A couple weeks ago while walking down Westwood Boulevard to avoid studying for finals, it was pretty hard to miss the huge, bright yellow “Store Closing!” sign in the window of Hollywood Video.
As anyone who has been privy to my shopping sprees at Marshalls and outlet malls can tell you, I’ve never been one to shy away from a good sale.
While I was able to nab the first season of “30 Rock” for 40 percent off ““ Alec Baldwin, you are a comedic god among men ““ the end of video rental stores in Westwood Village got me more upset than I would have guessed.
Last time I checked, I’m an overtly cynical college student who is supposed to laugh at a massive, brand-name chain being brought down by the Internet.
Solemn faces seemed much more reasonable an emotion a few years back when the last independent record store in Westwood closed down thanks to the one-two punch of Best Buy bargains and the prevalence of illegal downloading.
However, even the shut down of a Hollywood Video leaves something to be desired in the now-aging process of physically renting movies.
Sure, Netflix is hip and cool and much more convenient. And my mother, who has a much more sophisticated movie palette than her own movie-obsessed daughter, has pointed out time and time again that the selection offered by online sites such as Blockbuster Access and Netflix could never be matched by an actual rental store.
However, what happens when the middleman is cut out of the equation when, for once, the middleman was actually sort of helpful?
On a site such as Netflix, for example, when the customers know exactly what they want to see, it’s as easy as “type search” and “add to queue.”
There’s no lines to wait in to check out the film, no empty shelves and you don’t even have to waste gas. Just pay for Internet service or go on campus and mooch off the UCLA Internet connection for free.
But there’s also no clerk who recognizes you and your particular taste, or even in the less romantic, big business version of my video stores past, there is no experience of stumbling upon a hidden gem when copies of the movie you actually wanted are all checked out.
There also is no chance of those spontaneous nights when the social calendar is looking gloomy and the only thing to liven up a Friday night is renting a horrendously bad flick such as “From Justin to Kelly” or “Pootie Tang.”
The experience of renting movies obviously is not as much of a loss to the film industry as the decreasing business to old-fashioned big-screen movie theaters, which is harder to replicate.
But there is still something to be said for the video store down the street where you get to explore the inner psyche of the clerks you have to face every single week by seeing their favorite films prominently displayed.
Or by the look the cashier gives you when he knows you’ve already rented “Back to the Future” too many times to count.
There may be little room left for movie rental stores to remain such a cultural and social staple in the 21st-century world of iTunes movie rentals and red Netflix envelopes, but hopefully they won’t all disappear from the landscape as quickly as they have disappeared from Westwood.
I haven’t found “Back to the Future” on iTunes yet.
If you actually want to argue that “Pootie Tang” is not a horrendous excuse for a film, e-mail Stanhope at kstanhope@media.ucla.edu.