The theater was cramped - a special quirk of our Adirondack movie house, a forty seat room that forced practically any viewer to press their nose against the screen.
"Let's go," my sister said. "This isn't worth it."
"No," I insisted. "We paid full price for the ticket, after all."
I was thirteen, and had never said anything so foolish before. She knew to bail after thirty minutes, but as a masochist I insisted on witnessing the entire damn thing.
It doesn't work as drunken fun, and it doesn't work as second-screen noise-engagement. It's just empty dribble. It's the potential of a good story thrown into a wood-chipper, and like the young fool I was I insisted on standing at…