Greg wanted to do something nice for his girlfriend, Connie. The good boyfriend that he was had an inherent impression that she needed to take her mind off spring midterms. After dating several months new ideas for dates were few and far between. He decided on taking her to the newest movie sensation sweeping the country, The Great American Race.  It had everything: action, romance, comedy, the biggest Hollywood names were in it. But that wasn’t even why it was so popular. The media loved it because it was the first movie to have an intermission, at four hours and thirty-five minutes long. The intermission was required worldwide and took place at the two-and-a-half hour mark. Everyone was forced to take a ten minute break. They could use the rest rooms, visit the concession stand, or just stretch their legs. Including previews, they were looking at spending the better part of the evening in the theater. Greg’s plan might actually work.

What midterms?

He picked Connie up at her house around one. She was wearing a short black dress to match her short black hair, even the ripples in the skirt resembled the curls in her hair. The dress had a pattern of white polka dots and a white collar, lightening it up a bit for the beautiful spring day. She didn’t live in a sorority house, but she did get a house on campus with a couple of girls she had dormed with sophomore year. Greg still lived with his parents, which was how he had access to a car.

Their red minivan chariot took them to the Multiplex. As they crossed the threshold of the clear pane-glass walls through the theater doors the massive and velveted lobby welcomed them. The wallpaper inside had sprawling lines with intermittent yellow and green sparkles on a deep purple background. The design matched the rug on the floor. All in all, the interior was a blast of nostalgia. If it wasn’t for the new arcade games, drinks, and snacks at the concession stand it would feel like an authentic time warp to the eighties or nineties.

When it was Greg and Connie’s turn he handed the woman at the concession stand his tickets and she ripped them in half at the perforated edges as she asked, “Would you like anything to eat or drink?”

“Crystal Soda, please,” requested Connie.

“I’ll just have a water,” said Greg.

“Would you like to buy The Great American Race collectible soda cup for an extra two dollars?” the woman asked with no emotion in her voice.

“No thanks,” said Connie.

“Oh, c’mon,” Greg laughed, “Look at that thing.”

The concession stand employee brandished The Great American Race cup for them to see, it was an elongated figure-eight tube that faintly resembled Canada up top, the United States in the middle, and Mexico at the bottom.

“Who would want that?” asked Connie.

That gave Greg enough reason right there. “We’ll take it,” he said as he swiped his credit card. Before Connie knew it, the drinks were bought, paid for, and she was carrying the soda contraption away without even knowing where to stick in the straw. Worst of all, they didn’t get any popcorn.

This theater had a weird layout. Where it lacked in outward space it made up for in height. They had to go up two cris-crossing stairwells to get to their theater. There were no visible numbers to the two theater rooms. The only thing helping them to turn left were the stairs lighting the way.

Once inside, Greg found their seats and Connie found where to puncture the straw in the collector’s cup. The theater filled out a little bit more and then went dark for the coming attractions. Greg lost count around trailer six or seven. All he knew was by the time the opening title for the movie hit the screen he heard Connie’s giant collector’s cup bottoming out. She had finished all that soda. Right before the movie took him away Greg thought to himself, ‘I know exactly where we’re going for intermission and it wasn’t to get more soda.’

The movie itself was pretty exciting. It’s the story of the hundred year anniversary of the Great American Seven-Day Horse Race from Winnipeg, Canada to Mexico City, Mexico. It took place during modern times. There were two ways to gain entry to the race, either by inheriting a spot from a former competitor or winning one of the lottery slots from several different reality television race shows. The star of the film was a young lotto racer named Queso and his horse Arcadian, a spotted mustang inspired by a Jackson Pollock painting.

The rival was Mitch Manchester III, who referred to himself in the third person as Triple Chester. Total cringe character. He was a proud chin, perfect blonde, nepo heir, sitting atop a great purebred stallion named Silver. The finest horse to ever be filmed, no doubt. The horse’s gray coat was immaculate and glistened perfectly, practically pronouncing its pedigree. The only thing more breath-taking than its hair was its towering presence. Greg could see it in Queso’s dark eyes. There was no way Arcadian the mustang could outrun that locomotive of a stallion. He would have to rely on outsmarting the other racers and his grit.

The first half of the movie established characters and context. Queso wanted to win so he could use the reward money to help his family. Triple Chester was never going to let that happen, not with his family dynasty at stake. There were other supporting characters that didn’t seem to be very relevant yet. Greg could tell because there were some really famous actors that were barely speaking in the first act, most of whom were playing other racers.

