Site Presented By
Monday, Nov 9, 2009
As Hollywood scours film and TV history for that next "Charlie's Angels" or "S.W.A.T.," studios have begun to lavish attention on an underappreciated expert: The video-store clerk.
Aug 19, 2003 | The old video-store saw goes like this: A Paramount studio executive walks into a video store and asks the clerk for a copy of the old movie classic "Sunset Boulevard." As the clerk hands him the tape, he tries to make chitchat with the executive: "Gosh, you must be a Gloria Swanson fan."
The executive snaps, "Who's Gloria Swanson?"
A little stunned, the clerk says, "Gloria Swanson! Didn't she save your studio once upon a time?"
The executive responds mordantly, "I'm not paid to know who Gloria Swanson is. I'm paid to know who Eddie Murphy is."
Lon Shimabukuro rolls his eyes gleefully as he tells the story. He swears it occurred about 15 years ago in the independent video store that he co-manages, the Beverly Videocenter, a small but impressive collection of titles located in an Olympic Boulevard mini-mall in Beverly Hills, a stone's throw from Hollywood's talent agencies. It's a story that makes other video-store clerks chuckle in bittersweet solidarity, for it underscores a long-held belief among their Los Angeles clerking brethren: The lowly, self-taught independent video-store clerk is often incredibly film-savvy, and the studio executives who frequent their stores are often more or less film-illiterate.
But many clerks say that this culture clash has been in evidence with a bit more gusto of late. Variety reported from L.A.'s recent Book Expo on how studios' interest in new literature as source material has declined. Said one top literary agent, "They just want something they can put on a one-sheet or in a tag line, they want instant gratification," suggesting the execs are shunning more complex, un-Harry Potter-like fare. Instead, studios have been increasingly keen on video games and recycled TV shows, material that will draw in the 18-32 crowd for a surefire winning opening weekend.
Then, of course, there's the big-budget remake -- ostensibly tried-and-true fare for baby boom and post-boomer generations. Trying to capture their hearts yet again, Hollywood has recently remade "The Thomas Crown Affair," "Get Carter," "The Italian Job," "Willard" and "Planet of the Apes," and has in the pipeline rehashes of "The Stepford Wives," "Sleuth," "Shall We Dance?" (from the Japanese original), "Fun With Dick & Jane" and "The Producers."
And so, according to video-store clerks, they're being leaned on more and more by younger and less film-literate producers, development executives and even writers to deliver inspiration for the next remake, the next cash cow, the next "Charlie's Angels." "I can't tell you how often it happens," says Shimabukuro. "Some uninspired film industry person will run in here and pressure me with questions like, 'What should we remake this year?' or 'What are people renting?' or even 'What other movies do you have with big, fat Greeks in them?' They really don't know their stuff."
He points to a small article taped to the checkout counter, titled "We're Not in Chinatown Anymore." "Look at this!" he says. It's from the Boston Globe earlier this year, and it lists the top 10 "new classics," as cited by today's film school students. They include such au courant gems as "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas," "The Matrix," "Memento," "The Big Lebowski," "Amélie" and "Fight Club." The oldest movie on the list is "The Godfather," made in 1972.
When asked what film is most recommended but least appreciated by the industry types who frequent his store, Shimabukuro says without hesitation, "'Casablanca.' They think it's too full of clichés. And 'Citizen Kane.' It's too complicated for them. They think the flash-back-flash-forward narrative was invented with 'Pulp Fiction'" -- the top-rated flick in the aforementioned film students' top 10.
Orson Welles' mold-breaking 1941 black-and-white classic may be the bugaboo of the film unenlightened: One clerk at Vidiots, Santa Monica's indie Mecca for film rentals, says: "I remember once getting a call from a studio exec who asked, 'Do you have "Citizen Kane"?' I said, 'Sure we do.' He insisted, 'But do you have the one with Orson Welles?'"
"Here's a classic example," muses Hadrian Belove, film sage and part owner of Cinefile, the popular West L.A. collection of hard-to-find titles. "A woman came in recently, claiming to have a deal of some sort with DreamWorks. She said she 'helped' get the rights to the original Japanese movie that became 'The Ring,' and she wanted our advice. She basically roped one of our $9-an-hour clerks into meeting with her three times a week for a measly $75 to educate her on all the 'good' and 'bad' Japanese titles out there so that she could pitch more remake-able properties to the studio. I told him to either ask for more money or to get out. Clerks don't really value the knowledge they have. They need to toughen up."
As Belove explains, he's developed a policy: "As a rule, we try not to be that helpful," he chuckled. "We have this running gag here that if someone comes in asking for remake ideas, we tell them they've just got to get their hands on the rights to 'Sky Riders,' made in 1976." He cocks his eyebrow sardonically: "You've seen it, right? The James Coburn skydiving movie?"
