I’ve made no secret in my writing on SciFiHistory.Net that – for a brief time in the late 1980’s I worked in video rental and retail.
For movie fans, the period was a glorious time. As more and more homes were being outfitted with some pretty spectacular home viewing packages, and every Tuesday consumers relied on both the local electronic superstore and the nearest video rental giant to have their shelves restocked with only the latest and (snicker snicker) greatest assortment of new releases. As I’ve often opined, this monumental consumer demand had U.S. domestic distributors maximizing their overseas contacts for anything good, bad, or ugly in films big and small added to their catalogues; this ensured that the catalogue of viewing possibilities offered up just about anything that had ever been captured before a camera was eventually available for consumption. Buyers and renters were hungry beyond belief; and they ate heartily thanks mostly to the working staff of the corner video store.
Of course, this didn’t meant that every meal was a delicacy.
Because a vast array of these new releases were produced quickly by storytellers and manufacturers seeking to capitalize on this weekly feeding frenzy, a great deal of schlock – some funny, some bloody, some just plain weird – wound up recorded on ¾ inch magnetized tape found its way into random visual snacking. The rental prices were incredibly affordable – especially when compared to heading out to the cineplexes – so customers were exceptionally patient with the films, giving the talent plenty of time to produce even a single reason to keep watching. Besides, it was entertainment at the cost of a couple of bucks, so no one really complained if there were a unmitigated stinker in the bunch as the family would just laugh it all off.
While there have been a great handful of documentaries looking back on this fateful time in film history, I’ve not seen something like The Last Video Store (2023) before, and I’m sure this is what its makers intended. Written by Joshua Roach and Tim Rutherford, the smart and funny script posits that – somewhere out there – a demon taking the shape of an otherwise harmless VHS tape – the Videonomicon – stakes out such fertile territory of the remaining video renters for the purpose of infecting these filmed experiences and transposing their heroes, villains, and demons into the real world. If such dark magic existed, then unsuspecting viewers might find themselves fighting for their lives against some of the screen’s vilest low-budget creations, all at the cost of a single rental fee.
As much homage as it is satire to those days of old, The Last Video Store might just be the most fun I’ve had with a flick all damn year.
Yes. It’s that tempting.
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters. If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment. If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
For movie fans, the period was a glorious time. As more and more homes were being outfitted with some pretty spectacular home viewing packages, and every Tuesday consumers relied on both the local electronic superstore and the nearest video rental giant to have their shelves restocked with only the latest and (snicker snicker) greatest assortment of new releases. As I’ve often opined, this monumental consumer demand had U.S. domestic distributors maximizing their overseas contacts for anything good, bad, or ugly in films big and small added to their catalogues; this ensured that the catalogue of viewing possibilities offered up just about anything that had ever been captured before a camera was eventually available for consumption. Buyers and renters were hungry beyond belief; and they ate heartily thanks mostly to the working staff of the corner video store.
Of course, this didn’t meant that every meal was a delicacy.
Because a vast array of these new releases were produced quickly by storytellers and manufacturers seeking to capitalize on this weekly feeding frenzy, a great deal of schlock – some funny, some bloody, some just plain weird – wound up recorded on ¾ inch magnetized tape found its way into random visual snacking. The rental prices were incredibly affordable – especially when compared to heading out to the cineplexes – so customers were exceptionally patient with the films, giving the talent plenty of time to produce even a single reason to keep watching. Besides, it was entertainment at the cost of a couple of bucks, so no one really complained if there were a unmitigated stinker in the bunch as the family would just laugh it all off.
While there have been a great handful of documentaries looking back on this fateful time in film history, I’ve not seen something like The Last Video Store (2023) before, and I’m sure this is what its makers intended. Written by Joshua Roach and Tim Rutherford, the smart and funny script posits that – somewhere out there – a demon taking the shape of an otherwise harmless VHS tape – the Videonomicon – stakes out such fertile territory of the remaining video renters for the purpose of infecting these filmed experiences and transposing their heroes, villains, and demons into the real world. If such dark magic existed, then unsuspecting viewers might find themselves fighting for their lives against some of the screen’s vilest low-budget creations, all at the cost of a single rental fee.
As much homage as it is satire to those days of old, The Last Video Store might just be the most fun I’ve had with a flick all damn year.
Yes. It’s that tempting.
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters. If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment. If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“A young woman who is unknowingly in possession of a legendary ‘cursed tape’ takes a collection of old video tapes to a video store. She and the store owner reawake its curse, which leads to the release of a raft of cinematic villains.”
To appreciate what unbridled joy a picture like The Last Video Store is, it helps to understand a bit of what made the era of home video so captivating.
