9 Rare and Expensive Types of VHS Tapes


Collectors of any kind know that scarcity is king, but that the loving eye of the beholder can also account for a lot; for example, a slice of Prince William and Kate Middleton’s wedding cake recently sold for almost $3000, even though it was presumably pretty stale.

The same is true of VHS, a medium which, having only finally been retired by major studios in 2006, is still finding its groove with collectors in terms of what’s precious and what’s worthless. To wit: eBay sellers are currently hawking seemingly a million VHS copies of Disney’s Beauty and the Beast for anywhere from $10 to $500.

Here are a few kinds of VHS tapes—including this year’s hot properties and some long-standing rare finds—that you might want to stop using to prop up the cat’s litter box.


While pristine "first edition" VHS copies of time-honored movies are always great, aficionados are especially interested in gathering and archiving movies that never made it to DVD or other digital formats (even Yale University is pitching in)—often because nobody ever bothered to preserve those particular flicks.

The result is that many of the rarest, most desirable VHS tapes contain films that are real clunkers. Tales from the Quadead Zone recently made a splash by fetching $700 (an amount that might double by the next time it’s resold) despite being a trainwreck of a movie. As TIME puts it, the horror film’s high resale value can be credited to the fact that “schlocky horror and exploitation films stand little chance of ever being transferred to DVD or Blu-ray, [meaning] VHS copies are often the last surviving evidence that the film existed.” So, for both fans and archivists, they’re priceless.


Both professional wrestling and VHS enjoyed their golden ages in the final two decades of the last millennium, and their combination makes for real heritage items among collectors. Got a copy of the 1994 WCW classic Halloween Havoc that’s still in the shrink wrap? Unless you’re (understandably) dying to watch it yourself, leave that plastic on—there’s one on eBay looking to fetch several hundred dollars. World Class Championship Wrestling Vol. 1-5 are also quite rare (and valued accordingly), while an opened copy of Bash at the Beach 2000 recently sold for $599.


So the only thing about your tape that rings less of a bell than its goofy title is the pulled-a-name-out-of-a-hat company that produced and sold the tape? That’s a great sign.

During VHS’s heyday, small distribution companies picked up the cheap rights to all kinds of titles (especially B movies and public domain "classics"), letting them turn a quick profit by selling budget films on budget tapes. Some distributors produced tape boxes and sleeves that were absolute gems, while others absolutely did not, and both the highs and lows of small-time re-releases make a big splash among collectors.

For example, Donna Michelle Productions (no relation to classic Playboy Playmate-turned-actress Donna Michelle, as far as we know) released seven horror flicks between 1986 and 1990 that really strain the term “B movie” and drive VHS collectors wild. The 1987 rural horror film Splatter Farm—written and directed by John Polonia, Mark Polonia, and Todd Smith, and starring Marion Costly, John Polonia, Mark Polonia, and Todd Smith—is one of this prized batch, and almost impossible to find. It’s been released on DVD, too, but the format matters: To see every gruesome shot of farm butchery found in the original version, you have to watch the tape.

If you come across any Donna Michelle Productions releases—especially Rock and Roll Mobster Girls or Monsters and Maniacs—be sure to hang on to them, as they can fetch three-digit prices.


Regardless of which field they’re scouring, many collectors aim to scoop up those items that authority—or even society as a whole—has deemed unsuitable. Such is the case with Disney’s controversial 1947 musical film Song of the South, which had a few theatrical releases over the years, was then finally and summarily retired from Disney’s cache of offerings, and can fetch around $30 on tape.

It’d also be worth seeing if your garage has any titles found on the list of "video nasties" that were banned (or, at least, heavily scrutinized) by the British Board of Film Classification starting in the mid-‘80s. For several years, public discussion of these films linked them to rising violence among youths, while the UK’s Director of Public Prosecutions argued they were in violation of the Obscene Publications Act of 1959. An original copy of 1979’s Delirium, aka Psycho Puppet, for example, can easily net between $100 and $150.


