You don't know anything about the movie except the preview at last week's show, and the big poster in the lobby warning that no one will be admitted after the movie starts.
After all, it's Hitchcock.
You think "This will be a great date movie. Maryann will squeal and snuggle up close during the scary parts." So you head off the the Rivoli on a Saturday night. There you sit, about halfway through the movie -- and nothing much has happened. A bit boring, really. The blonde main character (Janet Leigh) is now facing up to the fact that she took the money, and is ready to head back home and face the consequences. She just needs to "freshen up a bit" and get a good night's sleep.
Then she's steps into the shower.
Oooh, maybe this is going to get good, especially with my arm sneaking over Maryann's shoulder. Then . . .
SHIT ! ! !
There's a knife. And that noise! Oh, shit, she's getting stabbed. I mean, that doesn't look like fake movie stuff. It looks like she's really getting stabbed.
Oh my god, she's naked! And there's blood! And that noise! And she's still getting stabbed. Oh shit.
Wait. She's dead. She's the star of the movie and she's dead! What the hell? The star of the movie is laying there naked in a shower. And she's dead.
Then you hear the weird guy that runs the motel: "Oh mother! What have you done?"
In that instant, everything you ever knew about movies is turned upside down.
You forget all about Maryann, who is sitting there with her mouth hanging open and her fingernails drawing blood on your forearm. You're mouth is hanging open, too. Your hands are gripping the arm of the seat as hard as Maryann is clawing at your arm. The popcorn from the bag you were sharing is scattered on the floor.
And although you don't know it yet, there's more to come. Things you can't even imagine. Things you've never even heard of.
By the time the screeching violins and slashing knife have played out, by the time the chair turns to one more chorus of piercing screams and flying popcorn, you are exhausted.
When it's all done, there's no more thought of how far you can get with Maryann. All you want is to somehow look manly while you drink your cherry Coke -- even you had to check to make sure you didn't pee your pants.
