Over the years I’ve become a collector of many things: rings that get lost every time I go out, diaries I planned to journal in and never did, books that sit on my shelf waiting for the day I get over my reading slump and most importantly, my DVDs. The inclusion of physical media in my eclectic yet somewhat boring bedroom began in an unlikely place—2006 in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia, after my father, an English teacher, moved my family out to the Middle East. Before Saudi’s current dream of becoming a tourist hotspot, the country imposed several restrictions regarding its allowance of Western cultural influence, including an all-out ban on cinemas (lifted as recently as 2018).

As you can imagine, that was quite a shock for a six-year-old when going to the cinema in the UK was a monthly, if not even weekly, outing for some families. It’s funny looking back because whilst my parents were quite religious growing up, my brothers and I had some leeway with entertainment. Unlike friends of my parents who dissuaded their children from watching films, mine instead fostered our love of creativity, fantasy and fictional worlds such as Star Wars (my father’s favourite), Harry Potter and The Lord of the Rings. 

So what was to happen to a family of movie lovers when they moved somewhere without cinemas? Unfortunately for some film purists—and I will warn you to avert your eyes before being scandalised—the dreaded practice of piracy kept us in touch with the ongoings of modern film (and television). My father, a lover of old-school, pre-Marvel Cinematic Universe superhero films, Kung Fu movies, and what many would deem ‘film bro’ cinema like Inglorious Basterds (2009) and Goodfellas (1990), would spend his time after work scouring Pirate Bay, even so far as teaching me the basics of Web 2.0 so I could torrent childhood shows like Suite Life on Deck and Everybody Hates Chris.

Yet what influenced my love of cinema and physical media, in particular, were the illegal DVD shops hidden in plain sight in busy market streets, vast malls, and even tucked away at the back of video game stores. The inside of these shops felt like being transported to another world where you suddenly could find yourself hopping across languages and modes of self-expression. Weekends would be spent with my father, perusing through the vast array of film genres they had on hand. Maybe you fancied some Hong Kong action films, classic Bollywood musicals, American dramas, or Egyptian comedies? Whatever your fancy, the DVD store had them. 

The DVDs themselves were pirated copies scanned onto blank discs inside flimsy plastic packaging. I remember always laughing at the poorly printed posters that looked like the ink had run out, but as I look back, it’s evident that despite the lack of quality, they were basically my childhood version of the Criterion Collection. Sure, the existence of these films was illegal, but for those without access to cinemas, they were a means to connect us to other parts of the world. And perhaps the most important thing they did was inspire my dream of having my own DVD collection, which couldn’t be taken away or banned because of absurd bureaucracy. I can’t say for sure if the DVD sellers saw their trade as resisting laws that sought to censor and control art people engaged with or if they wanted to make a living, but either way, they opened my eyes to the power physical media could hold in our lives. 

I became reacquainted with that power in 2020, a year that contained so much death and trauma that it seemed like a never-ending nightmare. It’s not an exaggeration to say that physical media saved me that year, and without it, I would’ve found myself in a much darker place than I was. With the remnants of my SFE loan and no rent to pay, I bought a TV, DVD player, and PS4 and, with what seemed like all the time in the world, started thrifting online for second-hand DVDs and games. At first, it felt like I was just buying things to fill a void of boredom and avoidance, but when I came across films I had never been able to access via streaming or even local cinemas, like Jacques Demy’s The Umbrellas of Cherbourg (1964) or Stephen Chow’s Kung Fu Hustle (2004), I realised something had sparked within me that I hadn’t felt since I was that kid pursuing DVDs with my dad on weekend afternoons. It’s also interesting that as my collection grew with additions of childhood favourites like The Cheetah Girls 2 (2006) or 10 Things I Hate About You (1999), I began reconnecting with parts of myself I disengaged with because of fears of not being taken seriously as a film student and budding film writer.

Then, when I was in my late teens and early twenties, I found myself twisting myself into a pretzel to fit some idea of what a true cinephile was. Yet here I was, buying Disney musicals and teen rom-coms alongside Frances Ha (2012) and Suspiria (1977). There was something quite grounding and even therapeutic about how honest my purchases became. In a way, I was making mini statements to myself with each new addition that screamed, “This film means something to me, and I’ll be damned if anyone thinks otherwise.” It was the purest feeling of freedom and confidence I have ever had regarding my film taste – certainly not one I have found using streaming services. 

Whilst I don’t bemoan streaming for existing as they’re essential for making film accessible to a wider audience, I have started to feel a significant disconnect with the hodgepodge of options available to me at any given time by their algorithms. Not to mention that in recent years, many streaming services have begun to remove their own films and TV shows to cut costs, essentially creating lost media that can’t be found outside of pirating.

We are losing our ability to own the media we enjoy right before our very eyes. When speaking to my friends about DVDs, we always return to the memories attached to how creative and bespoke they used to be. I think of the menu from  Shrek 2 (2004) (a favourite of Gen Z)—my brothers and I would spend hours engrossed with the character’s unique loading screens for the special features. The effort put into DVDs wasn’t only for children’s media, through my time buying copies of films from the 80s and 90s, you can see that there was simply more effort put into creating a product for audiences at home. Of course, that’s because people were buying them more before the advent of streaming, but if we can take anything from the fact that Vinyl has been steadily booming, it is that people (me) crave something more than just slop-chucked their way. Engaging with film used to be fun, and I believe that’s the cure to the current bleakness in our industry. 

As I continue to build my own physical media collection—which has expanded to CDs due to an incredible birthday gift of a Walkman for my 26th birthday—I realise that there’s not much I can pass down in terms of inheritance to my future children or nieces and nephews, but what I can give them is that spark of curiosity in media that my father passed down to me alongside my collection. And I’d argue that continuing that love for film, television, music, and art is a far more beneficial part of our humanity than anything else. So why not visit your local thrift store and see what £1 DVDs they have in stock? There are definitely worse ways to waste your weekends. 

Main image: still from Éric Rohmer’s Love in the Afternoon (1972)