Various music films found their final resting place on VHS tapes, too, including ones from the some of the world’s most famous bands. The documentary film Let it Be is a behind-the-scenes look at the recording process for the Beatles’ album of the same name; because it ended up capturing the very sour dynamics in the group right before the four split up for good, however, their production company elected to let VHS be the film’s final format. Only last month, too, was The Decline of Western Civilization, the renowned documentary about underground LA punk, released on DVD and Blu-ray for the first time—having made it one of the most sought-after VHS titles for over 30 years.


If you’ve been dedicating, say, a quarter of your basement to storing VHS box sets of old primetime TV shows, you’ve made a wise choice: one asking price for 23 episodes of Star Trek is $345, while Set 3 of The Best of the Simpsons commands $45 on its own.


If interest in a particular film has dipped or vanished before a format changeover, there’s a fair chance that this title won’t make the cut of movies that receive the upgrade. When it comes to international and foreign language films, competition for next-generation format preservation by U.S. production companies is fierce, especially if a large number of fans haven’t been howling for it. Thus, in order to enjoy programming like Final Fantasy: Legend of the Crystals (among many other things), you gotta track it down on tape (and can expect to pay big bucks).


From classic "exploitation" titles and Blaxploitation sagas to (mostly European) nunsploitation ones, the cult favorites in these over-the-top genres always get action from collectors. If you’re looking to buy, the film Sextette, starring Mae West, Timothy Dalton, and Dom DeLuise, will only cost around $15 or so all told, but even a former rental store copy of the Blaxploitation classic Brotherhood of Death could set you back $76—and that’s without an unaltered original case.


This point is likely old news to the record-collectors, but the cover art and packaging of many VHS tapes—whether it’s particularly great or awful, or somehow both—can carry a lot of weight in terms of their value; for example, you might want to drop $20 on a VHS copy of the mediocre movie Revenge of the Mysterons From Mars (which featured Supermarionation special effects) if you find yourself moved by its striking but awkward cover art.

On the other hand, if covers aren’t your thing, that same $20 could get you a copy of “How to Get a Record Deal”—featuring sage advice from Kenny Loggins, Phil Collins, and others—plus a pizza and/or a sixpack of beer to go with it (pizza rates may vary by location). Then again, you could keep it simple and just get enough $0.99-copies of the “Ab-Doer Back & Spine” exercise video to fill a bathtub. To each their own.

Ian Gavan, Getty Images
10 Colorful Facts About Teletubbies
Ian Gavan, Getty Images
Ian Gavan, Getty Images

It was the show that every baby loved and every parent found annoying, but somehow Teletubbies took over the world in the late 1990s, much the same way The Beatles did in the 1960s. Tinky-Winky, Dipsy, Laa-Laa, and Po—the four colorful characters with televisions in their stomachs—demanded hugs, loved to repeat themselves, and became icons of educational television, though many still question just what was to be learned from their antics. On the 20th anniversary of the series' American premiere, we're looking behind the scenes of the weird show that somehow just worked.


When the Teletubbies sat down with Today to reveal their true identities, fans learned that the actors inside the costumes were as diverse as the characters themselves, and each one added a bit of his or her own culture to the character they portrayed. John Simmit blended reggae into Dipsy’s babytalk, while Pui Fan Lee incorporated Cantonese into Po’s gibberish. In a short film called Understanding Teletubbies, Tina Wagner from Ragdoll Productions and educational consultant Faith Rogow revealed that body color and height are not the only differences between the four characters. “They also have different skin tones in their faces,” Rogow said. “All of that is very purposeful.”


Teletubbies co-creator Andrew Davenport told The Guardian that when writing the show, he was inspired by the moon landings and the physical appearance of the astronauts. “It struck me as funny that, at this pinnacle of human achievement, the figures that emerged in bulky spacesuits from landing capsules are like toddlers, with oversized heads and foreshortened legs,” he said, “and they respond to the excitement of their new world by bouncing about. So I devised characters based on spacemen, with limited language just like the emergent speech of young children.”


