Day 4 (Sunday, January 21):

AOL has a presence at this year’s Sundance Film Festival, which is probably surprising to you because you didn’t realize AOL was still in business. But still in business AOL is! (Apparently.) AOL owns MovieFone, which is apparently also still in business, and together they have sponsored the AOL Cyberlodge on Main Street.

We know about the AOL Cyberlodge because AOL put notepads and pens with the AOL logo in everyone’s mailboxes at the press office. I went to the cyberlodge first thing this morning, figuring that since its whole purpose is to provide people with a place to use the Internet, surely they would have an electrical outlet into which I could plug my ancient laptop.

Sometimes I wonder how I manage to remain so optimistic despite enduring one failure after another. Surely I should be the subject of one of those inspirational billboards.

The AOL Cyberlodge is decorated with modern furniture and flat-screen TVs (showing MovieFone film-pimping features), and adorned with 19 laptops, free to be used by anyone. Within moments, I located four unused electrical outlets! But do not be excited, dear reader, and please disregard the premature exclamation point. For all of these electrical outlets had been covered up with electrician’s tape, to prevent anyone from using them.

I asked the sultry blonde managing the place if there was an outlet I could use. She said there was not, but that the coffee shop two doors down had outlets, and I’d be able to access AOL’s free wifi server there. I said, as if seeing them for the first time, “Oh, I see you’ve even covered up these empty outlets.” She said yes, that was a necessary precaution, because if people plugged into them, it would overload the system.

I admit that my knowledge of electricity is rudimentary at best, but I find it hard to believe that the AOL Cyberlodge has EXACTLY enough power to handle the 19 laptops, and that if even one more laptop were to be plugged in, it would blow a fuse and plunge all of Main Street into darkness. But I am not one to argue with sultry blondes, especially nice ones who offer viable alternatives, so I thanked her and walked to the adjacent cafe.

The cafe was your basic coffee shop, with tasty pastries and hot beverages and several electrical outlets near the tables. The fact that the AOL Cyberlodge’s wifi server does not, in fact, actually reach to the cafe seemed irrelevant, what with the delectable hot chocolate I drank there.

I headed down to the Yarrow/Holiday Village area next, for an 11:30 a.m. press screening of “Fido.” This is another movie with a great-sounding premise: It’s the 1950s, and the nation has been overrun by zombies, but scientists have devised a restraint collar that, when placed on a zombie’s neck, renders him docile and harmless. People keep them in their homes as domestic help, and the film’s protagonist, a little boy named Timmy, finds that his zombie is soon a friend, a playmate, a protector, and a confidante.

While it has some solid laughs and a fantastic production design (cheery ’50s colors abound), it’s ultimately not a great movie. Its fun premise wears thin halfway through. Turns out zombies-as-pets isn’t quite enough to sustain a whole film. Who’d have thought?

Very shortly after “Fido” was another film with an intriguing premise. It’s called “Zoo,” and it’s a documentary about the Washington man who died in 2005 as the result of injuries suffered while having intimate relations with a horse. Predictably, the screening room was packed. Who doesn’t like to watch the anatomy of a trainwreck?

Alternate titles for the film were flying fast and furious among the assembled members of the press. The best one I heard was “Horseback Mountain” (or perhaps “Mountin’”), though I liked what The Oregonian’s Shawn Levy said, too: “… And the Horse You Rode in On.”

Once again, however, we were let down. The filmmakers treated the subject with a disappointing amount of seriousness. What’s more, they turned it into an ethereal, experimental sort of doc, with reenactments, voice overs from some of the man’s friends, and a strange interview with the police officer hired to play a police officer in the reenactment. Double-you tee eff? All in all, it was a snoozer — not nearly as interesting as you expect a movie to be when it’s about a man being horsed to death.

Afterward, Weinberg, Kim Voynar, and I ate at Burger King (well, Weinberg and I ate; Kim eschews fast food), discussing the film as we did so. (If you are wondering whether the topic makes for appetizing lunch conversation, the answer is no.) We talked about the things the movie SHOULD have addressed: What constitutes “animal abuse”? Was the horse actually harmed? What’s up with the people — “zoophiles” — who have what they consider to be romantic relationships with animals, and where on the Internet can we find video footage of them?

Next up was “On the Road with Judas,” which just might beat out Crispin Glover’s ludicrous “It Is Fine! Everything Is Fine.” for worst film of the festival (so far, anyway; it’s only Sunday). It’s about a guy who writes a novel about a young man and a young woman’s relationship. In his mind, these characters really exist. Then the book is made into a movie, so actors are hired to play the characters. Then a talk show interviews the “real” people (who only exist in the writer’s head, mind you), as well as the actors playing them, and we see the whole story, sometimes with the actors doing the scenes, sometimes with the “real” people doing them.

The whole thing’s an insufferable wankfest, the kind of crap where the filmmaker thinks he’s being all clever and postmodern by actually mentioning the fact that nothing happens in his story. But guess what, Hector: Acknowledging the fact that you suck as a storyteller doesn’t excuse the fact that you suck as a storyteller.

My fourth film of the day proved to be the best: “Resurrecting the Champ,” in which a sports journalist played by Josh Hartnett finds a former professional boxer, played by Samuel L. Jackson, living on the streets. The film is more about journalism than you’d expect, and more about fathers and sons than you’d think, too, and Hartnett is surprisingly good in the role. He still has that unibrow, though, which you’d think some makeup technician would have dealt with by now.

Having thus far spent three full days at Sundance without going to a party, event, shindig, soiree, or even a to-do, I really wanted to attend the affair being sponsored by Film.com. The slave-drivers at Salt Lake City Weekly insisted I file reviews and reports, however, but I figured I could fart that stuff out pretty quick and then get to partyin’. Writing was easy enough once I found an electrical outlet (in the middle of the Yarrow Hotel lobby, on the floor), and filing the reports was OK once I located some wifi (in the lobby outside the closed-for-the-day Sundance press office).

