For those mourning the decline of physical media in our digital age, Cody Kennedy and Tim Rutherford’s “The Last Video Store” offers a nostalgic reprieve. Remnants of the VHS era still survive across North America, such as Scarecrow Video in Seattle, Kim’s Video at the Alamo Drafthouse in Manhattan, and the newly opened We Luv Video in Austin, TX.
During this year’s Fantastic Fest, I discovered another enduring gem in Canada: The Lobby DVD Shop in Edmonton, owned by Kevin Martin. This store, a holdout after the closure of Videomatica in Vancouver, British Columbia, even serves as the setting for the fictional Blaster Video in the film. Martin portrays a slightly nerdier version of himself, working alone one night when a mysterious customer, Nyla (Vanessa Adams), returns her late father’s overdue rentals.
Nyla’s father, an avid movie buff, left behind a collection of obscure titles that mean little to her. Watching cult classics was her father’s passion, not hers. Kevin, however, treasures every film, particularly “Beaver Lake Massacre 4” (a campy homage to “Friday the 13th”). Other films like “Preystalker” and “Warpgate” are clear nods to “Predator” and early ’90s B-movie sci-fi, reminiscent of Full Moon’s heyday. The plot thickens with the appearance of a sinister tape called the “Videonomicon,” essentially the Necronomicon from “Evil Dead” in VHS form. When Kevin and Nyla play it, creatures, killers, and D-list action stars from the tapes are unleashed into our world.
To survive until dawn, Kevin’s encyclopedic movie knowledge becomes their greatest asset, allowing him to fanboy and freak out simultaneously. His familiarity with the Jason Voorhees knockoff from “Beaver Lake Massacre” is so deep it’s as if they could be friends in another life. This enthusiasm is part of the charm in Rutherford and co-writer Joshua Roach’s script. Kevin’s inability to decide between fear and asking for autographs from his favorite characters adds an endearing quality that mirrors the fervent fandom of horror enthusiasts and VHS collectors. Kevin embodies the die-hard fan; Nyla just wants to survive.
Based on their short film of the same name, Kennedy and Rutherford admit that “The Last Video Store” has been a labor of love. The film’s aesthetic mirrors the worn-out, makeshift appearance of Blaster Video’s interiors. Occasionally, the production’s rough edges and lower quality become apparent, which might alienate some viewers who relate more to Nyla’s indifference than to Kevin’s unbridled enthusiasm for movies.
For me, the experience of watching “The Last Video Store” transcended its visual imperfections. Fans of the VHS documentary “Rewind This!” or the horror anthology “Scare Package” will find solace in this ambitiously warm, nostalgic film. There’s also a poignant catharsis in quieter moments when Kevin laments, “I used to get paid to talk about movies with people, but then they stopped coming.”
Canuxploitation parodies often fall flat, but “The Last Video Store” manages to shine despite not landing every self-referential joke. Its heartfelt homage to the so-bad-it’s-good movies of our childhood outshines some of the more tedious moments that come with this kind of sentimentality, a feature quickly becoming a subgenre within a subgenre. If you’re crafting a film celebrating B-movies, it’s only fitting it resembles one too.
