rosthor bibyann vanija
Coleman John
There was once a time when people would buy movies twice, once at theaters and a second time for home viewing. Consumers could own their favorite films, and studios made tons of money servicing this demand. But over the past twenty years, physical media has declined to near-extinction as streaming evolved into the predominant mode of home entertainment.
And yet, recently, DVDs have experienced a minor revival, less as an enduring consumer good and more as a symbol of self-expression. If that sounds hokey or illogical, it's because it is. People (myself included) have chosen to forego convenience and economic practicality in order to fulfill an emotional desire, and so far, I am loving it.
Fifty years ago, you couldn't watch movies at home (apart from whatever played on cable television). Let's say you actively wanted to see Citizen Kane or take in Alfred Hitchcock's entire filmography; well, you couldn't. You'd accept the ephemeral nature of movie consumption and think, "I guess I may never see my favorite film again; what a bummer."
The late 1990s brought DVDs, which offered higher video quality and interactive features. Discs swiftly overtook videotape as the go-to format for home entertainment, with DVD sales peaking at $16 billion in 2005.
Physical media was a cash cow for movie studios, who could sell the same film to the same consumer multiple times. Let's say you loved The Lion King in a world before streaming, and you also wanted your children to be able to watch The Lion King. You may be giving Disney money for a movie ticket, a VHS purchase, a DVD purchase, and a Blu-ray purchase. That's at least $50 of Lion King spending.
Consumers didn't have to settle for video rental stores or cable re-runs of Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives; consumers could watch something remarkable whenever they pleased. Thus began the era of Peak TV, as numerous streaming platforms entered the market while content production and consumption increased exponentially.
Suddenly, the idea of owning your favorite films became impractical. Let's say I want to buy every movie from my Letterboxd list of 100 all-time favorites: I can buy these titles in physical format, or I can rent and stream them whenever I want. Assuming I watch each of these films two more times before I die, it will cost me significantly more to build a DVD collection while also taking up a non-trivial amount of space in my apartment.
The discontinuation of Best Buy and Netflix's DVD programs was broadly seen as a death knell for physical media. Slate lamented, "The Death of Netflix DVD Marks the Loss of Something Even Bigger," and The Hollywood reporter wrote a eulogy for the era of physical media. And just like that, DVDs were an anachronism, a tool rendered wholly unfashionable by technological progress, much like 8-tracks, BlackBerrys, floppy disks, and pagers.
The past three years have been tough for movie enthusiasts. Moviegoing suffered greatly during the pandemic and has been slow to recover. Stories previously produced for the big screen are more likely to be adapted into eight-episode series. Content is unlimited, yet these cultural products have no physical manifestation, floating around within the streaming ether. In short, it's been a weird time for the movies.
In response, cinephiles have flocked to the internet and looked to the past. Letterboxd, a social network for cinema nerds, offered film lovers a digital community for sharing and cataloging works, delivering an at-home substitute for the social experience of moviegoing. At the same time, many film nerds seemingly rejected the ubiquity and amorphousness of streaming, favoring the tangible ownership of DVD collecting.
In recent years, online communities centered on physical media have experienced substantial membership growth, with Reddit groups dedicated to DVD ownership gaining hundreds of thousands of new members.
The collapse of DVD sales channels has rendered physical media a collector's pursuit. Online searches featuring "DVD for Sale" spiked in mid-October after Best Buy and Netflix disowned their physical media operations, as purchasers began scouring the internet for other markets.
eBay's DVD listings constitute a bizarre market bifurcated into two distinctive product offerings. One listing type features sellers indiscriminately offloading boxfuls of Blu-rays for less than $2 a disc.
On the other end of the spectrum is an upscale market for collectors interested in high-quality cases (slipcovers, beautiful artwork, steel casing, etc.) of movies mastered in 4k, like this copy of The Social Network, which I really want to buy.
Herein lies the perpetual dilemma of this absurd hobby. On the one hand, I want to own this aesthetically-pleasing physical representation of my all-time favorite movie. On the other hand, I could rent this film 18 times if I didn't buy this DVD. Should I indulge myself or be a rational actor? And why am I doing this in the first place?
The other week, I found a Blu-Ray of Inception for $2.99 at a record store. "What a steal!" I thought. After completing my purchase, I nearly ran out of the shop, fearing the cashier would realize some sort of pricing error.
Standing outside the record store, holding my prize, I couldn't help but rejoice. "What idiots would price this so low," I snickered to myself. I was smitten. And then, standing there, holding a relic of a dying technology, I realized that it was I who may have been the idiot. $2.99 was a fair price for something most people consider junk. It was at this point that I got a bit sad.
At times, I feel as though I'm an eight-year-old collecting Pokmon cards, questing for a holographic Charizard. Forming an emotional attachment to a piece of cardboard or DVD case is a bizarre thing, but is it wrong? I don't think so. Perhaps it's best to suspend my cynicism, to stop quantifying everything ad nauseam, and simply enjoy the thrill of caring about something.
I'm right there with you. It feels great. I've been buying used CDs and Blu-rays of music and movies I love so I can OWN them again. Nostalgic. Both Blu-rays and CDs also provide really great quality. And some movies and music ARE disappearing from streaming services. It feels great to own the physical items. It's fun to look at the cases.
Fifty years ago, you couldn't watch movies at home (apart from whatever played on cable television). Let's say you actively wanted to see Citizen Kane or take in Alfred Hitchcock's entire filmography; well, you couldn't. You'd accept the ephemeral nature of movie consumption and think, \\\"I guess I may never see my favorite film again; what a bummer.\\\"
To collect DVDs is to embark upon a path of financial inconvenience. The economic reality is that streaming is cheaper, provides greater selection, and offers minimal friction\u2014it is the superior format for most consumers.
The discontinuation of Best Buy and Netflix's DVD programs was broadly seen as a death knell for physical media. Slate lamented, \\\"The Death of Netflix DVD Marks the Loss of Something Even Bigger,\\\" and The Hollywood reporter wrote a eulogy for the era of physical media. And just like that, DVDs were an anachronism, a tool rendered wholly unfashionable by technological progress, much like 8-tracks, BlackBerrys, floppy disks, and pagers.
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