How Does the Modern Indepenent Video Rental Outlet Survive?

"Are we going the way of the dodo, Dante?"

The Kleiner is a self-proclaimed film geek; not satisfied with merely really, really liking movies, he went so far as to acquire his bachelor's degree in the subject. That he actually has a job, in this economy, seventeen months out of graduation, is a minor miracle of whose provenance he'd rather defer discussion. What he would like to talk about is movies and television and the whole culture that surrounds it, so while the Kleinette does double, nay, triple, nay, billiontuple duty discussing our culinary proclivities and her endless explorations of the District's myriad nooks and crannies, it falls to me to offer this blog's Kulturkritik; so, you know, feel free to skip all my posts. Consider yourself disclaimed.

Anyway, rather than muse in length on Mad Men (the first seventeen episodes of which the Kleinette and I have watch in just the past week) or Skins (a favorite of the Kleinette, Anglophile that she is, on which I have some thoughts) or some of the recent films I've seen, I'd like to start by jumping off the Kleinette's latest post and talk about one of our latest sights seen: Takoma Park's Video Americain.

Boasting four (4) locations, one in Delaware, two in Baltimore, and a fourth which is the subject of our discussion, straddling the border between Takoma, DC and Takoma Park, MD, a delightfully brief stroll from Takoma Station. For comparison's sake, Blockbuster Video has 3750 locations and the Movie Gallery/Hollywood Video mergerthing has somehow lumbered into retaining a combined 4000 locations.

Surprisingly, though, these monster chains never really posed much of a threat to the small, independent video store like Video Americain. The advantages that come with size and market share on a large national level - leveraged buying, quality locations, advertising - are what actually prevent these chains from undermining small, independent stores the way that a CVS or 7-11 undermine's Mommenpops Corner Shoppe; unlike the market for Coke and advil, they're not competing for the same market. Blockbuster is bound by having to appeal to a wide, broadest common-denominator audience to have not merely a gazillion copies of all the newest movies but also backstock only those films which are most popular. The person who wants to rent a movie at Video Americain, en contrare, is there because they want what they can't get at Blockbuster.

He looks weird, but he makes movies you like.

Walk into Video Americain and you'll see. In one of my favorite touches, nearly the entire right wall is sorted not by title but by director. To a cinephile such as myself this is obvious; Barnes & Noble or Virgin Megastore wouldn't sort their books or CDs by their titles - they'd sort them by their authors. But somehow the idea of authorship in cinema has been lost to the broader culture. Few people await the next Danny Boyle film the way they await the next John Irving book or Regina Spektor album, even if they like all of Danny

 Boyle's films. They may not even know who Danny Boyle is!

So to sort by director is to appeal to a specific audience - the movie geek, the kind of person who debates the best American directors of the past half-century (Kubrick), the best French film of the past decade (De battre mon cœur s'est arrêté), or the best Palm D'Or winner of the 1970s (tough, but, The Conversation; and, yes, I've actually had all these conversations. With actual people). And it works! My own heart skipped a beat the first time I went; it made me want to live not just in the neighborhood, but in the damn store.

But that was last July. It took me over a year to return again. And it is with more than a twinge of guilt that my own activity revealed why; while browsing the shelves I made a list of films to add to my Netflix queue.

For it is Netflix that threatens to destroy the independent video store. That's obvious by the way the store is trying to attract business - a "club membership" that costs $30-35/mo (I can't quite remember) that allows you to take up to three catalog films at a time out, and discounts new films. This has obvious advantages over Netflix - instant returns and new films. You can come home, watch a movie, and get a new one that night. Cool!

Not so cool (for Video Americain, at least) is the very same market pressures from Netflix that's putting similar pressure on the big chains. Never leave your house - a nice perk. Never worry about whether your movie is in - a big relief. A selection of pretty much every movie ever released on DVD - nice. Customizable plans to meet your demand - awesome. And all at far less than Video Americain's club - my 3 DVD + Blu-ray plan (my roommate has a PS3, so why not?) costs $22.50/mo, which is at most only three-quarters of Video Americain's plan. And, not living in Takoma Park, I'd have to do a modest bit of schlepping to return and acquire films. It's difficult to imagine such a plan proving economical unless one puts a premium on saving local businesses.

Which is not to say I don't; but I feel that even most people who would love never to shop or eat at a chain or franchise establishment again would be willing to take on the material burdens necessary to practice that kind of preaching - and if they say they are, ask them again when they have a migrane at 3AM and they live across the street from a 24/7 CVS. So what kind of future does Video Americain have?

Quite frankly, I'm not sure. Not knowing what kind of business they're doing - maybe they're killing, but in this economy, I have doubts - certainty is tough, but in the broader sense, I'm not sure how the small, independent video outlet can survive services like Netflix in the long run. Blockbuster, at least, has the kind of infrastructure and capital necessary to attempt a competing service (though I know not a single person who has chosen them over Netflix); it is simply not feasible for Video Americain to mail movies every which way. So maybe Video Americain is merely doomed; but a visit to Takoma Park feels incomplete without a swing through, without it's delightful neon sign illuminating Laurel Avenue. How will a neighborhood that prides itself on its cultural erudition and resistance to mainstream consumerism survive the loss of such a store. It will, of course (it's only been there since 1996), but how it does will tell us a lot.

So consider this not an answer but a jumping-off point for a discussion about how innovation inevitably breeds obsolesence, and how businesses, neighborhoods and individuals can adapt or move forward when economics overwhelm nostalgia. Share your thoughts, and I'll keep sharing mine.

-The Kleiner.