To be honest, I'm not really sure what the point is in disseminating this utterly useless factoid, except to note that the Video Home System was irrevocably doomed out of the gate. How could any home entertainment medium thrive when it came from such inauspicious beginnings? Just to clarify, I don't generally consider myself a Luddite. I'm enthralled by the clarity and precision of DVDs and Blu-Rays. But I would be lying if I said I didn't feel guilty every time I slip a Blu-Ray disc into my Playstation 3 and catch sight of the VCR sitting dolefully on the bottom shelf. Perhaps my guilt makes me hyper-sensitive, but I swear the blinking amber light on the face display speaks of a simmering resentment and dejectedness I hope to never experience.
You would doubtless be justified to chalk this essay up to nostalgia. My love of the video tape was inevitable. My father's collection was expansive and occupied countless shelves and drawers. I devoured everything I could find. My need for film was insatiable. But as with most children, I was not able to extricate myself from present circumstance and realize that nothing good can last forever.
About a year ago, when the mass genocide of VHS by the Digital Video Despot (or DVD) became disturbingly imminent, I decided to do some research and rent the last film released on VHS. A final send off, if you will. "A fond farewell to a friend." I imagined the film would be an inexpressibly beautiful patchwork of all the disparate fibers of the human experience, lovingly woven together by one of our most able directors. Imagine my dismay when I learned that the last film released was David Cronenberg's A History of Violence. I went through with the viewing. At the time, it seemed like the only thing to do, but it was a dour ceremony. Instead of some lone, stoic cowboy riding into the sunset, or a downtrodden sports hero who finally prevails against insurmountable odds, or even some avant-garde pastiche saturated with philosophical import, one of my last memories associated with VHS is Viggo Mortensen having rough sex with Maria Bello on a stairway.
In the end, the hard truth I must accept is that there will be no fitting bookend for this understated giant of the home entertainment culture. There is no closure. The memory will fade, unceremoniously, and then falter and flicker like an old television set whose picture slowly recedes into nothingness after decades of thankless use.
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