[Fore-note: This is an attempt at self-satire. No disrespect is intended towards anyone other than the author]
Hi, my name is Ramin.
I am a discaholic.
For the longest time, I’d justify the steady growth of our home library as a cultural investment; but as I survey the dizzy maze of bookshelves - three-deep with discs - that is now our living room, I can no longer deny that this thing has overtaken me.
The following are descriptions of some of my many debilitating symptoms - the honest reader may choose to relate to some of these:-
Daily expenses for life's essentials, including groceries, utility bills etc. are now seen through the prism of their equivalent Blu-ray value. It used to amuse my ever-patient wife when I'd pipe up with quips like: "How much? You know we could buy 8 restored Blu-rays for that!" Her protest: "But darling, we have to feed the children" seldom moved me. Nowadays she's not so sure I'm even kidding anymore.
Ancient Egyptians would bow in ritual homage to their sun-god, "Ra". Morning, noon and night I bow my head in the direction of my own sacred portal (HTF on iPad) in the hope that my similarly-named deity has shed oceans of light onto a new subject. I eagerly read the views of fellow minions as we seek collective illumination, for in RAH we trust.
Since when did I ever care about [insert obscure director name]'s esoteric directorial style? But hey, RAH gave the film a 'Recommended', so now I must have it! ...I ...just...must!!
My worldview has fundamentally changed. I used to worry about the rise of extremism, increasing cancer rates, dwindling natural resources... Somewhere along the way other concerns have taken over. I can't face the thought of a world where my grandchildren-to-be can no longer caress a gleaming, tactile disc in their hands, because some backroom bean-counting ignoramus figured that lazy-ass streaming will do. I lose sleep actively worrying about the integrity of studio executives who act as short-term custodians of our holy relics (original camera negatives and other film assets). My present overriding anxiety is where to put my 1939 Golden Years Collection box-set in my genre/director-centric disc-filing regimen.
My discs that I've yet to see far outnumber the ones I've seen. With a steady stream of incoming orders, my mantra: ‘buying-beats-renting’ (due to savings on repeat viewings) has been shown up for the whopping lie that it's always been. It's doubtful whether I'll live long enough to watch my entire collection even once. Mind you, that might change as impending dire poverty forces a halt to the influx – I could then catch up with my viewing backlog, so long as the compassionate bankruptcy auctioneers let me hang on to my existing discs and home theatre system.
Few sounds inspire as much elated anticipation in me as the tiny pitter-patter of the postman's feet. Damn it, he didn't ring the doorbell - it must just be bills. Hang on... the steps are getting louder. He's coming back! Wait! ...Wait! ...A double ring! Hallelujah! Package!
Tenderly, reverently, I hold the parcel in my hands. It's battered and bruised - the legacy of man-handling across multiple continental hops to the Land of Oz. No matter, I know that inside this sorry looking mess my dear, dear friends at Amazon US, UK, Germany, Spain, Latvia, Micronesia... have been sure to wrap the disc with all the loving care a new-born deserves.
Now exactly which of my countless orders-in-transit is this anyway? I don't want to break the heady spell of wonderment by opening the parcel, but I can't hold out any longer. Tear; rip… what on earth are these strange symbols? Oh, of course - it's that version of The Third Man I ordered from the Amazon partner in Kafiristan ...You know; the one that said they'd used the same transfer as Criterion's out-of print Blu! I'm sure I can muddle my way through the menu to set English dialogue. Hang on, there was English dialogue, wasn't there? Harry Lime on the printed disc artwork looks to have been drawn with crayons. Never mind - quick... place the humble offering onto the sacred platter! Grind, click, flash - "Your player doesn't support Region Q format discs" - What THE?!?
Crest-fallen, I switch on my iPad to despatch my indignation to Amazon. Hold your horses, what have we here? "A few words about ™... […]". Never heard of that one before! Didn't even know they made films in 1903. But hey, the All-Knowing One has scored it a 4.8 for image. Now I mustn't forget to click my order through the HTF link to share the love around...
