Breaking the Binge, One DVD at a Time

Like the rotary dial on our grandmother’s vintage telephone, the click of a Walkman changing tracks in our parents’ ears, the wilting pages of dog-eared classics pleading passers-by in Bargain Books, or the tumbleweed rolling through a Musica store, DVD stores are now joining the fallen troops, unnoticed by square eyes fixed on computer screens. Box sets and Blu-rays have had their glory days. They, like hardcovers, VHS tapes or records, now live neglected in drawers or hidden under old board games in store rooms, seemingly a thing of the past. But does that mean they must truly succumb to the era of the Netflix binge?

Film and television’s most recent phase presents itself in the Millennial migration towards the great “binge”, flicking through recommended series suggestions in bed, whilst one of the earliest means of displaying and archiving film struggles to keep up. As cinemas race onwards, and Netflix rakes in its millions, DVD rental stores are taking their final bow.

The first DVD stores emerged in the late nineties, pioneering a technological revolution that would capture vintage “cinephiles” for years to come in viewing the latest films from the comfort of their own home.

In 1998, an online DVD rental service called Netflix.com also ironically emerged, transpiring into the colossal franchise it is today: earning $4 billion in revenue, supplying 139 million subscribers, and streaming one billion hours of content per week. Yet statistics regarding the number of Cape Town DVD stores permanently closing their doors are worryingly scarce, and their extinction remains visually obvious.

Netflix, however, has proven to have its flaws. Many users criticise its “outdatedness”, as big-budget networks’ licensing agreements prevent them from distributing their latest episodes, in fear of viewers streaming online instead of watching the networks themselves. Netflix’s limited content also refrains from screening older, lesser-known films, doing everything in its power to market Netflix originals. The monthly subscription fees, inaccessible internet connection and slow streaming speeds are another one of its obvious downfalls.

In late April 2019, while studying film at university, I frantically searched for a solution to DVD Day Zero. After optimistically arriving at a DVD Nouveau only to be told of its non-existence, I set my sights on one final hope — The Village DVD. Standing proud and brilliantly green on a suburban street in Cape Town, the store presented itself not only as a manifestation of my childhood (the ACTII popcorn packets winking at me next to the till), but may have possessed the revitalising key to the industry’s slowly waning future.

Ian Botha, manager of the then-thriving store, gave quite a convincing pitch to this insignificant millennial who walked into his store that day. His subtle love for film and tech-savvy professionalism in reaction to the dying business around him provided hope for this legacy hanging by a thread.

The store’s online site acted as its main rental passage, offering incredibly reasonable packaged deals which most customers are “able to budget for”, keeping the kaleidoscopic shelves to a bare minimum. Twitter, Facebook and Instagram act as marketing tools, but “word of mouth” was his main advocate, with the disintegration of his rivals leading customers straight to his door.

In being “box-clever”, his DVDs are swiftly imported from overseas, couriering discs before circuits (and even Netflix) have gotten their hands on them. With exorbitant costs of rental space and large managerial teams hiring several employees, other DVD stores could not keep up. Ian, on the other hand, as sole manager with a mere two staff members, ran a tight ship. In “keeping track and my finger on the pulse”, he remained constantly updated with the latest releases, reiterating this by tapping on the cover of Free Solo. He even provided those neglected classics, foreign films and local artistic gems that I have incessantly trawled for in the crevices of Movies123 and unending reality TV overspill.

The words “dying industry” timidly hung off his lips when reaching the topic of Netflix’s dominance, shoving DVD stores like his to the side. He called it a “Vortex”, that “being tied to your computer is like any addiction”, which really rings true. We mindlessly devour countless episodes of series for sport, whereas re-watching single DVDs enables a greater appreciation for the film itself — something Ian’s customers valued in the original covers and box designs lining the shelves. DVDs allow for “control over viewership”, whether it be parental guidance or simply “watch a film once and then get on with your life”, as Ian bluntly phrased it.

His customer base was unsurprisingly older generations, vulnerable at the hands of Netflix’s superfluous database and preferring the DVD’s tangible familiarity. Confirming this point, an elderly lady rushed in, asking for the latest episodes of Broadchurch. Ian greets her by name, saying, “Someone just took it out, but I’ll phone you when it’s back in”, her reply being, “Ja, just pop me a message”. A smile crept onto my lips at the suburban camaraderie between two outdated film lovers.

Like all industries’ wavering ebbs and flows, continually rejuvenating trends are echoed in Ian’s agreement of records coming back into fashion. “I hope to still be going in 5 years”, he said, gazing down as he delicately placed a CD back in its box. “There is still life left in the industry”, he states firmly, “younger generations are kicking back” — perhaps noting the ‘born in the wrong era’ trope I seemed to portray.

Will DVDs defy their technologically inept predecessors? Time and a sliver of hope will tell. Perhaps they will be reintroduced in the niche section of Typo, or encased in an Observatory vintage store, or perhaps hopefuls, like Ian, still left in the industry, will keep the great box-set tradition alive. The Village DVD not only provides an updated version of an old accustomed practice, but also hope that the love of antique film has not yet faded from what we once saw in these dust-lined shelves of an era gone by, so that DVDs may still have their time left in the sun.