Bernard O’Shea: Five things I had to explain to my kids about video rental shops

Once a sacred Friday-night ritual, now a baffling life lesson for my children.

The halls of your local Chartbusters used to be places equally of promise and tension. Pic: Daragh Mac Sweeney/Provision

Last week, our family movie night ended in chaos over what to watch. 

I launched into telling my kids about video rental shops: places where families argued in public aisles, vied for VHS tapes, and paid fines as a rite of passage.

1. Friday night was an event

When I told my kids that movie night used to mean leaving the house, hunting through aisles, and negotiating a family truce over which VHS to take home—rather than just scrolling and putting Shrek 2 on again — they looked at me as though I’d confessed to eating gravel daily. 

In the 90s, Friday night meant one thing: a pilgrimage to Xtra-vision or Chartbusters. You didn’t “pick a film” — you committed to an evening-long family summit, complete with heated debates in the aisles.

Back then, choice was both a blessing and a curse. 

There were no algorithms spoon-feeding you, “Because you watched Mrs. Doubtfire, here’s every film Robin Williams ever made.” 

You had to walk the aisles yourself, judging VHS boxes purely by their cover art and hoping the one copy wasn’t already gone.

(And when it was gone, oh, the heartbreak. That empty space behind the display box? That was my first experience of grief.)

Video rental shops sprang up throughout Ireland during the 1980s, thanks to the advent of the VCR. 

By the early 90s, nearly every town had one. Xtra-vision alone had over 200 stores nationwide at its peak. 

If you were under 18 or over 40 and wanted to stay in on a Friday night, this was your spot.

The former Xtravision, Douglas, Cork: one of many houses of wonder that used to dot the high streets of Ireland

2. Late fees were real and personal

My children have never known true fear. 

I’m not talking about the modern fears — climate change, AI, or the Wi-Fi going down. 

I mean the creeping dread of realising at 8.55pm that your rented movie was due back at 6pm… three days ago. 

I once returned Mulholland Drive two months late — the late fee was more than I could have invested as a junior producer. 

But the real cost was the shame: the staff would scan your card, look you in the eye, and calmly announce the fee to the whole shop. Culturally, this was Ireland at its best: a system based on guilt. 

The staff didn’t have to say anything. They’d just scan your card, pause, look at you over the top of the computer, and quietly announce the fee. The whole shop heard it. 

Suddenly, you weren’t just the fella renting Speed 2: Cruise Control — you were the community’s delinquent.

3. The panic of the last copy

Explaining this to my kids was like trying to teach the cat about the emotional impact of the Leaving Cert.

In the streaming era, nothing “runs out.” But in the 90s, scarcity was part of the game.

You’d walk into Xtra-vision, desperate for Independence Day, spotting that glorious cover art with Will Smith. 

You’d reach behind the display box—cold, empty metal. Someone got there first, and you could only imagine them in pyjamas, smugly watching your movie.

Back then, this scarcity made films more desirable. When there’s less of something, you want it more. 

In the 1980s and early 90s, this didn’t just apply to video shops — it applied to everything from public phones to tickets for Garth Brooks (yes, that one came full circle!). 

In rental shops, getting the last copy inspired a strange mix of pride and envy. If you got one, you’d guard it with your life.

The counter at a Chartbusters' in Galway: a nest of temptations to go alongside your prized rentals.

4. Impulse snacks were a trap

Video shops had a hidden agenda: luring you with treats. 

The counter was loaded with popcorn, jelly snakes, Maltesers, and old-school glass-bottled Coke. 

I’d go in for Apollo 13, and leave with enough sweets for a rugby team. Culturally, the upsell was genius. 

Ireland in the 90s was just getting used to the idea of “treats” not being rationed.

Marketing psychology tells us that point-of-sale treats work because you’re already in a “yes” mindset. 

You’ve committed to spending money, so your brain is primed for add-ons. 

In my case, it meant a Topic (yes, a weird choice but still my favourite bar EVER) and 14 packets of Tayto waffles.

Make sure that's rewound before you hand it back! Pic: iStock

5. Rewinding was mandatory

After watching a VHS tape, rewinding wasn’t optional. When my kids heard that, they stared at me as if I had said we used to turn the moon by hand.

In the rental shop days, “Please Rewind” stickers were everywhere — on the case, on the tape, sometimes even on your account if you were a repeat offender. 

Not rewinding was the height of selfishness. It wasn’t just lazy; it was antisocial. It was the film equivalent of leaving the jacks without flushing.

Historically, rewinding became such an issue that shops started charging a “rewind fee.” 

Americans called it the “Be Kind, Rewind” campaign, but Irish shops skipped the kindness and went straight to quiet resentment.

Video rental shops taught us more than films — patience, compromise, and the adrenaline of winning the last copy of Speed 2 (I still maintain it wasn’t a bad choice).