Day 1 (Thursday, Jan. 18):

Do not be alarmed! The powerful smell coming from the mountains of Park City, Utah, is not biochemical or toxic in nature. It is merely the vigorous scent of independent film! (Yes, it smells like profanity and lesbians.)

The 2007 Sundance Film Festival began tonight and kicks off for realsies tomorrow. The opening night screening was a docudrama called “Chicago 10,” which is not the ninth sequel to the Oscar-winning musical “Chicago”; in fact, that’s not even a very good joke to make. It’s the story of the protesters who were arrested at the 1968 Democratic Convention, and the courtroom circus that ensued. Surely the events of that tumultuous period in American history remain fresh in our memories, even though we were not born until 1974.

I maintained my policy of not going to the opening night screening — too hectic, too many long lines — and instead met with my fellow Salt Lake City Weekly correspondents at the cozy digs reserved for us near The Canyons ski resort. It had been a wearying day of travel, and we all wanted to get to bed early. (Not with each other. It’s not THAT kind of place.)

Day 2 (Friday, Jan. 19):

I arose at 7 o’clock this morning. Seven a.m.! Maybe you’re not as impressed by that as I am, but trust me, 7 a.m. is a praiseworthy feat. But such superhuman measures — do I brag to call myself superhuman? I leave that for history to decide — were necessary today, for word on the street was that there might be some delay in getting my press credentials, and I didn’t want to miss any screenings because of it.

You see, press passes are supposed to have photos on them, presumably to prevent people from lending them out, unless they lend them to someone who looks just like them; I guess you could probably get away with that. But somehow, the good folks at Sundance lost a bunch of pictures, and so when some members of the press were showing up to collect their passes, they were instead being ushered into a long line to have their photos re-taken so that new credentials could be issued. It was apparently quite a grumbly debacle yesterday, when early-bird journalists thought they were getting ahead of the game by arriving on Thursday, only to be delayed.

Simply issuing the passes without photos, and maybe requiring people to show photo ID when using them, would of course be pure folly.

Having been tipped off that my photo was among the lost ones, I got to the press office as soon as it opened today, at 7:50 a.m., hoping to be first in line. I managed second place, behind an Australian freelance journalist who is notorious for being prickly and diva-esque, and who was in fine form when he discovered his press pass was not ready for him. When the tirelessly good-natured Sundance press coordinator Patrick Hubley walked past to say good morning, this fellow greeted him with a bellowing, “There are problems already!” Patrick ushered him straightaway to the photo booth, treating him with far more courtesy than the jerkwad deserved.

The staff member in charge of taking the photos and printing out new credentials, Amberly, couldn’t have been nicer. Considering how many grumpy journalists she had to deal with yesterday, and considering Aussie McPrimadonna was her first customer this morning, I was amazed by her friendliness. Turns out my photo was still in the system after all, and I was soon on my way.

Up first was a 9 a.m. press screening of “Once,” a lovely Irish film about a street musician who befriends a pianist, whereupon the two make beautiful music together. The film is a musical of sorts (lots of singing, though not of the walking-down-the-street-and-we-burst-into-song variety), and I particularly liked that when characters in the film raved about how good the duo’s songs were, the songs had actually been good. I hate when movies or TV shows feature entertainers performing material that’s supposed to be great but isn’t. (”Studio 60,” I’m looking at you.) (For about two more episodes, that is, and then I quit you.)

The screening was marred only by the reappearance of the latest festival plague: the BlackBerry-using a-hole who doesn’t care that his BlackBerry lights up the entire theater when he uses it during the movie. I feel bad for these people, first for being so boorish that surely no one will ever love them, and second for having to suffer through the constant intrusion of movies upon their very important BlackBerrying. If the projectionist would just turn up the lights and turn off the film, they’d be able to play with their BlackBerrys in peace.

There wasn’t much time to kill after “Once” before my next press screening, “The Savages.” This proved to be a solid, mature film about two adult siblings (Laura Linney and Philip Seymour Hoffman) dealing with their aging father as he becomes unable to care for himself. It’s sharply funny at times — Linney and Hoffman are both great at that — and sadly poignant other times. Good stuff.

Two movies, two thumbs up, right out of the gate! The festival was off to a good start, movie-wise. Insufferable a-hole-wise (Australian and non-), not so much.

My eFilmCritic pals Scott Weinberg and Erik Childress were at “The Savages” with me, and we three, accompanied by Cinematical’s Kim Voynar, went in search of lunch immediately thereafter. It is curious that while the entire Western United States, Utah included, is growing by leaps and bounds, populations expanding rapidly with each passing year, Park City remains unchanged. Burger King is still the only fast food place near the festival hub; the semi-grody Chinese buffet is still right there in the same shopping center; the only real change is that the burrito place next to it is now a pizza place. We opted for the Chinese buffet, and it was $8.13 (with tax) well-spent, I guess. Unlike the movies, I have no firm opinions on the Chinese buffet.

