Miles off of I-65, a major Alabama interstate, Toad Frog Alley stands, an almost well-kept secret. The idea of such a welcoming business being hidden saddened me—and still does—but, in turn, gave the illusion of adventure. Driving through winding county roads to get there, I could feel the world almost disappearing into unexplored territory.

Suddenly, there were no street names, no lines on the pavement, and sometimes no pavement at all. At the end of one of these “not much of a road” roads stood Toad Frog Alley Videos.

My first impression stepping inside was awe. Shelves lining the walls reached from floor to ceiling, each packed full of titles, perfectly alphabetized and separated by genre.

Between the walls were standalone shelves, organized in the same fashion. I expected a kind of personal collection, but I felt as if I had actually traveled back in time to the major rental stores of old (or rather of ten years ago). To community members, the setup meant another option for Saturday night, but for a film lover like me,

this place was heaven.

After my initial feelings, I was hit with a second wave, one that can only be described as abysmal. At the front of the store was a counter, being worked by one employee. The register was clunky and archaic, which made

a public library look like the headquarters of Google. In the center of the store was a foldable table that read “FOR SALE.” On the table lay DVDs, either damaged or unwanted, strewn about with no rhyme or reason.

Aside from me, there was only one patron, a middle-aged woman, shopping as if she had been there before but did not know what she wanted. I started to become depressed. I was not sure exactly what I had imagined, but I knew this place was nowhere close. I had convinced myself I was on a journey to find the “last great video store,” an oasis of film, flowing with patrons renting Milk and American Honey.

Only when

I took a breath and began looking around was I able to see Toad Frog Valley for what the store

was. Every blank wall space featured posters, equally sporting Oscar winners and underground art-house films.

The endcaps of each standalone shelf were filled with top picks, recent releases, or staff choices.

A television in the corner softly played a film of the employee’s choice. Toad Frog Alley

may not have been the perfect haven for cinephiles and collectors that I had hoped, but it showed an undeniable element of care. The store was something of a museum, one that lets people borrow the items they love. I left with a smile on my face and a movie in my hand.

Why also are stores like Toad Frog Alley still operating? Back in 2010, when rental chains were beginning to close doors indefinitely, many entertainment news sites noticed a trend. Among them was The Hollywood Reporter, which noted that over 35% of independent video stores had tanning beds. They reported the trend, saying, “[Independents] use every niche they can think of to survive and be respected in their communities” (Bond). While tanning beds may look like the supplemental savior for many locally owned stores, this notion

is not necessarily the case, says Kandy Little. Kandy is the owner of Toad Frog Valley Video Store and has been since 1995.

Ironically, Kandy bought a tanning salon in hopes of opening a video store. At the time, there was a much higher demand for rentals in almost every community, and Toad Frog Alley was no exception. Though she admits tanning has increased over the years (with rentals, of course, declining), to Kandy, tanning was not the savior. “[Toad Frog Alley Videos] is still open because I work it myself most of the time,” she says. “No one else will take care of your business as well as you do.” With an inventory of over 5,000 films, Kandy believes that physical media is important for her community. Local business is important for creating jobs and city revenue, and Kandy provides both through her love of movies.

Even though Toad Frog Alley is doing well, the scarcity of rental stores is something to consider. In the digital age, media is accessible to practically everyone. Streaming services such as Netflix and Hulu have made media available for viewers without requiring them to leave their homes. For physical rentals

nationwide kiosks called Redbox are set up in major grocery stores and pharmacies. In largely populated areas, these services have contributed to the downfall of video stores. In small towns across the country, however, many stores like Toad Frog Alley are still alive.

In 2018, the Harvard Political Review looked into why rural areas are struggling socioeconomically. The research concluded that the problem comes from the inability to keep the attention of a younger generation. The idea of the “American Dream” is largely accompanied by main streets, small towns, and mom-and-pop shops. Unfortunately, countryside communities are suffering, despite featuring many of these elements.

Farming, a large majority of pastoral industry, has become increasingly mechanized with technological advancement. On top of that, failing education and inadequate healthcare in underfunded areas have contributed to population loss as well. Many young people are unwilling to live in rural America,

and thus jobs

have become scarce. The Review states that “ultimately, the only way citizens will be attracted to small towns is if the quality of life is attractive and sustainable… [but] the growing demand of the U.S. economy will continue drawing people toward… [a] quality of life often deemed synonymous with urban living” (Elkadi). This cycle leaves many rural settings unappealing, not only to residents but also to businesses like Internet providers. In many cases, rural areas are deemed unprofitable for modern services. Descriptions so negative contribute to the lack of digital services available to communities. Businesses

such as Toad Frog Alley thus provide a necessary service for a town that may have little access to digital content.

a question: Is physical media doomed to a state of limbo in rural communities? Some believe film was meant to die, and should. Following the controversial shutdown of the “classic films” streaming service FilmStruck, Professor Katherine Groo shared a perspective in The Washington Post: “The collapse of FilmStruck might go some way toward reminding us of the fundamental virtuality [sic] of film and film spectatorship” (Groo). Groo goes so far as to ask “whether [FilmStruck’s catalog listings] are the works we need to rescreen or urge others to discover.” Groo does not lament the death of FilmStruck as film “erosion” or “erasure.”

She mentions different film archives, like the Library of Congress and Kanopy, doing open-access experimentation, but overlooks an important factor. Groo asserts that only the privileged are able to access a paid service, but she neglects rural areas and others that cannot access archives, paid or free.

Toad Frog Alley remains important for the enjoyment and education of people in the town that film provides. As technology keeps progressing, archaic forms of media consumption are necessary for areas that do not yet have access to the new technologies. Kandy predicts this, and more, when asked about the digital age and the coexistence of physical and online media:

“Studios are already giving exclusive rights to different cable companies. Once the avenues are spread out, customers will have to pay more for accessing media. The video store is here offering better prices and more media in one place.” To her, the transition back into physical media is only a matter of time.

As a proponent of physical media, I am thankful that Kandy and Toad Frog Alley exist. Though nothing is wrong with enjoying the luxuries of streaming, and digital film preservation is admirable, the market is becoming saturated. Saturated markets lead to higher prices and necessitate multiple subscriptions just to access desired films.

Though people in rural communities are still able to rent videos, they would be left behind in the case of film becoming solely digital. Video stores provide important business and atmosphere to communities. Even though digitizing film is more affordable and accessible to many people, it may not be what is best for both films and consumers.

For those like me, with a passion for film, the only reciprocity for the love that video stores instill is to show love in the form of support. As Kandy eloquently said at the end of our interview, “I really don’t have a favorite film. I just love films.”