It's Saturday night, and I'm standing in the longest line I've been in for a movie. All I want to do is buy my ticket to go see The Men Who Stare At Goats, and here I am standing out in the cold while a breeze manages to make me feel like my winter jacket is made of cheesecloth.
After an agonizing fifteen minutes of waiting, I get to the little window where you buy your tickets.
“I'm sorry, that showing is sold out,” the girl behind the fiberglass divider says. Her voice has the nasally quality of a seagull. I ask what else is playing that would be comparable to TMWSaG.
“The Face Punch showing at 9 has some seats left.”
“You know, Face Punch, some crazy action flick that just came out of nowhere.”
A movie with a name like Face Punch could only be one of two things: A bad rip-off of Fight Club,or a musical montage of someone punching various people in the face.
“Their tagline is 'Face punch: let's do this!' My boyfriend saw it last night and he is just absolutely raving about it.”
I bought the ticket and ran to theater room four. The only available seat I could find with the dim lighting of a preview for another zombie movie was in the front row. I settled myself just as the movie began.