With a few hours before my next screening, I headed up to Main Street to see what was shakin’. The sun was warm, the sky was blue, the mountain air was fresh and invigorating. As I got off the shuttle bus at Main Street, comedian David Wain was attempting to get on. If you don’t know David Wain, you should rent the DVDs of the TV series “Stella” that he did with Michael Ian Black and Michael Showalter, and bask in the absurdity. Alas, there was not enough time for me to express geeky fondness for Mr. Wain before he and a lady friend were on the bus and whisked away.

I went to the Sundance House, which is normally the Kimball Art Center but which becomes a lounge for Sundance pass-holders during the fest. I intended to get some writing done, but I encountered a strange complication: There were no electrical outlets to plug my laptop into. There’s a lounge full of laptops that we can use, but those laptops occupy all the outlets in the room. If you brought your own laptop, and if that laptop should require plugging in, you are out of luck. Is it some sort of conspiracy to force people to leave their computers at home and use the Sundance-provided ones? Or am I the only journalist in attendance whose laptop needs to be charged regularly?

I ought to have asked someone in charge (har!) if maybe there was a power strip we could plug into one of the outlets to expand its usefulness, but I didn’t think of that until later. What I thought of at the moment was that, David Wain sighting aside, my trip to Main Street had been a waste of time. It didn’t help that the bus back to the Yarrow Hotel (where all the press screening action is) took one hundred years to get down the hill. ONE HUNDRED YEARS.

The next screening was “Weapons,” a “gritty” (read: violent) drama about teens having sex with and/or killing one another, rather reminiscent of the current theatrical release (and 2006 Sundance selection) “Alpha Dog.” There are a lot of things I liked about “Weapons,” but an equal number of things I hated. There were many walkouts during the press screening, which does not bode well. In the second half of the festival, the hardy journalists are more apt to lose patience with bad movies. But on the first day? Yikes. That’s gotta sting, if you’re the people who made “Weapons.”

Weinberg and I hit Burger King next, having resigned ourselves to eating there every day for the next week, as we always do. Then it was back to the Yarrow, where I noticed the concessions stand had a large sign reading: “CONCESSION’S.” Attentive readers may recall that they had the same sign last year, and that I removed the offending apostrophe. Now the sign was back, the apostrophe reinstated — and the sign was hung high up on the wall, out of reach. Was this done to keep it from prying, correcting hands? It’s probably a coincidence, but I’ve found that life is more interesting when you smell conspiracy in everything.

Speaking of odd punctuation, my fourth and final film of the day was “It Is Fine! Everything Is Fine.,” with that period officially part of the title. (The film guide and other printed materials even yell the second part — “EVERYTHING IS FINE.” — but the actual on-screen title uses its indoor voice.)

This is the work of Crispin Glover, the actor/director/musician who played George McFly in “Back to the Future,” almost kicked David Letterman in the head in 1987, and directed the 2005 Sundance entry “What Is It?,” which is one of the most bizarre films I’ve ever watched. Glover is, if I may quote the Bible, as crazy as a craphouse rat.

And whom should I see strolling down the hallway outside the room where “It Is Fine!” was to be screened? Mr. Glover himself, sharply dressed as always, placid-looking, by all appearances quite normal and not at all the type of person who would make a movie about mentally challenged people killing snails and having sex.

It turns out he was there to introduce his film — something directors never do at press screenings. He mentioned he’d be back afterward for a Q&A, which is also normally reserved for public screenings. I say it’s bad form to show up at the press screening of your own movie. It makes the critics nervous, even when you’re not insane. Thank goodness he didn’t actually sit there at watch it with us. Maybe he finds it unbearable to watch, too, just as I did.

The central character is a man with severe cerebral palsy, played by a man with severe cerebral palsy. Ninety-eight percent of the things he says are unintelligible. Kudos for including handicapped people in a movie, but a film in which the audience can’t understand what the protagonist is saying is awkward at best, boring at worst. And the explicit sexuality and universally laughable acting certainly didn’t help matters. It was like watching porn as produced by the Special Olympics.

I did not stay for the Q&A. The only Q’s I was interested in seeing A’ed were:

1. What’s the matter with you?
2. What were you thinking?
3. Seriously, what’s the matter with you?

And I didn’t think anyone would ask him those questions, for fear of being kicked in the head.

So we wound up batting .500 today: two good movies, two bad ones. But at least the bad ones were bad in interesting ways. Seems like the festival is off to a good start, BlackBerrys and errant apostrophes notwithstanding.

This entry was posted on Friday, January 19th, 2007 at 11:24 pm and is filed under Sundance Film Festival. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.