Though some might consider video clerks to be complete film nerds, shunning all greater material gain and social advancement just to sit in the dark, many Hollywood clerks insist that there's a slippery slope to remaining the purists they thrive on being paid to be. At Vidiots, which boasts 40,000 titles and markets itself as a film archive, several clerks, who insisted on being quoted anonymously, point out that their store is in large part funded by studio and Hollywood industry largesse via corporate and other accounts. It's not unusual for one client to come in and borrow multiple titles at a time for research purposes, a habit that represents a boon in the nickel-and-dime world of video rentals. "We have a reputation for being really helpful to movie industry people, to all our clientele," says one Vidiot. "It's an informal thing. If we have time and there's no line at the counter, we'll research a movie topic for anyone who asks, free of charge. A client will want to get, like, a list of movies with shipwrecks in them, or scenes with people saying goodbye at train stations, so we'll make one for them."

Many of the Vidiots employees, he adds, have been boxing, shelving and educating themselves about film in the store's trenches for years. "But I've found that often people don't know what they want, and they'll end up trying to get you to do the work for them," he goes on. "That's where you have to draw the line. It's very subtle; you might not even know they're doing it."

Sometimes, though, the pressure to come up with the inspiration for the next "tent pole" title is much more blatant: "One female executive called while she was in a meeting, and she put me on speakerphone so all the other executives could hear me," this same clerk says. "She said, 'So, what should we be remaking now?' I said, 'I'm sorry, I can't help you with that.' She then insisted, 'Come on! I'll send you a basket of Mrs. Beasley's Muffins!'" he chortles, referring to a tasty, if unremunerative, unimpressive and extremely consistent item of studio swag. "I had to tell her I didn't want one."

Nodding in agreement, another clerk cuts straight to the chase: "I'm being paid $8.50 an hour, and they're making 10 times, 100 times more, and they want you to do their homework! It's really insulting."

Of course, the video-store clerk has become a storied figure in modern American cinema, with the rise of ex-clerks like Tarantino and Kevin Smith, and Smith's own homage to the profession in "Clerks." But surprisingly, none of the clerks interviewed say they have any such aspirations to work in the film industry (though Belove would like to branch his store into a distribution company). None read the Hollywood trade papers; most say they just love to watch movies, as well as stimulate talk about them. Adds Belove, a little defensively, "Hey, some people are just good at making deals. There's many kinds of talent out there. Talent has little to do with success."

The clerks are quick to point out, however, that they're not such motion-picture Puritans as to disdain remakes. "Remakes can be great!" says Belove, and the titles come rolling off his tongue: "They've made about four or five versions of 'The Maltese Falcon,' including TV versions. Two versions of 'Possessed,' both of them with Joan Crawford. They remake 'Mutiny on the Bounty' every 20 years! It's just that they don't credit anybody. They should at least thank the original, like [Brian] DePalma did at the beginning of his 'Scarface.'" Insisting that he's not a studio-release sourpuss, Belove adds, "Some incredibly great studio movies were made last year -- 'Adaptation,' 'The Hours' ... I actually think we're in the middle of a real film renaissance right now."

Shimabukuro posits that perhaps a culture only has so many stories to tell. "The story is important, but if you're a good filmmaker, it's your voice that's unique. Think about it: One of the best movies of the last few years was 'You Can Count on Me.' And what was it about? Not much. A woman, her son and her brother."

When asked what solutions they would propose to bolster the film literacy of Hollywood's hit makers, the keepers and catalogers of our film heritage offer such helpful hints as "Give them all unlimited rentals! A gold card from our store!" and "Make them watch all the AFI Top 100 lists! Every single one!" But in a thoughtful moment after the fist-pumping fervor dies down, one of the Vidiots clerks ponders aloud the obvious: "The film world has such a rich history. It makes no sense not to know it if it's your business. And it would actually be enjoyable learning all this history, watching all these movies. I mean, why wouldn't you want to?"

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