Rotterdam Review: Alex Ross Perry's Videoheaven Offers a Fast-Paced Journey Through the Golden Era of the Video Rental Store

      In Videoheaven, Blockbuster––echoing Thom Andersen––takes center stage as itself. Deep into a phase of pop-cultural scholarship sparked by his previous feature Pavements, Alex Ross Perry has crafted an engaging and generous three-hour essay film/documentary focused solely on video rental stores, those legendary and most amiable establishments. This charmingly niche topic, much like the best examples of such physical stores, is richly layered: drawing inspiration from media studies scholar Daniel Herbert’s renowned text Videoland: Movie Culture at the American Video Store, Videoheaven stands as the definitive analysis of its subject to date, delivering substantial information and detailed examination through a combination of film and TV clips, occasional archive material, and narration by Maya Hawke (who features in some of the former alongside her father). Perry, born in 1984 and growing up in the early 2000s, asserts that this was his generation and this was significant. Yes, it involved magnetic tape and bulky boxes, but through a nostalgic lens, they shimmer with a golden hue.

      Excitement leading up to the premiere likened Videoheaven to Perry’s response to Thom Andersen’s influential Los Angeles Plays Itself, whose effect on film appreciation and urban psychogeography continues to resonate. For me, it didn’t quite achieve that level (a lofty expectation either way!), as it doesn’t flip your perspective on the topic or encourage a reevaluation of long-held beliefs––even Pavement underwent this scrutiny in Pavements. Nonetheless, the film remains clear, sophisticated, and entertaining, with a time demand that feels worthwhile––the 180 minutes, honed over a decade with editor Clyde Folley, flow smoothly. It avoids redundancy in its arguments, though the diverse range sometimes contradicts itself; this also underscores the personal (yet never self-indulgent) narration by Perry––a coherent stream of consciousness from a highly articulate thinker. Don’t intricate and rapidly unwinding thoughts occasionally become tangled?

      Featuring familiar and essential media excerpts (Body Double, Clerks, The Watermelon Woman), as well as more unexpected selections (significant segments from Seinfeld and Friends), and the more unconventional yet insightful (lesser-known indie films from the noughties, Troma movies, I Am Legend), Perry constructs a cultural petri dish of societal norms and compulsive behaviors, all observed through expansive, well-lit shots of shelves, sticky counters, and cardboard displays. Hopeful first dates, snarky clerks, and awkward porn shoppers populate this space. They are all North American, a meticulous observation by Perry regarding the fictional representations of these environments: with the emergence of home video players and cassettes in the '80s as new symbols of American consumerism, it’s no surprise they were heavily featured (and perhaps even propagandized) in mainstream media.

      The film also addresses the fate of cinema exhibition (though not in direct relation to reviews of contemporary films) in juxtaposition to its new challengers––often the highlight of suburban strip malls or, for local independent stores, city streets––which provided entertainment that was easier to consume, rewind, and rewatch. Blockbuster’s monopolistic, censorship-driven tactics are well-documented in critiques of this cultural model from the '90s, though Perry wisely refrains from overly vilifying this cliché target. Often, portrayals within these mainstream media texts fail to reflect the genuine community spaces and marketplaces they could be. Whether it’s adults (like Kate Winslet in The Holiday or Homer Simpson) depicted as childishly avoiding adult themes in their choices; the clerks (essentially underpaid movie enthusiasts) who have a true passion for their work yet are looked down upon; or the indie store incorrectly standing in for a Blockbuster due to trademark issues––for Perry, these films miss accurately depicting this crucial aspect of their value chain. It may not be a case of a city’s essential urban geography and minority culture being erased, as it was for Andersen, but the continuity in perspectives is evident.

      Ultimately, all this will fade into a void, an eerie space of absence. VHS triumphed over Betamax but couldn’t conquer DVD, whose prominence in the 2000s ended with them shifting from prized possessions to landfill waste. Now, all content resides in the Cloud, which may have allowed film culture to rekindle its appreciation for 35mm and large-format projection, whose high resolution eludes quantification in pixel lines. Videoheaven encapsulates a world of choice and enhanced social interaction that once represented the forefront of modernity and is now relegated to history; such is life. However, as the film’s impactful final line underscores, it is crucial to remember it––not because the video “era” was exceptional but because it constituted a significant chapter in American life.

      Videoheaven premiered at the 2025 International Film Festival Rotterdam.

      Grade: B+