Over the past three decades, I have spent numerous hours at Video Journeys, the eccenric movie site in Silver Lake, Los Angeles.
Thus, the following item in the Hollywood Reporter made me sad: The unique video store is closing, as the latest casualty of the streaming revolution, which allures consumers with its instant gratification, its push recommendations, and zero late fees.
There persists a faction of devotees who find themselves left utterly cold by the Netflixes and Amazons of the world. None are more passionate than the patrons of Video Journeys, a Silver Lake DVD emporium which for 31 years has served as a neighborhood movie salon. Customers were encouraged to linger, discuss and debate cinema, based on the assumption that the road to an overlooked gem is as important as the movie itself.
By the end of July, Video Journeys will shut down. The store, which has occupied a space above a dry cleaners since 1984, began informing its customers several weeks ago that it would be closing shop. A party on July 25 will serve as the final send-off.
Among the luminaries who have passed through the store are Patrick Stewart,Steven Soderbergh and Kyle Chandler, who tried to get a job there shortly after moving to Los Angeles. Keanu Reeves once came in search of a rare copy of William Wyler‘s 1939 adaptation of Wuthering Heights. He found it, rented it–and never brought it back.
But unlike Vidiots in Santa Monica, another neighborhood favorite which avoided closure due to the generosity of Megan Ellison, Video Journeys will not share the same happy ending.
Longtime employees–all seasoned cinema gurus, each with their own area of expertise–socialize with longtime patrons, many of whom have been browsing the aisles since childhood.
“This is where I knew I belonged in L.A., once I came here,” says Kafia Haile, 35, a former military worker who relocated from Washington, D.C., to attend USC’s screenwriting program. “It was like, ‘This is where there are other people like you.'” Haile’s sentiments were echoed by film consultant Thomas Ethan Harris, 49, another Video Journeys die-hard, who, as programmer for the American Cinematheque, relied heavily on its stacks for research. “It’s about sharing,” Harris says. “It’s about a film community.”
Observing from behind the register is Hayley Nahmias, 51, the store’s founder and owner. Nahmias opened Video Journeys back in 1984 with $50,000 in seed money from her parents. Locals began trickling in, many of whom worked below-the-line jobs in Hollywood and possessed an expansive knowledge of film history. “They would say, ‘Bring in cult, bring in foreign, bring in classics,” recalls Nahmias.
She listened, and it wasn’t long before Video Journeys outgrew its 800-square-foot space, eventually expanding at its peak to 5,000 square feet. As business dwindled, that pattern reversed — but the collection, considered by local aficionados to be one of the best in the business, continued to swell. Nahmias estimates there are between 20,000 and 25,000 films in the library, many of which are unavailable to stream or purchase anywhere.
Until now, that is: The entire stock is up for sale, and movie buffs have been taking advantage of a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, making off with shopping bags full of everything from New Wave gems to kung fu classics. They’ve picked clean sections dedicated to filmmakers like John Waters, John Cassavetes and Stanley Kubrick.
“Ever see The Treasure of the Sierra Madre?” asks Paul Body, 67, who worked behind the counter from 1994 to 2010. “Remember how it ended, with the gold blowing back into the mountain? That’s what’s happening. The movies are blowing back into the mountain.”