The race started in wintry Winnipeg, Canada, setting Queso and Arcadia at an immediate disadvantage. It wasn’t until Wichita, Kansas, that a beautiful Mexican racer named Palma de Cera felt sorry for Queso, and a little bit enamored with the young horse rider. They spent a night together and exchanged their real names, Sara and Bruno. Finally, she revealed her secret weapon and told him about a shortcut across the Mexican border. That was his ticket to first place. But could he betray Palma de Cera? By the end of the first half of the movie, Queso managed to place among the five racers on the leaderboard.

There was Triple Chester in first, Palma de Cera in second, a Cherokee named Speckled Wings in third, Jacob West in fourth, who was from Atlanta, Georgia, and the first African-American racer to qualify instead of winning a lotto slot. And then there was Queso in fifth place. The guy from Cincinnati, who sometimes liked to eat pizza with a fork and knife and peed sitting down in the dark of the night.

What?

Queso wasn’t even Hispanic. The nickname was more like the Superbowl halftime dip version of queso. He had so many different races in him: Persian, Colombian, Argentinian, Mexican, Albanian, Italian, German, Irish, English; it’s like his Anglo-Saxon ancestors had been juicing the bloodline since they came over to colonize America.

And that was the point for Greg. That’s why they chose Queso to lead this movie. He was the everyman. He was the melting pot incarnate, the underdog, the hero. The scene ended with a sweeping shot of them all approaching the Mexican border and then faded to black. The lights in the theater came back on. It was time for intermission.

“Wow, that flew by,” Greg said, to no one.

Connie was already stumbling over the other people unfortunate enough to be in their row. He scooped up the collector’s cup and followed his girlfriend back down the stairs to the lobby.

There was already a line for the women’s bathroom. Connie was about fourteenth on that line. If she didn’t move the way she had down the row she’d probably be thirtieth in line. Greg looked over to the men’s bathroom. No line. He shook his head. Would women ever make sense?

Greg had some time to kill while he waited. So, he went and got them a modest-sized popcorn, even the smalls looked like larges. He tried to make up for it by asking the concession stand worker to apply the butter sparingly. Just a taste. He returned to Connie who was now third on line. They snacked on the popcorn while they waited for her turn. At that point, she was practically bursting at the seams.

When it was finally her turn she was actually pretty quick about it. Then she came walking out with a guilty look.

“What?” he asked.

“You’re gonna kill me,” she said.

“What is it?”

“Well, after all that popcorn…”

“You’re thirsty again. Wish you would’ve told me when I went before.”

“I wasn’t thirsty before.”

“Come on, let’s go. We only have a few minutes left.”

They hustled back over to the concession line.

Yes, another line.

They were up next when the lights flashed. The intermission was officially over. Greg started to get anxious as people emptied out of the lobby. He tried to hide it so Connie didn’t feel bad. It’s not that he was dying to get back to the movie. He just didn’t like breaking the rules.

Greg looked behind them when they got to the counter. They were the last people in the lobby.

“Just waters for us, thanks,” he said without even giving Connie a chance to speak.

He had his credit card out and at the ready like he was going to quickdraw the swiper. Connie took the water bottles and he swiped his card, declining a receipt. They quickly dashed across the carpeted lobby floor to the stairwell. Greg had her by the arm, gently encouraging Connie to move as fast as she could. When they got to the stairs he let go. His legs were way too long for her to match pace on the stairs. Sometimes the guy would take two stairs at a time!

Connie watched herself scale the staircase faster than ever before. And just like that they were right back in the theater. The movie was already playing which made it impossible to see. During the bright flashes they found people in their seats. There would be no point in arguing with them now. Neither Greg nor Connie liked confrontation, in fact they actively avoided it.

Without a word uttered they decided to find other seats. This didn’t sit well with Greg. And he knew if he didn’t swallow that grievance right now it would lead to a fight later. Connie would undoubtingly blame herself for this series of unfortunate events. So, Greg tried to let the movie suck him back in and forget about the intermission incident.

Not much had happened since the break. The five racers were still in the lead. Queso was with Palma de Cera and Triple Chester was barely outpacing Speckled Wings and Jacob West. As they approached the border the camera followed Triple Chester instead of Queso. The town of Laredo, Texas had made way for the race, practically shutting itself down for the day. Route 85 was cleared and the townsfolk lined the sides of the road cheering the horse racers on as they galloped towards the border to Mexico. Still, Queso and Palma de Cera were nowhere to be found. Many people started to doubt if they were still in the race but their names remained on the leaderboard.