Back in the days of video rental, the big studio Hollywood output honestly sometimes stood shoulder-to-shoulder beside the lowest rung of the ladder production on the shelves of the corner Blockbuster. Mind you, these savvy distributors knew as much; so, the purveyors of some of the least irredeemable garbage learned early in the process to prepare their marketing slicks and VHS packages to resemble that massively budgeted competition. In such an environment, most consumers – or, at least, enough – couldn’t tell a Steven Spielberg production from a Charles Band magnum opus; and if the packages looked similar enough, didn’t it stand to reason that the films might anyway? Such confusion helped a good number of smaller releases find new life when they were transferred onto VHS.
Furthermore, the success of home rental and retail was some might say owed precisely to the emergence of these smaller, unheard-of titles being able to finally compete mano-a-mano in the big leagues. If dad went to the store to rent a copy of, say, Friday The 13th for the kiddos and the tape was unavailable, then he’d be forced to come home with an alternative; for better or worse, this was more often than not something a fellow customer or an available clerk recommended to him that most resembled Friday The 13th in respectable kill ratios, narrative structure, or crowd appeal. Phenomenologically, such endless possibilities made hits out of an indie flick like Sam Raimi’s The Evil Dead (1981) as well as turned box office duds like Tremors (1990) into one of the most lucrative franchises in Horror/Comedy. For the record, both of these franchises have enjoyed sequels, reboots, and even spinoff TV shows, and that’s demonstrative of just how powerful the home video craze was. It was a juggernaut – a veritable beast of its own creation.
Alas, nothing lasts forever, and that’s precisely where The Last Video Store picks up the action.
Having come home to find her father deceased, Nyla (played by Yaayaa Adams) accepts the responsibility of returning the man’s delinquent video rentals to the store. Kevin (played by Kevin Martin) is the outlet’s only remaining employee, so much so that it’s suggested he pretty much lives in the back room. Seeing the tapes, he instinctively knows they’re returns from his favorite (and only, it would seem, customer); and – wanting a bit of distraction from his lowly existence – he tries to engage Nyla in the usual chatter about films, her father, and even more films. Lo and behold, Nyla has a VHS in her possession that she believes came from the store but didn’t; and before the night is over the two will be joined in an adventure that bridges time, space, and reality in a way that only happens in the movies.
“A young woman who is unknowingly in possession of a legendary ‘cursed tape’ takes a collection of old video tapes to a video store. She and the store owner reawake its curse, which leads to the release of a raft of cinematic villains.”
To appreciate what unbridled joy a picture like The Last Video Store is, it helps to understand a bit of what made the era of home video so captivating.
Back in the days of video rental, the big studio Hollywood output honestly sometimes stood shoulder-to-shoulder beside the lowest rung of the ladder production on the shelves of the corner Blockbuster. Mind you, these savvy distributors knew as much; so, the purveyors of some of the least irredeemable garbage learned early in the process to prepare their marketing slicks and VHS packages to resemble that massively budgeted competition. In such an environment, most consumers – or, at least, enough – couldn’t tell a Steven Spielberg production from a Charles Band magnum opus; and if the packages looked similar enough, didn’t it stand to reason that the films might anyway? Such confusion helped a good number of smaller releases find new life when they were transferred onto VHS.
Furthermore, the success of home rental and retail was some might say owed precisely to the emergence of these smaller, unheard-of titles being able to finally compete mano-a-mano in the big leagues. If dad went to the store to rent a copy of, say, Friday The 13th for the kiddos and the tape was unavailable, then he’d be forced to come home with an alternative; for better or worse, this was more often than not something a fellow customer or an available clerk recommended to him that most resembled Friday The 13th in respectable kill ratios, narrative structure, or crowd appeal. Phenomenologically, such endless possibilities made hits out of an indie flick like Sam Raimi’s The Evil Dead (1981) as well as turned box office duds like Tremors (1990) into one of the most lucrative franchises in Horror/Comedy. For the record, both of these franchises have enjoyed sequels, reboots, and even spinoff TV shows, and that’s demonstrative of just how powerful the home video craze was. It was a juggernaut – a veritable beast of its own creation.
Alas, nothing lasts forever, and that’s precisely where The Last Video Store picks up the action.
Having come home to find her father deceased, Nyla (played by Yaayaa Adams) accepts the responsibility of returning the man’s delinquent video rentals to the store. Kevin (played by Kevin Martin) is the outlet’s only remaining employee, so much so that it’s suggested he pretty much lives in the back room. Seeing the tapes, he instinctively knows they’re returns from his favorite (and only, it would seem, customer); and – wanting a bit of distraction from his lowly existence – he tries to engage Nyla in the usual chatter about films, her father, and even more films. Lo and behold, Nyla has a VHS in her possession that she believes came from the store but didn’t; and before the night is over the two will be joined in an adventure that bridges time, space, and reality in a way that only happens in the movies.
As for the tape?
