These days, video stores are practically dead.
When Blockbuster Video announced that they were to officially shut their doors in 2013, it was the final, surest sign that physical media was now officially in the purview of wonky collectors, mad geeks, and nitpicky cinephiles. The newest kid on the block was Netflix, the now-ubiquitous and award-winning streaming service-cum-production studio.
For the last six or seven years, the infamous and ubiquitous streaming service had been rising to prominence, nosing out the physical media competition with lower prices and, most importantly, ease of access. They didn’t have a better selection than your average video store – Netflix carries anywhere between 3,000 and 9,000 titles (although the company itself is coy about the final number), while my local shop carries over 40,000 – but people didn’t care. They wanted the hottest movies without having to leave their homes. The paradigm had officially shifted. And now, with streaming technology being as widespread and as notably high-quality as it is, the notion of leaving the house for any reason at all is becoming increasingly moribund.
As someone who values the video store experience – I will take an entire afternoon browsing in a video store over an afternoon scrolling through an on-screen list any day of the week – I look at Netflix and I wince. And not just out of my predictably nostalgic, get-off-my-lawn form of technophobia (and I think we all have a small streak of tech fear inside of us). I wince because Netflix is, if we really look at it, a horrible video store. Indeed, if one were to take away the company’s notorious ease-of-access – i.e., if they were an actual video store – you would find a video store that no reasonable consumer would dare tolerate.
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If Netflix were a video store, it would stand as the golden standard for how not to run a business. It would swiftly alienate customers, earn the rancor of the just about everyone, and likely shut its doors before it had a chance to expand into its current business mindset of “We’re not a film library, we’re a TV network!”
As a cognitive exercise, let’s imagine that Netflix were a video store, and browse through their virtual shelves.
The Netflix Video Experience:
Every neighborhood everywhere would have a Netflix Video. Finding one nearby wouldn’t be a problem. Indeed, wherever you live, you’d be able to walk to one. The Netflix Video building would all look the same: Square, undecorated, uncomplicated, dull. They would be mostly white with red accents.
Rather than renting individual movies piecemeal, you’d pay a flat rate at the door, and then be allowed to browse and rent whatever you wanted. There would be no clerk at the front. You’d have to pay your admission through an automated slot and pass through an automated turnstile.
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The interior of Netflix Video would be a large open warehouse space with no carpeting, and oppressive fluorescent lights. The walls would be ornately decorated with banners bearing the Netflix logo, and large portraits of movie and TV stars, all taken from movies and TV shows released within the last two years. There would be no one in the store but you and maybe one other guy from your neighborhood that you do not know.
The store would have no staff to help you. If you were looking for a particular title, you’d have to refer to a giant phonebook-like catalogue of titles located near the door. That volume, however, would only have ten to fifteen titles on each page. And they would not be laid out alphabetically. Each page would also feature numerous titles that had been scratched off with a Sharpie. You’ll have to study this volume hard to find what you want. There is no way to find how many titles the store carries. No one knows for sure anyway.
There is a page in the catalogue called “Recommended For You!,” which is just as haphazardly laid out as the rest of the book, and features whatever huge blockbuster was most rented that week.
There is a telephone on the wall next to the catalogue. Picking it up would connect you with a mysteriously upbeat male voice calling himself Max. Max would ask what the last few films you watched were, and make the same bland suggestions for rentals as the “Recommended For You!” page. You would instantly get the impression that Max wasn’t really listening to you, and you’d hang up in frustration.
Once you found the title you were looking for, the catalogue would refer you to a particular section of the store, which – like all good video stores – would be arranged by genre. You’d have to wander for a bit to find the entire section, however, as the store seems to rearrange its entire geography every time you go in.
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On your way to your section, you pass the same movie several times, stocked in at least two other sections. Mixed in with the recognizable movies would be cheap-looking B-pictures, sequels you forgot (but not the originals), and maybe even a TV show or two.
There would be almost 100 sections at Netflix Video. There would be a horror section, yes, but also “classic horror,” “dark horror,” “creature features,” “monsters,” “teen screams,” and “Asian horror.” Movies would be repeated throughout these sub-sections. An actual section at Netflix Video: “quirky comedies with a strong female lead.”
Once you found your favorite section, the videos – let’s imagine them to be DVDs – would be lined up across the shelves in seemingly random order. They would be displayed face-out like at Blockbuster. You’d see a lot of the more popular titles immediately, as popularity ensures a visible place at eye level. Also like at Blockbuster.
Each section would, by store mandate, only carry about 50 to 75 DVDs on any given day. The titles would be randomly switched out, and something you saw in there on your last visit may not be there anymore on this visit. Many titles would not match the section they are in. Young Frankenstein, for instance, is not a “dark horror” movie.
The DVDs themselves would all be regular to bootleg quality, and would have no special features. No audio commentary tracks, no making-of specials, not even theatrical trailers. Even the boxes would be frills-free. There would be no technical specs on any of them. The MPAA rating and the length would be prominently listed, as well as the director and a few cast members. The plot synopsis on the back of the box would only be about two or three sentences, and would sometimes cut off mid-sentence.