Greg broke from the screen to check on Connie. She looked just as confused as he did. When he looked back, the border sequence was over. The race was now in Mexico. The first part of the Mexican portion was a barren track of land until they reached Monterrey. And then all of a sudden, out of nowhere Queso and Palma de Cera were there! Right in front of them! But how? The other three kicked their horses to muster them into catching up. Triple Chester frowned. Jacob West smiled. Speckled Wings’ face showed no emotion except focus.

Then the oddest thing happened. The crowd in the theater booed. Which totally caught Greg off-guard. He was right about to cheer for the return of Queso. That’s when it started. Greg noticed little things amongst the crowd. He didn’t want to break Connie’s immersion since she hadn’t seemed to care. But he was becoming increasingly more suspicious. Or was the more accurate word paranoid? Yes, it was finally made clear when the movie’s heel, Triple Chester once again took the lead and the crowd cheered him on. That made it official. Greg was no longer at the Multiplex. He was in the Twilight Zone.

He told Connie he had to use the bathroom and left. Their new seats were right on the aisle, which made for quick and easy escape and reentry. Sure enough, when Greg got outside he saw their mistake. Rushing up the zig-zag stairs in a hurry had caused them to go into the theater on the right instead of the theater to the left. Greg walked in to find their original seats vacant and waiting for them in the center of the row, just as he had scrutinized over online when he had first bought the tickets.

Greg made a decision that went by in a flash and would change his life forever. Instead of going back to get Connie he walked further into the theater to investigate the strange case of the twice cut film. It’s not that he didn’t care about Connie. He knew she was safe. It’s just that he cared more about his own sanity. Before Greg knew it, he was once again sitting down watching The Great American Race.

The movie itself was ramping up towards an exciting climax. There were only three racers left. Palma de Cera and Speckled Wings were both out. Palma’s horse went down somewhere in Hidalgo and Speckled Wings got stopped in Mexico City by a construction crew not aware of the raise or the interference they were causing. Early on, it was explained to the racers (and the world viewing the race) that the racetrack was far too ambitious for them to be able to account for every environmental factor. In other words, they would have to deal with unexpected obstacles.

On the final stretch of the race it was down to Triple Chester and Queso. Unfortunately for Jacob West, his horse was exhausted, completely out of energy and trailing behind them. Somehow, Arcadian had found his reserve’s reserve deep down as the wild little mustang that could kept pace with Silver. It was a photo-finish and Queso wound up winning by a nose.

The crowd went wild in the theater. Greg sat back and smiled. He felt so relieved. He laughed a little. Then he got up to go check on Connie and see how the other crowd had taken it. His suspicions were now ninety-nine percent confirmed.

Greg never made it to the other theater. There on the floor waiting for him wasn’t just some employee but the Multiplex Manager.

All he said was, “Come with me,” before walking away.

Greg decided to follow him. He didn’t think he was in trouble but his curiosity was getting the best of him. Greg followed the manager down the stairs. Instead of going all the way back down to the lobby, they stopped at the halfway platform, which would probably be considered the first floor. Instead of theaters there were offices, after walking all the way around.

The double doors to the executive office were open, shining light on an otherwise dark echelon over-looking the lobby. A man stood in that light, casting his silhouette off the balcony into the empty center of the Multiplex. As Greg got closer the towering man didn’t get any clearer. He was wearing a dark suit, finely tailored. It looked very expensive and so did his shoes which didn’t shine but looked like they should. There was a thin column of smoke rising from him. Greg saw the ember of the cigarette cherry reflect in the man’s dark eyes. He wasn’t quite sure if the shadows of the dark balcony were playing tricks on him but the ember reflections seemed to stay lit in the executive’s eyes.

Greg looked around for comfort and the Multiplex Manager was gone. Just like that. Nowhere to be found. Almost as if Greg stumbled over here on his own.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“It doesn’t matter who I am. All that matters is what happens next.” Words seem to come out of a mouthless shadow of a man with glowing eyes.

Greg was almost too afraid to speak. He was close now. The shadow should have receded. But it didn’t. He rubbed his eyes and tried to look again.

The man leaned down almost causing Greg to stumble back. “Think of me as a producer.”

Some of the shadow lifted as the Executive Producer smiled. His perfectly white teeth reflected the light from his office and softened the darkness gathering around him. But the smile never touched his eyes.

“Y-you helped make the movie?”

“In a way. Is there something you want to ask me?”

“Are there two different cuts playing at the same time in this theater?”

“There is.”

“Why?”

“Ahh. That’s the real question, isn’t it. A tale as old as time. Allow me to counter your question with another question, why not?”

Greg didn’t know what to say to that. Luckily, the Executive Producer continued. “Hollywood has been playing around with viewer immersion since the start. 3D tried and failed to add another level of immersion. So instead of changing how the viewers see the movie physically, we’re trying to change how they see it mentally.”