Why, it’s called the Videonomicon – a clever play on words referencing Evil Dead’s ‘Necronomicon,’ the Book of the Dead. It possesses the singular ability to bring to life anything shown on tape, be it a creature, a demon, a killer, a fighter for justice, and much, much more. As the cursed tape works its devil magic, Nyla and Kevin will join forces – along with a creation or two pulled from the cinematic ether – in a bid to save the world from this video evil.
This is the kind of zany lunacy that can only be made by folks who both lived through and survived this home video age that I spoke of above; and they wanted to both give those days a healthy send-up along with a bit of an homage. The Last Video Store clearly is crafted to be a bit tongue-in-cheek at times, but all of its players embrace the madness in such a way that – like many of those goofy and/or gory releases of yesteryear – you can’t help but keep watching. Every facet of the video revolution gets lampooned, from the infant days of fledgling CGI, to the massive preponderance of violent slasher films, up to the low-budget oft-times karate infused action thrillers that were made on the cheap and released without pity. It’s all in here – all amped up with a bit of hysterical practical effects – and it’s a nonstop delight for the run of its bold 100 minutes.
The staging is inspired, setting all of the action almost entirely within the curious confines of the back alley rental space in the basement of some non-descript building. The shelves are crammed with titles of the kind of flicks that don’t sound quite mainstream but have that promise of unexpected action and intrigue. The walls are splashed with posters for many of the feature films, all of the reminiscent of the days when colorful images crept beneath overlaid five-inch-high letters that relied on taglines aplenty to seduce each and every patron. It’s all a bit cramped and maybe slightly uncomfortable, but the tone is perfect for the dire straits our duo find themselves at the end of the world or trapped between this and that (whichever is your preference). It isn’t often that a small unheard-of flick hits so many of the pitch perfect tones, but Store is as much a visual as it is a narrative delight.
Adams and Martin are an incongruous pair, the kind whose union wasn’t as meant in Heaven as it was by the linked circumstances. While the lady is particularly impressive by grounding the story in reality (she’s the Everyman who knows nothing about the home video rental business much less the history of film itself), Martin bobs and weaves between some deadpan, cineaste intellectualism and socially reserved manic intensity the way only the best comic players can accomplish. They’re a subversive incarnation of Abbott & Costello or Laurel & Hardy (for those of you who are as long in the tooth as I am) with just a hint of the contemporary Pegg & Frost or Key & Peele. Audiences delight in seeing them play off one another, and their chemistry elevates every moment crafted for their individual or shared strengths. It’s the kind of match-up that needs to be seen to be fully appreciated, and I do so much hope as many folks as humanly possible get a chance to see their work here.
Lastly, the feature plays on nostalgia a good deal of the time to make both the situation and the theatrical magic work. Though I could nitpick some kinda/sorta lazy swipes at toxic masculinity (Josh Lenner stars as a third-rate action star wannabe who gets pulled into our world by the Videonomicon, and his comeuppance is that today’s reality has dubbed his heroics as outdated and unnecessary histrionics), it’s still clear that all of this is meant to be taken in stride as it is in jest. For that reason, I’ll give his dubious ‘Viper’ character a pass and, instead, enjoy the wild ride to its big, bloody finish.
Why, it’s called the Videonomicon – a clever play on words referencing Evil Dead’s ‘Necronomicon,’ the Book of the Dead. It possesses the singular ability to bring to life anything shown on tape, be it a creature, a demon, a killer, a fighter for justice, and much, much more. As the cursed tape works its devil magic, Nyla and Kevin will join forces – along with a creation or two pulled from the cinematic ether – in a bid to save the world from this video evil.
This is the kind of zany lunacy that can only be made by folks who both lived through and survived this home video age that I spoke of above; and they wanted to both give those days a healthy send-up along with a bit of an homage. The Last Video Store clearly is crafted to be a bit tongue-in-cheek at times, but all of its players embrace the madness in such a way that – like many of those goofy and/or gory releases of yesteryear – you can’t help but keep watching. Every facet of the video revolution gets lampooned, from the infant days of fledgling CGI, to the massive preponderance of violent slasher films, up to the low-budget oft-times karate infused action thrillers that were made on the cheap and released without pity. It’s all in here – all amped up with a bit of hysterical practical effects – and it’s a nonstop delight for the run of its bold 100 minutes.
The staging is inspired, setting all of the action almost entirely within the curious confines of the back alley rental space in the basement of some non-descript building. The shelves are crammed with titles of the kind of flicks that don’t sound quite mainstream but have that promise of unexpected action and intrigue. The walls are splashed with posters for many of the feature films, all of the reminiscent of the days when colorful images crept beneath overlaid five-inch-high letters that relied on taglines aplenty to seduce each and every patron. It’s all a bit cramped and maybe slightly uncomfortable, but the tone is perfect for the dire straits our duo find themselves at the end of the world or trapped between this and that (whichever is your preference). It isn’t often that a small unheard-of flick hits so many of the pitch perfect tones, but Store is as much a visual as it is a narrative delight.