There would also be a “rating” on the box consisting of one to five stars. You have no idea who awarded the stars or why. As far as you know, some smart-aleck teen rated everything five stars for yuks. You notice that really popular blockbuster films are rated very highly, whilst older classics – however excellent – are rated in the middle range. The bad films are pretty reliably rated lowly. Sometimes the DVD boxes would have a rating the store expects you would give it. Odd.
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Most of the films would be in the correct aspect ratio. Some wouldn’t. There are no Blu-rays.
If you wanted advice about a certain movie – if you’re unsure of its quality or simply wanted a few more facts before committing – you wouldn’t get it. There is no visible staff in this store making sure it’s arranged well, looking after your needs, or willing to give you a recommendation (other than Max, and you most certainly don’t trust him). You get the impression that Netflix Video is not being curated by a human. If it is, this person knows nothing about films at all, happy to buy up whatever they can get their hands on and distribute it on the floor.
Netflix Video would be open 24 hours, but the unseen staff would somehow sneak in and rearrange the store while no one was browsing. No one would see the staff. Is there even a staff here?
Netflix Video would constantly be losing stock, or returning their DVDs to the studio. Even if you want to see them. Even if the notion of a store reducing their own film library seems illogical to you. Although they have plenty of room in their warehouse to store many more DVDs, Netflix would randomly select certain movies and ship them away. If you wanted a Disney animated feature, you might not get it. James Bond was only available for a little bit.
You’d have a personal, customizable section at Netflix Video, and you could stack up whatever you wanted in it, reminding you of what you’ve been meaning to watch. You’d browse this section heavily and lengthily every time you came to the store. You’d never rent from it. You might occasionally notice that videos have been taken out of your section without explanation.
There’s a kids’ section over on one end of Netflix Video that also has a turnstile, and contains hundreds and hundreds of kid videos, arranged, oddly enough, by character. Kids can take out whatever DVDs they want all for your membership price. There are one or two kid-friendly classics, and a LOT of cartoons you’ve never heard of. Once the kids are in the kid section, however, they won’t be able to leave until you let them out.
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There’s no porn. Netflix Video is just like Blockbuster in that regard. There are, however, plenty of smutty European sex movies and NC-17-rated feature films at your fingertips. And your kids’ fingertips, if you’re not looking. There is no clerk to refuse rental of smutty “steamy romance” and ultra-violent movies to kids. Well, if they found out your password for leaving the kid section, that is. Your kids can be wily.
The store’s TV section would be the largest section. TV shows you forgot existed would be available in their entirety. Like the films, the TV shows would not be arranged alphabetically, and their genres would be jumbled together. “Seinfeld” would be listed right next to “Earth 2.” If you wanted “The Sopranos” or anything produced by HBO, forget it. HBO doesn’t send their DVDs to Netflix Video.
If you work your way through the vast TV section, you may notice that there is a door in the back of the store. You open it, hoping to address some staff members, but only find a small, empty office. There is an empty desk sitting discontentedly at the other end of the room, with a hand-written sign poised delicately on top of it. The sign reads “We’re on the roof making our own TV show! Check back next week!” When you check back next week, an entire season of “House of Cards” is available. That office, however, will still be empty.
As you leave Netflix Video with your DVD, you hear a recorded voice thanking you for visiting Netflix Studios. You’d look at the building quizzically. You thought this was a video store. You leave baffled, frustrated, and dismayed by how difficult and paltry it all was. Random selection, bad layout, difficult searches, no staff, no management, and it’s constantly losing stock. But it was so cheap! And look! “House of Cards!”
In Conclusion:
When I was young, I was a video store rat of the highest order. I would haunt my local video rental outlets with an enthusiasm that bordered on fervency. I would troll for unusual titles (the “cult” section was always a good place to go), rent my favorites time and time again (Gremlins 2: The New Batch certainly got a workout), and I would often try to engage the aloof, knowledgeable clerks in conversation, not-so-secretly hoping they would reveal choice hints and protected passwords as to where the secret classics – the real movies – were lurking in the store. Movies were my manna, and video stores my oases.
I hated the cold corporate feeling of Blockbuster Video, and resented the chain’s popularity. The store was clearly inferior to my local shops. Netflix has not only supplanted Blockbuster, but taken on their cold, personless approach to movies. Even more than with Blockbuster, Netflix treats movies like a commodity. There is no passion for the form. No sense of love. Just a big random pile of movies that you pay $7 a month to rifle through.
If Netflix were a video store – to repeat myself – we wouldn’t stand for the way they run things. We wouldn’t stand for the staggeringly poor organization, the baffling rotation of their library, and their hands-off approach to customers.
We all visit Netflix, it seems. And they don’t give us quality. They give us one thing and one thing only: convenience. The question I find myself asking is: is it worth it?
Witney Seibold is a contributor to the CraveOnline Film Channel, and co-host of The B-Movies Podcast. You can read his weekly Trolling articles here on Crave, and follow him on “Twitter” at @WitneySeibold, where he is slowly losing his mind.
