Take my neighborhood Blockbusters. Please. The inventory seems selected by a blue-ribbon panel comprised of: (1) a crack head (2) a serial murderer (3) a prepubescent male with a runaway id (4) a middle-school dropout (5) a Martian. Quite possibly, this composite fits one person.
The classics section is microscopic and chalk full of “classics” that simply ain’t. Scores of Academy Award winners are missing–and the store “associates” are clueless when I even mention a title. The horror section is absolutely immense and–wouldn’t you know it?–almost every title is backed by that reassuring “Guaranteed You’ll Love It Or Your Money Back” deal. (I mean, how high can your expectations be when you’re watching a slasher film?)
It’s hard to tell how old the “drama” selections are, considering how the overhead florescent lights have uniformally bleached the video boxes to where the movie descriptions are almost illegible. Actually, the Blockbuster collection itself could be re-classified as:
“T & A,” “Blood & Guts,” “Chase Scenes,” “Bad Comedy,” and “Whatever.”
There’s virtually zero foreign films, but tons of wrestling films. Anything that doesn’t have mass appeal is either sold or scrapped. I ask the kid at the register for a movie recommendation and he uses “it sucks” or “it rocks” as a thumbs up/thumbs down rating system. It seems that the real gems of Hollywood have been forgotten.