemax. They’ve closed down several stores in my area, and the one that remains is not well stocked. But when you need a movie for a film study, and Netflix doesn’t have it instantly online, then you make due with the resources that are available to you. Rummaging through the glove box and center console of my car, I found the little key-fob card thing with my Blockbuster bar code. It will have to do.
I’m not sure why I dread Blockbuster so much, but I do. Every time I go in, I feel like I’m walking through a Goodwill thrift store wearing a tuxedo, and someone I know will point and say, “Haha! You’re RENTING! Go back to 1988, VHS Boy!” It just seems so dirty to me. Unethical. So non-vogue. Besides that, they never have the actual movie you’re looking for, unless you’re into farting, burping, teen starlet comedies, of which they have several copies of each. I refuse to rent them, not only because they’re mind-numbingly atrocious, but because they reek of teen farts and burps.
The movie in question was Rope, which is more than a mere classic from Alfred Hitchcock. Hitchcock was known for producing some low budget films that didn’t look low budget. 35mm film stock comes in reels of 1000 feet. At 90 feet per minute, this gives the director approximately eleven minutes of film per reel. The way the story goes, Hitchcock ran each reel to its full eleven minutes so as to avoid having a few seconds of unused (wasted) film at the end. Every eleven minutes, he either faded to black at calculated moments or deliberately placed black objects in the camera’s path so as to allow the next reel to seamlessly splice in and pick right up. Genius, considering the precision timing involved.
Blockbuster? Oh, they didn’t have Rope. But they did have another Hitchcock classic, Lifeboat. There I stood, waiting in line next to parents holding farting, burping comedies for their teens who, incidentally, were still at home, too embarrassed to be seen in a Blockbuster with their parents. Years ago, I would be hiding my passé movie selection from the others, dodging random snickers. Classics? Grandpa’s movies? This was business, though, which now takes on a “cooler” context. And that’s when the sales droid amused me…
DROID: Oh, your card is expired. For fifteen dollars, I can renew it for a year. Actually, for ten, since this first one is free!
ME: Yeah, I only come in once a year. Renew? Can’t I just rent it without the big renewal thing?
DROID: Yes, for $5.47, but you can renew it for ten. And it’s good all year!
ME: Look, I’m a producer and just need to watch it for a film study. And you didn’t have the exact movie I needed anyway, so this one will have to do. Normally I’d get it mailed from Netflix, but I need to watch it this weekend. I only come in once a year, so I don’t need a subscription. And I already feel dirty for coming here. And old. And unloved.
DROID: But it’s only four dollars more.
*crickets*
ME: Here’s six dollars. Knock yourself out.
This explains why they’ve closed the other Blockbusters, and why this one survives only as a backup to depleted garage sale inventory.
Jefferson Feil is a producer/screenwriter living in the Los Angeles area. A California native, Jeff spends his time relaxing by his backyard pool, writing captivating screenplays, frightening his neighbors, entertaining his three cats with pretend mice, and exploring the versatility of common household items. He also dabbles in photography, voice acting, and kitchen fire management. His charm and sarcastic sense of humor create an eclectic mix of intrigue and sophistication, which pour through his literary works like nacho cheese. He is the recipient of several top honors, including the prestigious Mrs. Schumacher 5th Grade Perfect Attendance award.