Shelf life
Criterion has opened a Canadian outpost inside →
Cinema Cellar in Toronto—a “permanent” Criterion store rather than the occasional pop-up or travelling closet . . .
© Criterion. All rights reserved.
For Torontonian collectors, this is undeniably welcome news. No border crossing. No pilgrimage to New York. No staring at a shipping bill and wondering whether a Blu-ray has somehow acquired diplomatic immunity.
I haven’t been to Toronto since 2015, when I went to see One Direction (without Zayn Malik) in concert. Yes, One Direction—no further explanation will be provided. Never mind the vehicular traffic. What I mind is the dirt. The smells that seem to change from one block to the next. The combination of heat, pavement, humanity, construction, food, garbage, and mysterious urban moisture that gives the place a distinctly Third World intensity.
Nor am I a fan of the official Criterion Closet videos. The closet itself is wonderful, of course: rows and rows of Criterion editions packed into one small room is a cinephile’s dream. What I hate is watching so-called celebrities—has-beens and no-names alike—wandering around inside it, pulling titles from shelves and explaining their choices to the camera. I simply do not care.
The true attraction of Criterion has never been “celebrity” endorsement. It is the films themselves: the restorations, the transfers, the supplements, the essays in booklets, the packaging, the spine numbers, and above all, the extraordinary range of cinema that Criterion keeps in circulation and treats with genuine respect.
The new Criterion outpost has finally given me a reason to return to Toronto. But it is not a particularly urgent one—mostly because I already have a Criterion Closet of my own.
Over the years, I have accumulated a substantial supply of essentials, and they live in a large, white, glass-fronted cabinet right in my bedroom. When the doors are closed, it looks almost respectable; someone unfamiliar with me might assume it contains books or tastefully arranged household objects . . .
Open the doors, however, and the truth becomes apparent: Criterion discs, box sets, Eclipse series, and other boutique editions stacked upright until there is no more vertical space left, followed by the inevitable horizontal piles that signal the total collapse of all previous organizational principles . . .
It is not the official Criterion Closet, but it is better. For one thing, I do not have to wait for somebody “famous” or otherwise to finish browsing before I can step inside. For another, every single title has already been curated by the one person whose taste actually matters to me: me.
I even keep miniature versions of the official Criterion Closet trucks parked proudly on one of the shelves in front of the collection . . .
Which is great, except for one minor problem: I am rapidly running out of shelf space.