Adams and Martin are an incongruous pair, the kind whose union wasn’t as meant in Heaven as it was by the linked circumstances. While the lady is particularly impressive by grounding the story in reality (she’s the Everyman who knows nothing about the home video rental business much less the history of film itself), Martin bobs and weaves between some deadpan, cineaste intellectualism and socially reserved manic intensity the way only the best comic players can accomplish. They’re a subversive incarnation of Abbott & Costello or Laurel & Hardy (for those of you who are as long in the tooth as I am) with just a hint of the contemporary Pegg & Frost or Key & Peele. Audiences delight in seeing them play off one another, and their chemistry elevates every moment crafted for their individual or shared strengths. It’s the kind of match-up that needs to be seen to be fully appreciated, and I do so much hope as many folks as humanly possible get a chance to see their work here.
Lastly, the feature plays on nostalgia a good deal of the time to make both the situation and the theatrical magic work. Though I could nitpick some kinda/sorta lazy swipes at toxic masculinity (Josh Lenner stars as a third-rate action star wannabe who gets pulled into our world by the Videonomicon, and his comeuppance is that today’s reality has dubbed his heroics as outdated and unnecessary histrionics), it’s still clear that all of this is meant to be taken in stride as it is in jest. For that reason, I’ll give his dubious ‘Viper’ character a pass and, instead, enjoy the wild ride to its big, bloody finish.
The Last Video Store (2023) was produced by NJC Picture Company, Genco Pictures, and The Last Video Store. DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the fine folks at Arrow Films. As for the technical specifications? While I’m no trained video expert, I found the provided sights-and-sounds to be exceptional: there are some post-production tricks that might suggest – to the uninitiated – some poor film stock, but it’s nothing for regular audiences to fret over. Lastly, if you’re looking for special features? For clarity’s sake, I’m doing the ol’ copy-and-paste from Arrow’s press release previously published on Blu-ray.com:
Lastly, I would caution readers that as I’m only provided an industry copy of the disc itself, I cannot speak to the efficacy of the physical inserts offered in this set. You’ll have to consider those items “buyer beware.”
- High Definition presentation
- Original DTS HD M5.1 audio
- Optional English subtitles for the deaf and hard of hearing
- New audio commentary by film critics Matt Donato & Meagan Navarro
- The Videonomicon Unleashed, a new visual essay by film critic Heather Wixson co-author of In Search of Darkness
- Nostalgia Fuel, a new visual essay by film critic Martyn Pedlar
- 'Twas the Night of the Tree Beast, a 2012 short by Cody Kennedy & Tim Rutherford
- M is For Magnetic Tape, a 2013 short film Cody Kennedy & Tim Rutherford
- The Last Video Store 2013, the original short from which the feature grew
- The Video Store Commercial, a 2019 short film by Cody Kennedy & Tim Rutherford
- Clips from the first attempted feature version
- Behind the Scenes
- 3 previs shorts
- Trailer
- Image Gallery
- Illustrated collector's booklet featuring new writing by film critics Anton Bitel and Alexandra West
- Reversible sleeve featuring newly commissioned artwork by John Pearson
- Double-sided fold-out poster featuring newly commissioned artwork by John Pearson
Lastly, I would caution readers that as I’m only provided an industry copy of the disc itself, I cannot speak to the efficacy of the physical inserts offered in this set. You’ll have to consider those items “buyer beware.”
Highest Recommended Possible.
Without a doubt, The Last Video Store (2023) is the kind of project that both conceived and made by people who love film for people who love film … and it shows. While some might suggest that it’s intended chiefly for audiences who love ‘second rate features,’ I think that implies that there are flicks out there undeserving of so much love, appreciation, and attention. I’ll concede that Store might lack the labyrinthian plot and marquee pedigree that the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences might have in mind come awards season, but that’s only because those stuffed shirts never ventured outside of Hollywood into the breadbox of America where regular folks long ago learned to find diamonds in the rough in the least likely places.
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Arrow Films provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray copy of The Last Video Store (2023) by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
-- EZ
Without a doubt, The Last Video Store (2023) is the kind of project that both conceived and made by people who love film for people who love film … and it shows. While some might suggest that it’s intended chiefly for audiences who love ‘second rate features,’ I think that implies that there are flicks out there undeserving of so much love, appreciation, and attention. I’ll concede that Store might lack the labyrinthian plot and marquee pedigree that the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences might have in mind come awards season, but that’s only because those stuffed shirts never ventured outside of Hollywood into the breadbox of America where regular folks long ago learned to find diamonds in the rough in the least likely places.
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Arrow Films provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray copy of The Last Video Store (2023) by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
-- EZ
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