Tomb

In the 1980s and ’90s, the coolest video store in Calgary (and possibly the planet) was the downtown branch of Video & Sound. This place was packed to the rafters with movies you've never heard of — films that didn't appear in even the best video guides. (Yes, video guides. As in books. That's how we movie buffs researched films before the Internet.) There was a huge wall of laser discs (Laser! Discs!) near the entrance, and a discount bin full of Betamax tapes in the corner. In between, you could find everything from Fritz Lang's complete oeuvre to Sorority Babes in the Slimeball Bowl-O-Rama (1988).

So it came to pass that one day, a younger, stupider version of myself was standing in this palace of dreams, looking at the doorway into the mysterious second half of the store. The Chinese half. You see, the primary branch of Video & Sound was situated on the border of Chinatown, and said border seemed to exist as part of the store itself, splitting the place in two. It was two different stores, really, with their own entrances, signs and staff — the only thing both halves seemed to share was that one doorway in the wall, through which one could theoretically pass.

I don't think there was even an actual door. Just a gap in the wall. It was obviously there to let people walk through it, but not many seemed to. The only real barrier was a cultural one. I felt like I was supposed to stay on “my” side of the store, with all the other whiteys.

Staring at this portal, I started coming up with reasons not to go through it.

• They won't speak English over there.

• I'll blunder into the “Staff only” section and disturb an employee having his lunch.

• People will glare at me and assume I wandered in by mistake.

• I'll get yelled at.

• Triad gangsters will be in there.

• It'll be one huge porno section.

• They won't accept Canadian dollars.

• I'll vanish into a whirling energy field, never to be seen again.

Then, I realized I was just being stupid, and walked in.

Were people staring at me? If they were, I never noticed, because I was fascinated by the movies on the shelves. Of course, I couldn't read any of the signs, and the films weren't alphabetized by their English titles, but at least the English titles were printed on the boxes. The John Woo and Jackie Chan flicks I wanted were here, but there was also a ton of stuff I didn't recognize. Gaining enthusiasm, if not confidence, I brought copies of Wolf Devil Woman (1982) and The Witch with Flying Head (1977) to the till. The lady at the counter smiled at me, and with perfect English (what the hell did I expect?) let me know that I could rent three movies for $5.

Are you kidding me? Three movies for five dollars?

I dashed back to the shelves for a third film, Shaolin Drunkard (1983), which wound up becoming one of my all-time favourites.

That day was a transformative experience. I broadened my viewing horizons, learned that almost all of the videos in the store had English subtitles, and lost some of my hang-ups about where I could and could not shop. Today, I often visit Chinese video stores, and it's a habit I'm glad I picked up.

Sadly, Video & Sound's downtown branch has been gone for years. The Centre Street branch recently closed its doors as well. So long, Video & Sound; you won't be forgotten.