An Ode To Videodrome Atlanta And The Joys of Physical Media-Oriented Spaces

When I first walked into a Blockbuster store as a kid, my mind exploded. Up to that point, my fervent film love was confined to Disney VHS tapes I owned or whatever videotapes my Uncle Doug had lying around. Walking through this domain’s doors, I was greeted with more VHS tapes than I could’ve ever imagined. Every genre under the sun was suddenly within my grasp. The horror movies with the gnarly covers that terrified yet compelled me. Those major adult dramas (Titanic, Cold Mountain, etc.) I occasionally heard my parents reference. Best of all, this place had all the Pokemon TV show tapes I couldn’t find at Wal-Mart.

God knows there were endless problems with Blockbuster, including how it affected independent video stores and the limited types of films it held. Still, first stepping into a Blockbuster at six years old did feel like a new phase of cinema obsessiveness had been unlocked. Just wandering down the aisles and being surrounded by physical copies of movies was a glorious sensation. The staggering decline of physical movie media outlets in recent years has ensured that the opportunities to wander betwixt cinema’s tangible iterations have been few and far between.

In my Atlanta, Georgia voyages, though, I paid a visit to the legendary Videodrome video rental store. Here, the wonders of existing in the same space as countless DVDs was not just revived but refined. Rather than merely mimicking an experience I had as a child, Videodrome created a new kind of joyous memory built on my decades of expanded cinema knowledge. God bless these stores.

Videodrome Killed It Before I Stepped Inside

After exiting my Lyft ride, me and my well-worn Velcro sneakers traipsed over to the Videodrome entrance. Having just eaten the best mac n’ cheese, biscuits, and friend chicken of my entire life at Mary Mac’s Tea Room, my belly was full and my spirit was soaring. Further serotonin was unlocked as I glimpsed at the two signs situated next to the Videodrome entrance. One of them was a Black Lives Matter sign. The other was a poster for the wonderful 80s B-movie The Miami Connection.

Cinema master Sean Baker called this title one of his four favorite motion pictures for a reason, it’s an extraordinary work of DIY artistry (it’s also got a kick-ass soundtrack). Here I was in a new city, preparing to enter an unfamiliar store, and here was a familiar cinema gem staring straight back at me. Every store should have pro-Black Lives Matter signage and Miami Connection posters next to their entrance. They just instill good vibes before you even set foot inside.

Once I was actually inside VideoDrome, my eyes could barely comprehend the sheer number of DVD covers staring back at me. Quickly, the structure of the store became apparent to me. Most of the right side of the store was dedicated to sections divided by English-language filmmakers. Spike Lee had a portion of one shelf, so too did Barry Jenkins and Damien Chazelle (among many others). My personal favorite was one lower shelf that made room for both John Sayles and Lynne Ramsay features. I never in my life thought I’d see these two cinema virtuosos get their own video store sections, but golly was I glad to see it.

Videodrome’s right sector also had an extensive B-movie cinema section. The left side of the store, meanwhile, was dedicated into sections pertaining to either genres (family films, for instance), new releases, or countries (Hong Kong, Portugal, Brazil cinema, among many others).

I first made a beeline for the B-movie area because, hey, those movies have the coolest covers. The features themselves may not live up to what’s on the VHS/DVD’s exterior, but the art is still cool to process. There were all kinds of obscure goodies in here full of motion pictures I’d either never heard of or thought I’d never hold in my hands as a DVD. Afterward, it was time for the auteur section, which is where I started to get a bit choked up.

Physical Media’s Joy In A Streaming Apocalypse

Much like with my Academy Museum excursion last year, Videodrome’s detailed collections of directing filmographies were a glorious respite to the streaming culture landscape. Amazon, Netflix, Hulu, they’re all about emphasizing either exclusive movies kept behind paywalls or motion pictures they have temporary licenses to. The emphasis is on reinforcing the brand names of Silicon Valley conglomerates, not the art itself.

