Discovering Dark City (1998) at Your Local Video Store: An Ode to a Bygone Era

Guest post alert! Jeremy here, and we’re welcoming yet another new byline this month: Ryan Kindahl, a friend and fellow screenwriter! I’ve known Ryan for almost a decade now through the Alabama film scene, and he’s done some really great work in recent years, including a 2022 short film called Last Request that played lots of film festivals (including Fantastic Fest!). Also, I’ve had the privilege of reading Ryan’s latest feature script, and folks, I can guarantee that all you Dusties out there are gonna love this film when it drops. But Ryan’s newest creation is actually here, in today’s newsletter, because he surprised me with a Dust On The VCR first: a work of second-person(!) narrative fiction. And it’s sure to have you reminiscing about the glory days when physical media was king. Take it away, Ryan!

It’s a chilly fall evening in 1999. You head to your local video store immediately after work one Friday night as you often do. This time, you’re searching for a copy of The Matrix because it’s all anyone is talking about and you’re kicking yourself for not catching it in the theater. (And because, like everyone else you know with taste, you loved Keanu Reeves in Speed.)

You walk into the store, immediately greeted by the familiar smells of cheap carpet and buttered popcorn. A few patrons are milling about, but your optimism grows as it seems you’ve beaten the after-work crowd. You make your way to the new release section where you find about a dozen copies of The Matrix—and every single one is already checked out. Well, shit.

So you proceed to the checkout counter where you find an employee rewinding some tapes with one of those high-speed rewinders. Judging by his long, uncombed hair and his patchy beard, you get the feeling that he would probably do this job for the free rentals alone.* His name tag says “Chet.”

“Has anyone returned any copies of The Matrix?” you ask, hoping for a miracle.

“No,” Chet says, laughing and shaking his head as he crushes your dreams. Then he looks at you and smirks. “But I’ve got something even better.”

He beckons you over to the cult section that you’re usually too cautious to peruse. He combs through the tapes until he finds just what he’s looking for: an odd-looking film featuring a man sprawled across a clock face on the cover. “Dark City” is written across the top in bold red letters. You’ve never heard of Rufus Sewell, but you like William Hurt, you love Jennifer Connolly, and you thought Kiefer Sutherland was good in The Lost Boys at least.

Chet hands you the box. Your quest for The Matrix has been derailed, but now you’re curious. “What’s it about?” you ask.

He takes the tape from you and holds it up like he’s displaying the Holy Bible. You can already tell that Chet gives this pitch at least once a week.

“It’s essentially the same premise as The Matrix,” he says. “A guy realizes that his reality is a lie, then he goes on a journey to discover the truth.”

“So it’s a Matrix ripoff then,” you respond.

“Hardly,” Chet retorts. “It was released a year before The Matrix.”

You flip over the box and see a group of strange S&M Nosferatu-looking dudes on the back. You have to admit it: Your interest is piqued.

“Sure, The Matrix is fun as hell,” Chet continues, knowing he’s almost hooked you. “But Dark City is an experience. It’s like a nightmare noir inside an Edward Hopper painting. It plays with the same ideas as The Matrix, but instead of taking the obvious approach—that karate Jesus, Joseph Campbell hero’s journey, machine-gun-loving, God-bless-America, pop culture stew—it comes at it from left field. It creates a feeling and a tone and a world that you’ve never seen. It’s ethereal. It’s cinema, baby.”

He hands the tape back to you. “And Jennifer Connelly is a celluloid goddess.”

Chet’s well-rehearsed pitch is a good one. But you’re not quite convinced yet. “Hmm. I don’t know,” you say, flipping the box over in your hands. “It looks pretty weird.”

“It is weird. That’s the point,” he says. “They don’t make movies like this anymore.

As you’re contemplating Chet’s recommendation, another customer pops her head up over a nearby shelf. “Excuse me,” she says. “Do you have Speed 2? I don’t see it in the action section.”

Chet points in a particular direction without missing a beat. “Check the unnecessary sequels section.” She rolls her eyes and walks off.

Now he’s focused on you again, ready to go in for the kill. “Look,” he says. “Do you like The Twilight Zone?”

“Yeah,” you admit. “I love watching those old reruns.”

“Good. Because if you’d said ‘no,’ I would’ve told you to get the hell out of my store,” Chet says as he laughs to himself. “Dark City is basically an R-rated, feature-length episode of The Twilight Zone. Imagine if Rod Sterling—may he rest in peace—just went totally unhinged.”

You’re nearly sold, but you keep quiet, eager to see if Chet still has gas in the tank. “And that’s just the story,” he says. “This film is beautiful. I mean truly gorgeous. The lighting, the production design, the sets are all incredible. As weird as it sounds, you’ll want to live in this world.”

Shuffling your feet, you turn the case over in your hands one more time. You look up at Chet, almost ready to commit. But before you can, he makes one final plea. “Tell you what,” he says. “If you hate it, your next rental is on the house.”

It’s an offer you can’t refuse. Chet rings you up at the checkout counter. You pay for the three-day rental knowing full well that they’ll repossess one of your kidneys if it’s even five minutes late. And you throw in a box of Junior Mints for good measure.

As he hands you the tape, Chet has one final request: “This is mandatory,” he says stone-faced. “You gotta watch it with the lights off.”

You nod, but as you take the tape, Chet doesn’t let go. “I’m serious,” he says. “Pitch black.”

“Will do,” you say, laughing awkwardly. Chet relinquishes the movie and the candy and sends you on your way. As you walk through the exit, you can hear him shout his final decree: “Be kind! Please rewind!”**

*Jeremy here. As a former employee of Movie Gallery, where I made the 2006 minimum wage of $5.15 an hour, I can tell you that this rings true.

**Ryan here. As you might have guessed, I’m one of those guys that collects VHS tapes and regularly laments “the good ol’ days” of physical media. If you’ve made it this far, I imagine you’re the kind of moviegoer who will love Dark City. But if you hate it, please let Jeremy know with as many expletives as you can muster. Oh, and watch the director’s cut if you can; it ditches the terrible studio-mandated voiceover. Thank y’all for your precious time, and if you’re so inclined, you can keep up with my filmmaking escapades at obsoletemedia.co.

Dark City is available to rent, and it was streaming on the Criterion Channel in October, but they decided to pull it after only one month. Which is not Ryan’s fault. Alas.