“You’re talking about altering perception. But what good would that cause if the viewers don’t know they saw different cuts of the same movies?”

The Executive Producer’s smile turned into a grin, as if he was hungry and just saw a buffet. “Now, that is an excellent question! You found out pretty quickly, didn’t you? And where did that get you?”

“Here.”

“So, let’s find out where here really is. Ah, right on cue!”

The doors to both theaters opened. The movies were over and the people were emptying out, down the stairs, to the lobby below them. Greg watched as the people exiting the left theater were clearly more jovial than those exiting the right theater. He put it together as they spilled into the lobby like two rivers meeting at the same delta.

“The left theater is happy because the hero won and the right theater is bummed because…”

“Because their hero lost. Review bombs are coming.”

“Why would you do that to your own movie?”

“It’s not my movie,” the Executive Producer’s grin turned into a smirk. “It's an experiment on the lasting effects of polarizing perspectives. If this works... the applications are endless,” he said while rubbing his hands together, leaning over to the Multiplex Manager, who had suddenly reappeared and was standing next to his shadow boss, snickering.

Greg took a self-aware step back. “Why are you telling me all this?”

The Executive Producer and the Multiplex Manager regarded his change in demeanor and then laughed in his face.

“If you're worried that I’m going to have you killed after explaining my grand master plan like some comic book villain, don't be an idiot. You are nothing but an insignificant speck. Even if you did try to whistle blow, no one would ever believe you. You're nobody!” He took one more pull of his cigarette and flicked the butt at Greg. “Get lost, punk.”

Greg let the butt of the cigarette smear ash on the back of this shirt as he turned around and to run. He heard the mysterious executive mumble one last thing to the manager before getting out of earshot, “Wait until discord reaches the echo chambers.”

He spotted Connie as one of the last people leaving the right theater and met her on the stairs.

“Where were you?” She asked, very concerned. “You didn’t come back.”

“I’m here now.”

“What’s going on?”

“I’ll explain in the car. C’mon let’s go.”

Greg took Connie by the hand to weave through the crowded lobby. There were a couple of people already posting live reactions on social media. They were bumping elbows with each other, mixing reviews. Some people were getting offended that others actually liked the movie’s ending. There appeared to be a clear divide.

Only Greg saw through the lies. As reactions and tempers flared, more phones were pulled out, and more live feeds were started. The cause-and-effect-chain known as going viral was now self-sustaining. Before Greg made it to the glass doors to the outside he spared one more look at the Executive Producer and the Multiplex Manager rubbing their hands greedily as they watched from the balcony above.

Later, in the car, on the drive home, Greg tried explaining to Connie. “You don’t understand. This guy was crazy, like I saw the crazy in his eyes. He looked at people like numbers. He flicked a frigging cigarette at me! I mean the mark is still on my shirt. He said no one would listen to me. That people would think I’m crazy. You don’t think that, right?”

Silence.

“Connie? You don’t really think I would make all this up, do you?”

This time it was a pregnant silence filling the empty space in the minivan. “It’s just that,” Connie took her time answering, “Triple Chester spent his whole life preparing for that race and now he let his family down because that Spanish kid cheated.”

“Spanish? Wait, Triple? You? But I—” Greg rambled on, cutting himself off. “It’s all twisted up, don’t you see?”

“Not really. That movie was bad. It promotes anti-family values. I don’t care if there’s two different versions of it.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point, Greg?” she asked.

He froze. In all the time they had been together he never heard her take that tone before. She sounded annoyed. So, he decided to let it go. Did it really matter to him that she didn’t like the movie or couldn’t understand the polarizing perspective? If he persisted any further he would be making the issue about him. And he didn’t want to do that. But then, where did that leave him and his feelings? How was he going to process all of this if he couldn’t talk about it? Was that scary executive right? If his own girlfriend didn’t believe him it was going to be a lot harder to convince others. That filled him with a deep dread of insignificance, allowing all that paranoia and anxiety to creep back into his mind.

They spent the rest of the car ride in silence, listening to music on the radio. Connie kissed him on the cheek goodnight as if nothing was wrong. He let the next day go without arranging another date and just like that midterms were upon them and then it was spring break. They never discussed the movie again. They didn’t even see each other during break. Connie went home to spend time with her family. When they returned to finish the semester they texted a little here and there, saw each other on campus and at parties, but never went on another date. The relationship kind of just fizzled out and all Greg could do was trace it back to that fateful night he decided to take her to a movie with an intermission.

THE END