Within the hallowed halls of Videodrome, though, I saw great care to making sure everyone from Celine Sciamma to Sidney Lumet to Otto Preminger got their works properly displayed and organized. The focus here wasn’t on boosting Amazon’s bottom dollars (“quick, put more ads for The Terminal List into this stream of The Pawnbroker!”) not consuming your attention with sudden trailers/clips from streaming originals. It was just on letting David Lynch’s or Charlie Chaplin’s filmography wash over visitors.

I’d freely admit, too, my perception was skewed by how choked up I got getting reminded of so many glorious movie watching memories in one space. Losing Ground, the excellently filmed Kathleen Collins directorial effort, was something I once thought could only exist on FilmStruck. Here it was, though, on Videodrome’s shelves. The Daytrippers, But I’m a Cheerleader, Ace in the Hole, the Small Axe features, they were all here.

Suddenly, I was transported back to countless hours spent on my couch, absorbing the flickering images of these features. Getting to hold these features in my hands for the first time was like I was getting to meet these movies for the first time, as weird as that may sound. They weren’t just tiles on a streaming service home screen. I could run my fingers across But I’m a Cheerleader or the 25^th Hour/He Got Game double feature Blu-Ray. These tactile joys extended to all kinds of motion pictures, another upside Videodrome had over typical streamers.

Because of the disinterest almost all streamers have with pre-1995 movies, I had to scrounge and put in extra effort to find many of these movies that made up my best cinema memories. Here they were, though, all displayed in glitzy packaging on Videodrome’s shelves like new Disney movies were showcased on Blockbuster shelves back in the day. My heart was full recalling so many wonderful moviegoing memories and realizing a new generation of Atlanta film nerds can uncover these glorious endeavors sooner in their lives than I did. That hope for the future is only possible because of Videodrome’s staff and operators. Their efforts have created a haven where all forms of movies can flourish.

“A Great Artist Can Come from Anywhere”

Strolling across the shelves and hallways of Videodrome, I was constantly impressed by how in-depth the selection at this place was. There wasn’t just a section for Argentinian films, for example, but that domain contained Trenque Lauquan, one of my favorite 2023 movies. Laura Citarella's expansive cinematic chronicling of a woman that goes missing is marvelous creation full of exquisitely framed images and a quietly ingenious story structure (specifically in how the film’s two parts are divided). It warmed my heart to see it in Videodrome’s inventory.  This amazing, underrated piece of cinema was more accessible than ever!

Eclectic and varied selection was the name of the game in this place. That quality makes Videodrome an outstanding microcosm for cinema as a whole. This is an artform where incredible and impactful art can emerge in anything from Drive My Car to Frankenhooker to Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives to Titane to Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans and everything in between. There is no one way to make a great movie. What a privilege and an honor to exist within a space dedicated to champion that versatility. “

“A great artist can come from anywhere,” as a wise Anton Ego once said. Streamers cultivating libraries built on algorithms and giving people what they’ve already seen can make it hard to remember that fact. Not within somewhere like Videodrome, which took all the fun parts of Blockbuster and then fixed up all its flaws (namely Blockbuster’s banning of NC-17 and unrated movies or lack of foreign language features). Much like The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance, Videodrome built on the potential of the past while recognizing how yesteryear’s institutions could stand major tweaks.

Just walking through Videodrome with my belly full from Mary Mac’s scrumptious cuisine and my favorite music pouring into my ears through my headphones provided a level of joy I’ve rarely felt in my life. Ah, but all good things must come to an end. I had to go present on a panel at the NLGJA conference that afternoon and soon, my public speaking responsibilities forced me out of Videodrome after spending two hours inside.

Before exiting, I took one last look around the place. This was truly a special place, the apotheosis of how cool and detailed a video rental store could be. As I knew at a young age walking around wide-eye and stunned at my local Blockbuster, there’s something special about being surrounded by physical media. For film freaks like me, it’s like you’re finally in a space that’s as passionate about this artform as you are. Videodrome didn’t just remind me of that specialness, it took it to the next level with its comprehensive selection.

Long live physical media.

Long live eclectic movies.

And long live the new flesh, er. Videodrome Atlanta.