Because the Teletubbies only appear on the show in their fake world, there is nothing to compare them to besides each other. Wagner revealed in the short film that in costume, Tinky-Winky is almost nine feet tall.


Teletubbies co-creator Anne Wood revealed in an interview with The Guardian that those cute and fluffy rabbits that appear in the show are not your average pet bunnies. “They needed to be big to fit in with the scale,” Wood said. There was also a problem with their health. “The only suitable ones we could find had been bred on the continent to be eaten,” Wood revealed. “We gave them perfect conditions, running free over the Teletubby grasslands, but their breeding had given them enlarged hearts, and almost weekly the animal trainer would greet me in distress and tell me another had died.”


The world famous Teletubbies (L-R) Po, Laa-Laa, Dipsy and Tinky-Winky cross 7th Avenue in Times Square in New York 27 March 2007 as they arrive on American soil in person for the first time ever.

According to the BBC'S annual report for 1998/1999, Teletubbies was its leading brand with over $46 million in revenue. At the time, they were seen by children in 120 countries and territories and aired in 20 languages.


Because the Teletubbies brand was so big, it had to be protected. In 1999, they sued Wal-Mart Stores Inc. for selling blatant knockoffs called Bubbly Chubbies. “It's not flattery. It's just illegal," Kenn Viselman, the chief executive of the company that marketed the Teletubbies in the United States, told the Los Angeles Times. A spokesperson said that Wal-Mart would “never knowingly infringe on copyright or trademark law,” but the company later agreed to stop selling the toys and destroyed the rest of the inventory.


In 1999, the German Association of Pediatricians argued that Teletubbies was bad for children because it (and other shows like it) caused “uncontrollable television consumption in later years.” The doctors also questioned the educational value of the show.


This past Halloween, Taylor Swift Instagrammed a throwback photo of a Teletubbies costume she wore as a child. The photo is black-and-white, but Swift said that she was Laa-Laa and none of the other kids got it. “When you dress as the yellow teletubby for Halloween, but it's before Teletubbies got huge so all the kids at school ask you why you're dressed as a yellow pregnant alien,” she captioned the photo.


According to IMDb, there were 365 episodes of Teletubbies produced. They aired in the UK on BBC2 between March 31, 1997 and February 16, 2001, and on PBS in the U.S. And there will be more episodes: In 2015, a Teletubbies reboot was announced. The series has also been kept alive in pop culture thanks to numerous references in everything from Family Guy to Doctor Who to Major League Baseball.


On December 1, 1997, the Fab Four dropped a single called “Teletubbies Say ‘Eh-Oh'.” In the week before Christmas, the song had already reached number one on the Billboard UK Singles Chart, selling 1.2 million copies and earning a double platinum certification. It remained in the top 75 for 29 weeks.

Jo Hale, Getty Images
When Michael Flatley Was 'Lord of the Dance'
Jo Hale, Getty Images
Jo Hale, Getty Images

In 1989, while speaking with the Chicago Tribune, a 30-year-old dancer named Michael Flatley outlined some significant plans he had for the future. Chief among them: franchising a plumbing business called Dynasewer, which he hoped would one day replace Roto-Rooter as the go-to company for desperate people with impenetrably clogged toilets.

Few people outside of the Chicago area have ever heard of Dynasewer, which tells you everything you need to know about Flatley’s grand plans. Instead of running a sewage empire, he embraced dancing, something he had loved and practiced since the age of 11. A little over six years later, he was selling millions of videos and made a fortune touring as the Irish-stepping star of Lord of the Dance.


The contrast between Flatley’s plumbing aspirations and his theatrical gifts isn’t as jarring as it might seem. Born in Chicago on July 16, 1958 to Irish immigrants, Flatley took cues from both his parents. His mother was an accomplished Irish step-dancer, which usually emphasizes a rigid torso and vertically-held arms along with rhythmic lower body choreography; his grandmother was a contest champion in their native Ireland. His father was a construction laborer and plumber who eventually owned his own contracting business. There was no reason Flatley couldn’t be inspired by both of their talents.