[Please feel welcome to share your own unique disc addiction experiences below]
Hi, my name is Ramin.
I am a discaholic.
For the longest time, I’d justify the steady growth of our home library as a cultural investment; but as I survey the dizzy maze of bookshelves - three-deep with discs - that is now our living room, I can no longer deny that this thing has overtaken me.
The following are descriptions of some of my many debilitating symptoms - the honest reader may choose to relate to some of these:-
Daily expenses for life's essentials, including groceries, utility bills etc. are now seen through the prism of their equivalent Blu-ray value. It used to amuse my ever-patient wife when I'd pipe up with quips like: "How much? You know we could buy 8 restored Blu-rays for that!" Her protest: "But darling, we have to feed the children" seldom moved me. Nowadays she's not so sure I'm even kidding anymore.
Ancient Egyptians would bow in ritual homage to their sun-god, "Ra". Morning, noon and night I bow my head in the direction of my own sacred portal (HTF on iPad) in the hope that my similarly-named deity has shed oceans of light onto a new subject. I eagerly read the views of fellow minions as we seek collective illumination, for in RAH we trust.
Since when did I ever care about [insert obscure director name]'s esoteric directorial style? But hey, RAH gave the film a 'Recommended', so now I must have it! ...I ...just...must!!
My worldview has fundamentally changed. I used to worry about the rise of extremism, increasing cancer rates, dwindling natural resources... Somewhere along the way other concerns have taken over. I can't face the thought of a world where my grandchildren-to-be can no longer caress a gleaming, tactile disc in their hands, because some backroom bean-counting ignoramus figured that lazy-ass streaming will do. I lose sleep actively worrying about the integrity of studio executives who act as short-term custodians of our holy relics (original camera negatives and other film assets). My present overriding anxiety is where to put my 1939 Golden Years Collection box-set in my genre/director-centric disc-filing regimen.
My discs that I've yet to see far outnumber the ones I've seen. With a steady stream of incoming orders, my mantra: ‘buying-beats-renting’ (due to savings on repeat viewings) has been shown up for the whopping lie that it's always been. It's doubtful whether I'll live long enough to watch my entire collection even once. Mind you, that might change as impending dire poverty forces a halt to the influx – I could then catch up with my viewing backlog, so long as the compassionate bankruptcy auctioneers let me hang on to my existing discs and home theatre system.
Few sounds inspire as much elated anticipation in me as the tiny pitter-patter of the postman's feet. Damn it, he didn't ring the doorbell - it must just be bills. Hang on... the steps are getting louder. He's coming back! Wait! ...Wait! ...A double ring! Hallelujah! Package!
Tenderly, reverently, I hold the parcel in my hands. It's battered and bruised - the legacy of man-handling across multiple continental hops to the Land of Oz. No matter, I know that inside this sorry looking mess my dear, dear friends at Amazon US, UK, Germany, Spain, Latvia, Micronesia... have been sure to wrap the disc with all the loving care a new-born deserves.
Now exactly which of my countless orders-in-transit is this anyway? I don't want to break the heady spell of wonderment by opening the parcel, but I can't hold out any longer. Tear; rip… what on earth are these strange symbols? Oh, of course - it's that version of The Third Man I ordered from the Amazon partner in Kafiristan ...You know; the one that said they'd used the same transfer as Criterion's out-of print Blu! I'm sure I can muddle my way through the menu to set English dialogue. Hang on, there was English dialogue, wasn't there? Harry Lime on the printed disc artwork looks to have been drawn with crayons. Never mind - quick... place the humble offering onto the sacred platter! Grind, click, flash - "Your player doesn't support Region Q format discs" - What THE?!?
Crest-fallen, I switch on my iPad to despatch my indignation to Amazon. Hold your horses, what have we here? "A few words about ™... […]". Never heard of that one before! Didn't even know they made films in 1903. But hey, the All-Knowing One has scored it a 4.8 for image. Now I mustn't forget to click my order through the HTF link to share the love around...
[Please feel welcome to share your own unique disc addiction experiences below]