It was 1983. I was ten and beyond enthusiastic to be joining my two older cousins for a sleep over at my aunt’s new apartment. We scored some ice cream and then hit the rental store without a question as to what we were planning to rent. As fate would have it, the movie was available.
When we got to my aunt's place, my cousin David and I made a dash for the VHS player while Jamie, the oldest of the bunch, was tasked with carrying in our sleeping bags. David put in the tape and hit play – and that’s when it happened…
Turns out, we didn’t rent Raiders of the Lost Ark, as we had hoped. No, we got something better. David pressed his hands against the TV, his voice cracking with hysteria as he proclaimed, “WE GOT THE NEXT INDIANA JONES MOVIE!”
“WHAT?! BUT HOW?!”
“I DON’T KNOW, BUT LOOK! INDIANA JONES AND THE TEMPLE OF DOOM! THIS IS THE NEXT MOVIE! AND WE HAVE IT!!”
We squealed like rabid schoolgirls and hugged each other so hard, it physically hurt. Before Jamie could put down our bedding, we pounced – both David and I screaming about how we won the VHS lottery. It only took David mere seconds to theorize that this VHS tape belonged to Steven Spielberg and that it, somehow, must’ve gotten mixed in the shuffle and landed here. In upstate New York. In my aunt’s VHS player.
We dragged Jamie in front of the TV and waited. We couldn’t have been more than three inches from the screen as the movie began. Our mouths hung open - I couldn’t catch my breath... we were actually watching Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom!! “So awesome," David whispered, “it starts just like Raiders.” Sadly, the title card appeared, our delusion came to an end, and Jamie grumbled, “That’s because it's Raiders, you idiots.”
Back then, VHS was a new frontier and we didn’t know that previews would accompany the main film. While it didn’t reveal much, that fifty seconds of video opened my eyes to the power of the movie trailer. If you really want to experience this art form at its finest, check out what I consider THE 10 BEST MOVIE TRAILERS EVER MADE.
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