video killed the radio star

There’s been a big push this year, I’ve noticed, towards analogue life. Partly inspired by that trend, and partly by unearthing an old favourite while container diving, I ordered myself a dvd player on Amazon that would plug into my laptop. It was honestly such a refreshing experience, opening a case, hitting play and letting the story unwind, without bouncing around fifty different streamers and sifting through a million different things I wasn’t interested in first. Then came the reels, talking about giving children a 90s childhood, and giving ourselves a 90s motherhood. My little creative cogs got ticking.

Every now and then, the kids will crack out the remember-whens. Often it’s at my expense – remember when mum hit that pole? Remember when mum fell off her mountain bike? Remember when mum tried to tell us she had hay fever but it was actually covid? But it’s also just as likely to be little moments that float to the top of the memory bank. Remember mum, when dad went away and you said you were going to get sausages for tea after swimming, and its was actually pizza? Ohhhh speaking of pizza, remember when there was that machine outside it and we could pick our own movies? These zoomers and alphas, spoilt for choice with an embarrassing amount of streaming services logged in on the kids laptop, are 300% obsessed with the memory of “being able to pick their own movie”.

It made me a bit sad, that they would never experience the fun of going to the video shop of a Friday night. Our local closed so long ago, I don’t think even Bear would remember our little excursions to pop in and grab a different Thomas DVD, or some Baby Einstein. Once, in the VHS days, we had two video shops in town, both with oddly specific memories, in only the way children remember things. Over time, they closed, new shops opened, moved, closed, reopened. There was the excitement of Eagle Boys opening next door, the fun of popping in, ordering pizza, then arguing over video choices with one eye on the clock. Overpriced lollies. Weekly rental deals. Get it first time, or get it free. And then we blinked and they disappeared faster than Netflix will cancel a new show on a cliffhanger (yes, I’m still salty we never found out what was in the safe in Territory).

I can’t make a video shop magically appear, though, to give them that unique joyful experience…or can I?

Friday nights these days, are normally kid free, with all three at-home kiddos at youth group. Last week, though, they had a diocesan day camp on the Saturday, so youth group was cancelled on Friday night. It would be the perfect chance to put my plan into action, so I got to work. While at the library for a meeting last weekend, I grabbed a pile of DVDs to borrow – some I thought the kids might like, some I knew were too young for them, some I thought my husband might like. On the back deck was a tall and skinny box, leftover from a shelf Boy2 had bought himself to store his motorbike helmets. It would be the perfect shape to turn into shelves, and all it took was an X-acto knife and a hot glue gun, and it indeed worked a treat.

With the basics in place, I jumped online and started googling. I found a cute “be kind rewind” graphic, and once I’d printed it as a poster for the “shop”, I popped it into canva to grab the colours so ensure consistent branding for Barefoot Video. A price sign, labels for the shelves, a sign for the return box (pilfered from the recycling, it was originally for Boy2’s post-fatigue supplements but also was the perfect size for DVDs), pricing for the snack bar. The smalls noticed some treats come through in the groceries, but very trustingly, fell for my “oh those are for the school holidays” line. I chose some old-school video shop favourites – lolly gobble bliss bombs (my favourite treat in the 90s), minutes, and party mix (retro version, of course). Blu-tak for the signs, command hooks for the lollies, and I was ready to open.

Beetle spotted my install first, while his siblings were at work, and raced off to his bedroom to count his coins. The minties would be his, he declared, and he tallied up all the cash he had on hand, while contemplating if he could swing the value deal as well. What he didn’t know, was that his 2026 money doesn’t work in my 1996 video shop.

Instead, at movie time, I told them to put their phones on the table, and handed them $10 of Monopoly money. “You need to pick a DVD, and you can get a treat as well,” I instructed. “A movie each?” “No. It’s the 90s. Learn to share like the rest of us.” And then I set them loose in the “video shop”, and did my best impression of a bored attendant sick of dealing with teeny boppers and listening to Celine Dion on repeat over the in-store music system. I was impressed with the authenticity they brought to their roles also – the sibling bickering over the movie choice, and the lolly choice, the negotiation of pushing the limits of what “mum waiting in the car” meant by “get a treat”. I’ll even give them bonus points for the on-brand miscounting of the total and disappointment they could have snuck more, and their refusal to pay the overdue fees I imagined into existence.

They returned with the change, and got a minor scolding for two packets of treats not one. We plugged the DVD player into the projector, they settled into blanket nests in the school room, cracked open their goodies, and hit play. Our 90s movie night was a success, and I even popped in myself to “borrow” a DVD over the weekend, and it really is such a different vibe to streaming something. The “shop” is still set up in the school room, so I’m thinking chances are high there will be another open session this weekend coming…sounds like my town errands this week will need to include a library DVD exchange, and maybe a stop into the op-shops for some ‘new releases’!