by Liz Locke, Staff Writer

If you’re a movie lover who’s made a conscious effort to collect physical media, then you’re no doubt familiar with The Criterion Collection. With over twelve hundred titles available on various formats (DVD/Blu-Ray/4K), their collection features a stunning group of classic, foreign, arthouse, and other culturally significant works. In addition, The Criterion Closet, as it’s called, is a physical closet containing all the titles, and it’s often visited by celebrities and filmmakers on their promotional circuits. Standing in the middle of a dizzying array of spines, these lucky individuals get to fill a canvas bag with their favorites as they walk us through the treasure-hunting process. Often, you feel like you know a famous person better once you’re aware of their film tastes. Will they be basic and choose only Wes Anderson or Cary Grant movies? Is there a secret Rohmer fan hiding under that glamorous artifice? I never imagined I’d get to take a spin through such a closet (since I’m, sadly, not famous), but in the summer of 2023, the dream came true: I found myself surrounded by Criterion titles, and I could take home whatever I wanted. Against all odds, I became like one of those wide-eyed celebrities, making tough choices through competing waves of giddiness and grief.

A little backstory: in December of 2022, my beloved uncle Len died, leaving behind a house full of movies, books, records, and a shocking amount of Edward Gorey memorabilia. In short, Len was far too cool for this mortal plane. I’d previously written about his film collection in my article for MovieJawn titled “Belvedere’s Vault”, but as I would later learn, Len was being modest in his interview with me. He didn’t just have “a lot” of Criterion movies; he had them all. A collection amassed from Barnes & Noble sales, closing video stores, and in some cases eBay, Len had every spine from the start of the collection to those released in the months before his death. You see, Len was a completist. He wouldn’t stop collecting until he had everything, from #1 (Grand Illusion) to #1152 (Lost Highway). He even had some titles Criterion would probably like to forget about, such as Armageddon (#40) and The Rock (#108). But we’ll get to that.

Seven months after his death, my husband, my mom, and I drove our vans to Len’s house in Massachusetts, ready to sift through his personal effects. I figured I’d take home some movies that particularly spoke to Len’s personality and my memories with him, leaving the rest for the inevitable estate sale. I wasn’t prepared, however, for the wave of sadness that hit as soon as we walked through the front door. Len’s house wasn’t just a house—it was a place that meant lazy summers and dreaming of the future.  It meant wonderful food and hours spent diving for rings in the swimming pool. Reading in the hammock and VHS tape marathons. Without him, all the magic was gone. Still, I’d started on this road, and despite my urge to get back in the van and leave my love for his house untarnished, I owed it to my uncle to keep the cinema flame alive.

Digging into the first-floor closet where I knew Len kept his favorite titles, I started making my initial piles of things to keep. Most of my picks were Criterion releases simply because they were the best movies. Then, everything changed when my husband yelled from an upstairs bedroom, “Liz, you need to see this.” Lo and behold, he’d unearthed a closet full of milk crates, all full of Criterion discs. Opening another closet, we found more crates, and more Criterion. It soon became clear that Len had amassed way more titles than any of us had realized. After the initial wave of excitement subsided, my purpose became clear: rescue the collection.  Criterion was one of the great passions of Len’s life, and now, it would be mine.

With a small house waiting for me back in Austin, I immediately called in reinforcements. Moviejawn’s Old Sport graciously offered to take whatever I didn’t want or already owned, and my mom agreed to transport those crates to a Pennsylvania rest stop. Over a grueling three days, in an unairconditioned historic home full of floors that seemed ready to collapse at any moment, I painstakingly examined every title, reading through plot summaries and cast lists, making alternating stacks for myself and Moviejawn. Most of the American classics went in my pile, along with foreign heavy hitters like Antonioni, Godard, and Almodóvar. Essentially, if I’d heard of the title, the star, or the director, it became mine. Yes, I realize that makes me kind of basic. I’m sure I let some gems slip through my fingers, but I didn’t have the luxury of Len’s closet space, or his free time as a retiree. I respected his effort to be a completist, but personally, I’m more of a pragmatist. If I didn’t intend to watch it, it wasn’t coming with me.

As for the discs that didn’t make my cut, well, that’s the most exciting part. With the Old Sport’s help, we agreed to hold a monthly raffle exclusively for Moviejawn Patreon supporters where the winner would get a mystery pack of four titles from Len’s Criterion collection. Considering the eligible supporter tier is only $5/month, this is a hell of a bargain. I love knowing these movies are going to true cinephiles who will really appreciate them, and I also love the idea that they’re supporting the Moviejawn mission to bring awareness and community to film lovers. Among Len’s closets and cabinets full of media were several cases of film zines and journals, so I’m sure he’d also be thrilled by the idea that his collection is helping other people share their love of cinema, one issue at a time.

A lot of people are still shocked that I was willing to break up the collection, but walking around Len’s house and seeing dusty closets full of titles that hadn’t been watched in decades made me realize that’s not what I wanted for these movies. They should be out in the world, changing people’s perspectives, brightening someone’s day, educating and entertaining. Not stuck in one of my dusty closets, still in a crate. Movies are meant to be seen, and the beauty of physical media is that a title you might not be able to find on streaming can always be watched any time you want, as often as you want.

When I returned home, my husband built custom shelves in my reading nook to hold the four hundred and fifty Criterion titles I’d just inherited, plus room for new additions. Growing the collection is my way of keeping Len’s love of cinema alive, in addition to the weekly Friday night screenings we’ve started. Sometimes we choose an old favorite to watch, sometimes they’re new-to-us titles. Our top discoveries have been Lost in America (#887), The Incredible Shrinking Man (#1100), The In-Laws (#823), and Beyond the Valley of the Dolls (#836), but even when I’m disappointed with a pick, as I was with The Fallen Idol (#357) and Miller’s Crossing (#1112), I’m still grateful to have seen it. It’s comforting to have this tradition, one that harkens back to Friday night trips to Blockbuster when my parents would set me loose in the video store and let me pick out whatever I wanted. I think that’s why these viral Criterion Closet Pick videos are so effective, because they remind us of a time when we used to be able to go into a store and physically touch the movies. They didn’t exist in the cloud; they were right there, in our hands. I may not a celebrity, but with a closet full of #LensFlicks, I can still be a treasure hunter.

*If you’re one of the lucky Patreon raffle winners, be sure and tag your Criterion watches with the hashtag #lensflicks so we can see where the movie seeds have sprouted! I’ll be doing the same on my end, every Friday night.