There was only one other person in the theater when I recently saw this movie at a local multiplex late at night: An Hispanic gentleman. He was seated in the uppermost, dark corner of the theater. He had a deeply tanned sun-worn, old-before-his-time look (may have been in his 30's, 40's or 50's; hard to tell), wore somewhat tattered clothes, and kept his old cowboy hat titled low over his eyes. This is a plot-heavy movie whose ending becomes more obvious as the movie progresses. I thought the movie was well done, but as a second generation white American it did not have a particularly deep impact on me. However, as the movie went along, I became aware that this man was quietly weeping through the especially intense parts that dealt with the pain of separated families, and the sacrifices made by immigrants. I suspect this moviegoer was moved less by the movie itself, and more by the reality depicted. The movie thus rang true for me. It was the most powerful personal experience I have ever had at the movies, and I will always cherish it.