The movie theater was angry that day, my friends.
There came a point when I realized, in a half-full opening day matinee, I was the only dude in the building.
We got further into this superbly-acted story, electricity rippling and crackling as viewers absorbed every pain inflicted on Susan Sarandon and Geena Davis as their own.
It was a magnificent film, and remains so to this day, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I was the first one out the door at the end.
And I can still feel the eyeballs burning a hole in my departing back.