I Still Fondly Remember Renting Cujo (1983) From My Neighborhood Video Store

For most of us, the holiday season is a catalyst for trips down memory lane. It doesn’t take much to spark an old story or start reminiscing about the days of yore when we’re with our families and friends.

In my case, this week has been filled with more memories than usual. Yesterday was the first day of a 12-day shoot for a feature film I’m producing alongside some very talented friends of mine.¹ And the very first location of our shoot just happened to be my mother’s house. The one I was raised in.

As I was telling members of our cast and crew about growing up in Homewood, Alabama, I thought back fondly to my childhood—and our neighborhood video store.

I came of age on a street that runs along the top of a hill. The view from the back porch stretches all the way to the edge of town. You can see local businesses, strip malls, highways, even a few neon signs off in the distance. It’s not the richest part of town by any stretch, but it has one of the best perks.

The closest development to our house only contained a handful of stores—and not the most high-volume stores at that. But it was close enough that I could go there on my own at a young age. All I had to do was walk through my backyard, cut across the edge of my neighbor’s plot, hike down a short trail that my half-brother had blazed before I was born, cross a quiet street and a bridge over a tiny creek, and I was there. It was the only place my parents allowed me to walk by myself.

There was a greasy diner called Lag’s Eatery. A laundromat that I believe was called Monarch Laundry. And a convenience store called the Pic-A-Pac. But the centerpiece in my child’s eyes was a video store called Movie Madness.

It wasn’t a very big floor. Probably only a quarter of what the Blockbuster Video a mile away featured. But it was mine. And it was enough to let my imagination run wild. There were movie posters in the windows surrounded by chaser lights. There was a cardboard standee of Hulk Hogan by the door.² There was a wheel at the counter that you could spin after every rental for a chance at a discount or a prize. And I believe one of the employees had a mullet. It was a wonderland for a boy from the suburbs.

I can’t recall all of the films I rented from Movie Madness. It went out of business sometime in the late 90s—I’d say 1998 if I had to guess. And truthfully, I was probably more starry-eyed over the wide selection of that Blockbuster (and our local Movie Gallery) than I’d like to admit.

But I remember renting Cujo. Because it was my first horror movie.³

Like most 80s babies, I was transfixed by the horror section of the video store. Some of the VHS box art from the late 20th century was so evocative that I couldn’t even fathom what nightmares awaited me if I was brave enough to watch the movie. If my parents let me rent it in the first place, that is.

Which is how Cujo wound up in my hands when I was around 9 or 10 years old. I’m sure my mother did some level of research before letting me watch it. Maybe she knew that the nudity was mild and the profanity was moderate—or at least she knew that I was too young to understand how adultery works. But I think part of it was the ubiquity of King. Perhaps she thought that it’d hold more cultural value than some of the other titles on the horror shelf simply because it was based on one of his novels. (And she would’ve been right if so.)

Whatever her logic was, it was much appreciated. Because I loved it.⁴ I think I even rooted for the doggy.⁵ And Cujo kickstarted a King obsession in me. I didn’t dive straight into The Shining or Carrie, but I devoured more age-appropriate fare like Needful Things, Thinner, and Children of the Corn.⁶ I’m thankful that I discovered his brand of horror at a young age. And I cherish Movie Madness for playing a small part in shaping my creative spirit and leading me down a path where I actually get to make movies of my own.

But nothing gold can stay, of course. Right around the time the Pic-A-Pac next door became Stignani’s Market & Deli, Movie Madness became an antiques store (though I can’t recall its name). Then in 2003, both businesses gave way to an award-winning Italian restaurant that has been there ever since (and is quite good).

When my mother finally moves out of her house one day—after living there for more than 50 years now—there’s a good chance it gets torn down or remodeled into something different. But at least my source of so many memories has now been captured in a film. And I’m fortunate enough to be creating some new memories in the process.

Cujo is now streaming on Paramount+, MGM+, Philo, and Fubo, and it is available to rent elsewhere.

1. I am but one of five producers on this project, so don’t give me too much credit.

2. From his “Hollywood” Hogan era, of course.

3. One of my favorite podcasts, The Kingcast, likes to begin every interview by asking guests about their “Stephen King origin story.” I suppose you could say this is mine.

4. I think Lewis Teague deserves more credit than he gets as a director. Film Talk, one of my newest Substack mutuals, published a great interview with Teague recently.

5. I mean, come on. Cujo was not a monster. He was a victim. He did not ask to be bitten by a rabid bat!

6. Honestly, it’s very possible I watched the Shining miniseries before I ever saw Kubrick’s film. Every new King miniseries was must-see TV back then, and I bet plenty of parents let their kids join the fun since it was edited for primetime.