Picture this: The year is 2001, it's early spring, you've freshly turned 12, and a slew of new movies are set to hit theaters. Your parents tell you that it's up to you to decide what movie the family will see, since it's your birthday, after all.
Now consider, if you will, the second path. On the other side of this fork in the road lies another film. It's unassuming at first glance, based on Archie Comics characters in a pre-Riverdale world (if you can imagine), and it traipsed into theaters with little fanfare, if not a lone *womp-womp-womp* trumpet.
You don't know much about said movie, but you know that the leads are all women, so that already puts it head and shoulders above the bemulleted feature on the opposite path, and you know there will be original music. Hell, you even used to watch the cartoon with your grandparents, so at the very least, you might understand some of the references.
The choice is clear. You're going to see Josie and the Pussycats, and your life will be forever changed.
It's a difficult thing, being born before one's time, something Josie knows all too well. The majority of the 2001 audience didn't really understand what she (the film) was doing, and her camp and satire were largely lost on the folks who wanted their Rings lorded and their Mummy returned.
But a more discerning audience knew there was gold in that there screen, and years later, a cult following would gather at the altar of Josie, asking forgiveness for not recognizing her wonder earlier. But it matters not when you find your way to her — it only matters that you find your way at all.