Dancing was an informal hobby for the young Flatley, and one he didn’t begin to take seriously until age 11—a significantly late start for step-dancers. To make up for lost time, Flatley practiced for hours every day in his family’s garage. The work paid off: At 17, he won the All-World Championships in Ireland, becoming the first American ever to do so.

While it was a commendable accomplishment, and one that surely thrilled the step-obsessed Flatleys, Irish stepping was not considered a viable option toward financial independence. For the next several years, Flatley assisted his father in construction work, digging ditches and contemplating a career in professional boxing, another physically demanding passion he had developed.

Then The Chieftains came calling. The Irish folk band was successful touring Ireland with an act that mixed traditional Celtic music with high-energy step routines, and Flatley acquitted himself well as a supporting player. He accompanied the group for four years, at the same time developing the Dynasewer brand as a financial cushion to fall back on, as he assumed his dancing career would be a short-lived endeavor. Even a Guinness World Record—which Flatley earned for tapping his feet 28 times in one second in 1989—was hard to monetize. (In 1998, he broke his own record when he reached an impressive 35 taps per second.)

Flatley’s fortunes changed in 1994, thanks to the Eurovision Song Contest. Looking to broadcast the distinctive art of Irish stepping, Flatley joined a new troupe and co-created Riverdance, a seven-minute number that broadened the appeal of his art by adding flashy costumes, a stage-filling number of backup performers, and a degree of sensuality.

Riverdance was a phenomenal ratings success, becoming the talk of that year’s Eurovision field in much the same way Michael Jackson had walked off with a televised Motown special in 1981 by debuting the Moonwalk. Almost immediately, Flatley and producers began assembling a full-length Riverdance stage show that was even more bombastic. Flatley, his exposed torso reminiscent of a flamenco dancer, led a wildly successful international tour and became one of the very few dancers recognizable to the general public—attention usually only afforded to actor-performers like Gregory Hines or Mikhail Baryshnikov.

For six months, Flatley was on top of the world. Then, the night before Riverdance was scheduled to open in London, he was fired.


According to Flatley, the acrimonious split from Riverdance was a result of the show’s unprecedented success. As the key creative force behind the scenes, the performer wanted to retain control of his choreography, a concession that the show’s producers were unwilling to make. In a show of force, they ousted their star from the stage.

Flatley’s legal response to that situation wouldn’t be resolved until 1999, when the two parties came to an undisclosed settlement. But it didn't take that long for the parties to realize that it was Flatley, and not the Riverdance banner, that audiences were flocking to see. Less than six months after his Riverdance dismissal, Flatley and new partner John Reid conceived Lord of the Dance, a brand-new stage attraction that featured a loose narrative—Flatley is a warrior up against sinister forces—and even more bombastic theatrics. (Reid and Flatley would part ways, rather acrimoniously, a couple of years later.) Flatley exuded so much energy that he claimed he lost 8 to 10 pounds during each performance (then ate “everything in sight to keep my weight up").

'Lord of the Dance' star Michael Flatley poses during a public appearance
Alaxandra Beier, Getty Images

Lord of the Dance was a staggering success, making $60 million in just two years of touring and selling 12 million copies on video. Flatley continued performing through 1998, before announcing his retirement from the show. He was nearing 40, and his back, feet, and joints had taken a significant amount of impact. He felt it was time to step away.

In 2005, the urge to perform returned, and Flatley debuted Celtic Tiger. He continued dancing through 2016, at which point, he told reporters, being the Lord of the Dance had led to diminished physical abilities. “My groin is gone,” he said. And his left foot sometimes fractures spontaneously.

Wealthy from touring, Flatley could sit idle and nurse his aching frame. Instead, he recently shot a film, Blackbird, which he directed and stars in alongside Eric Roberts. He also paints, albeit in an unconventional way: Flatley produces abstract works by dipping his feet into paint and moving them across the canvas.


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