The End of the World of Video as We Know It The idea of going to a store to pick out a movie that you would take home and watch on your own TV: some of us remember when this was a novelty. We think it was before cellphones, but we're not quite sure, having long ago given up on keeping up with technology. We remember, too, when Blockbuster Video was viewed as an evil conglomerate with ties to the Christian right that would drive out independent video stores. How naïve we were. Even we were sad when Netflix rendered Blockbuster a bust, gone the way of Borders and B. Dalton bookstores. Which is one reason why the survival of World of Video, a small rental shop in the West Village, has seemed all the more remarkable. Having it here has been like having an endangered bird nesting on your fire escape year after year. We have wanted to protect it from buffeting winds. We've felt lucky to be chosen for its home. And then one day a few weeks ago, it let us know it was leaving. "Lost Our Lease," the handwritten sign in the window said: "Closing April 28." While there's still time, come by, pay a visit. It doesn't look like much, this world; it's a hole in the wall next to a tanning salon on Greenwich Avenue, near Seventh Avenue. The neon sign is half-lit, the window display is tacky. The carpeting is tattered and stained. Inside, it smells moldy. You might not understand why neighbors in the West Village would feel such affection for it. "Because it's ours," would be one answer - even though it's not, technically. Someone owns it, someone who sold the lease to someone who offered more money. But neighbors kept it going, renting videos and DVDs for $4.75 for two nights, and inevitably paying the late fees. It is a democratic world, this place, one with movies for kids and families and for the Criterion Collection crowd and for the dudes who like porn and hang out in the back. "Because it's old," would be another reason. At 30, World of Video is ancient in shop years, and it has never tried to keep up with the times. It did not change its name to "World of DVDs." But I think most here would say it was the guys behind the counter who kept us coming in - guys who are film geeks and who always had an unexpected answer when asked, "What should I rent?" "It will blow your mind," Justin told me about "Knife in the Water," Polanski's first. Check. "It's the best thing he did, bar none," he claimed of Kubrick's "The Killing." "It will change your life," he said of Kurosawa's "Ran." This time, I was skeptical - a three-hour Japanese "King Lear" set in the 16th century? But you know what? It kind of did. I still can't get over the beheading of the Empress. Tito raised an eyebrow when I brought "Fight Club" to the counter. Are you sure about that? Uh, no, I wasn't; it was an impulse pick. He took the DVD from me, came around the counter, scanned the shelves for a moment, then put "Sexy Beast" in my hands instead. This is what you're looking for, man. I had never done John Cassavetes until Sean helped me put together a Cassavetes film series. Likewise, he curated a Glenda Jackson retrospective for me, followed by a Faye Dunaway, a Jane Fonda and a Robert-Redford-when-he-was good series. Somewhere in there, I needed a break from good taste. David suggested a Gothic horror double bill: "The Blair Witch Project" and "Deliverance." Genius. When I came in one night and said I needed to laugh, Pete did not recommend "The Hangover." Instead, he steered me to Alec Guinness in "Kind Hearts and Coronets." I will always be grateful for that. Those of us who were regulars at the shop will, of course, miss browsing the shelves for films. What is saddest about the demise of World of Video, though, is how sad the guys are about losing their store. There was a moment when we thought we could rally together and save it. "Let's get organized," I told Pete. We'll raise money; we'll make a counter-offer and buy the stock and help you open a store in another location. A fellow customer overheard me and said he'd pitch in, yet he couldn't help wondering aloud, "Why would anyone else even want to buy the stock? In a couple years, DVDs will be obsolete. Everything will be on a cloud. I was not sure what he meant, this cloud thing, but it did not sound accommodating to endangered birds. We started a list. "Save the World," it said at the top, and over the next few days, customers by the dozens added their names and e-mail addresses to it. There was talk of a fund-raiser. Actors and writers and cooks who live in the neighborhood offered to help. But the moment passed. The owner sold most of the stock to a liquidator before we could raise the cash, and put the remainder on sale for 10 bucks apiece. Somehow the guys behind the counter didn't have it in them to take up the fight. But they did throw a damn good party at the store last Wednesday night. There were pretzels and cheap Champagne, near-empty shelves and lots of neighbors. "I feel like I'm in the last episode of Cheers," Tito said as we raised plastic glasses in a toast. And so, it's true, what the sign in the window says: the World is coming to an end. Like the Magic Shop in the H. G. Wells short story, its door will not just close behind us but disappear, never to be found again. A new business will move into the space in May, and those of us in the neighborhood will do our best to welcome it and try not to hold a grudge. But we will never forget the world as it once was: one where film geeks reigned and in which there was not a single cloud. Bill Hayes is a writer whose work has appeared in the Opinionator and Sunday Review sections of The Times, among other places.