Moviegoers attending the The Hitcher will jump from their seat exactly three times, twice because sudden loud noises will wake them from a light slumber. They will recoil once, from gore. The film will elicit 4.6 laughs, each the result of the film’s sheer absurdity. Seventy-three percent of moviegoers will shake their heads interminably, wondering quietly to themselves how they ended up seated in this particular theater watching this particular movie. Forty-three percent of female dates will turn to their boyfriends/husbands at some point and ask, “Why are we here?” Sixty-eight percent of the men will respond, “Just watch the film, OK?” Approximately 62 percent of college-aged men will feel guilty for dragging groups of friends to see The Hitcher at the Friday midnight screening. The other 38 percent will remark smugly, “Dude. That chick was hot. I’d tap that.” The same 38 percent will sleep alone that night reeking of burnt caterpillar, the signature scent of IHOP.
The only moments of joy will come from a Nine Inch Nails song, which will transport 78 percent of attendees 28 and older to an earlier time when they remembered thinking Trent Reznor was “the sh!t.” They will suddenly remember why: They were consistently high during a three-year period in college.
When the credits finally roll, most moviegoers will think little of it. They will sigh and walk out unenthusiastically. However, hours later, they will wonder why they continue to speak in short, curt sentences. And they will remember, finally, that “42,000 people die each year on highways in the United States.” And it will all make sense. However, the film — as well as the motivation of the Hitcher — will still remain a mystery.