A Takeaway and a Film from Blockbuster
Image credit: Jonas Leupe via Unsplash
That was pretty much Saturday night for most of my childhood. My brother and I were definitely, at times, allowed to watch films we technically shouldn’t have been watching. But we were always told when to cover our eyes and/or ears.
This was an integral part of my childhood, and I remember it fondly. It was all so darn exciting - bundling into the back of the car, talking to Dad about which film we might rent that night, and hitting all the necessary pit stops, while Mum got some well deserved time to herself at home. We got it down to a fine art - my Dad, brother, and I.
Meanwhile, Blockbuster were continuing to operate the way they always had, guided by the belief that people enjoyed putting on shoes, travelling to a store, selecting a film, having to interact with other human beings, and travelling home again. (Then repeating the entire process to return the rental.)
In my case, they were right. But then, I was a child. So, probably not the right person to inform a business’s lack of very necessary pivoting. Because my Dad would have welcomed one less pit stop in Saturday night’s expeditions. Especially when my brother and I got a little older, and started to request, on occasion, takeaways that differed from the mean family selection.
Blockbuster, Chinese takeaway, and a KFC? “It’s just too much!” My Dad did protest. I felt for him. But my brother loved KFC. The force was strong in that one. But imagine if Blockbuster would allow my Dad to send and receive our films in the post.
After all, the brand new technology at the time - DVDs, were thin and lightweight. Or, better yet, imagine if they stored all the films in the yet-to-be-made-available-to-the-masses-‘cloud', and allowed him to simply button smash on the television remote for a few minutes, before something was ready to be beamed into the family’s brains.
I mean, with a digital platform like that, Blockbuster could have learned so much about our family’s viewing preferences that they could have actually served us films they knew we would love. And as their revenue grew, they could even have started producing their own films, and in doing so, owned the content they provided to us, rather than have to licence it.
Of course, (with an appropriate level of sarcasm), I am describing here an abridged and layman’s version of the business model for Netflix - the modern behemoth that displaced the corporate snail that was Blockbuster.
I never did fulfil my teenage dreams of working part-time at Blockbuster. But I have to assume the clear and eventually unavoidable demise of the business, as Netflix emerged from its slipstream, was a frequent conversation amongst staff.
The world’s last Blockbuster is still operating, in Bend, a town about 160 miles south of Portland, Oregon. I'm sure it gets a somewhat abnormal amount of foot traffic, through some curious combination of nostalgia, romanticism, and a local desire to just keep the thing running.
But now I’m in advertising, I feel deeply for any company who had Blockbuster as a client, as received a brief akin to:
“Netflix are killing us. Do something about it. But we won’t change our business model.”
After all, great advertising can make a bad product fail faster.
But bad is relative. Bad compared to what?
Bad is Saturday night, in January, when it’s minus two, dark and miserable, and Blockbuster is one more pitstop you could do without. That’s bad.
Good is less pit stops. Less pit stops would be life changing. Good is a soft sofa and a warm living room, where you can press a button, and watch a film. (And if you wish, do so every waking hour of the month for only a little more than you pay Blockbuster for a single movie.)
Blockbuster didn’t have an advertising problem. They had a product problem.
“Ads” can do amazing things. But they can’t fix broken business models.
For that, you’ve got to let creativity wrap its tentacles around the entire business. The clients willing to do that are always the best clients to work with.