Film.com is a great domain name, of course, and it was a decent Web site until 2001, when it went defunct. Now it is being relaunched, and the party was in celebration of that fact. The guy who invited me, curiously enough, was on the junket with me that resulted in my “I Was a Junket Whore” article last August. He is not a junket whore (it was only his second one ever), which is how we are able to be pals now.

The party was at the Star Bar, Sundance’s official music venue, located way the hell up at the very top of Main Street. You get off the shuttle bus, and then you walk straight uphill for several blocks in the 10-degree cold, taking a sherpa with you if necessary, though often even the sherpas will say, “I cannot go any farther, sir! I urge you to return to the base camp!” The frozen bodies of previous explorers litter the sidewalks.

I trekked up the hill, however, and into the party, which was in full swing. A series of indie bands were performing — first West Indian something, and then Apples of something something — and many young hipsters were milling around, enjoying the open bar and the dim lighting. The classiest part of the evening for me was when I finished my Coke beverage and, believing the drinking vessel to be a disposable plastic cup, dropped it into a garbage can, only to realize after I’d let go of it that it was a regular glass-glass. It shattered when it hit the bottom of the can. Whoops. Put it on Film.com’s tab, I guess.

I ran into a few Utah friends, along with the non-whore who had invited me, chatted for a while, and then headed back to the condo. It turns out I like the idea of partying more than actual partying, but I guess that’s true of a lot of things.

Day 3 (Saturday, January 20):

The plan was, I would get up at 7:15 this morning and make the 8:30 press screening of “Snow Angels,” the new film from David Gordon Green, whose “All the Pretty Girls” I loved, whose “Undertow” I liked, and whose “George Washington” is on my TiVo awaiting my perusal. That was the plan.

But apparently, I really needed sleep. Despite going to bed early — only midnight — last night, when my alarm went off at 7:15 this morning, I … did nothing, apparently. I did not hear it. I have no memory of it. City Weekly arts editor Scott Renshaw says he tried to wake me, knowing I wanted to see the 8:30 movie, but to no avail. I assume he stopped short of throwing me off the bed, or setting my hair on fire, but I suppose those are not really the duties of an arts editor. Those are the duties of my mother, which Renshaw is not.

At any rate, it was 8:25 when I did wake up — thank goodness for my bladder! — so “Snow Angels” was out of the question. Still, it could have been worse. I could have slept until noon. I’ve done it before, and I will do it again.

With nothing now until 11, I got to press headquarters at about 9:15 to do some work. The scarcity of electrical outlets there rivals that of the Sundance House, but I managed to find one behind a display table that I could access if I shimmied behind the table. Work was accomplished; complimentary bottled water was drunk; the passive voice was used.

At 11 a.m. was a press screening that proved to be a hot ticket. Now, this early in the festival, there’s no legitimate “buzz” around anything, because no one’s actually seen anything yet. There is only curiosity: People have read the description in the film guide, and it sounds interesting.

The description of “Teeth,” the 11 a.m. film, is that it’s a horror-comedy-parody about a teenage girl who discovers her vagina has sharp, fang-like teeth in it, ready to bite down like a Venus flytrap on any foreign object they encounter. Who wouldn’t want to see a movie like that?!

It turns out to be a funny, gross, multi-layered movie, structured like a horror film (we never see the “monster”), satirical like a spoof of B-movie creature features, and even a little thought-provoking. The subject of evolution is brought up. A development like this (assuming the woman could control whom she admitted and whom she “bit”) would effectively put a stop to rape, wouldn’t it? Or if it didn’t, at least the rapist would leave plenty of evidence at the scene. And by evidence, I mean his wiener.

By the way, the film isn’t shy about showing the wounds created by the heroine’s vengeful vagina (vengina?). Guys, this movie is harder to watch than the torture scene in “Casino Royale.” As Weinberg put it, “‘Teeth’ will do for vaginas what ‘Jaws’ did for the ocean.” We’re guessing Lions Gate will pick it up, cut out the best parts to get a better rating, totally screw up the marketing, and the film will never be heard from again. But that’s just a guess.

Next up was another must-see film, playing to another packed screening room (well, the same screening room, repacked). It was “An American Crime,” and I suspect much of the reason for the attention is that during last night’s public screening of it, someone passed out. Apparently the incident occurred just as something climactic or alarming was happening onscreen, which freaked out the audience even more. They stopped the film, turned up the lights, and got medical attention for the unlucky filmgoer.

I heard the account from a few different sources today, hearing “fainted” a couple times and “had a seizure” another time. I’d like to think it was the film’s alarming subject matter caused it — it’s the true story of an Indiana woman who locked up and abused a teenage girl in the 1960s — but let’s be honest here: There are a lot of reasons you might pass out at Sundance. Fatigue, sleep deprivation, drunkenness, the high altitude, and consumption of pharmaceuticals all spring to mind. Being shocked by a woman burning a girl with cigarettes would be a little farther down the list, especially considering there is also a movie about a girl with man-eating lady parts.

“An American Crime” is not, unfortunately, a very good movie. The subject matter is harrowing, but the film doesn’t know what to do with it other than simply recreate it the way court transcripts suggest it happened. It’s grim and horrifying for no good reason, like sleeping with Lindsay Lohan.

After the screening, I remembered a card I’d been handed earlier. The Yarrow, where most of the press screenings are held, is a frumpy (I’m sorry, “rustic”) hotel that has finally decided to make use of its Sundance connections by hosting cool, hip, with-it events during the fest. So I’d gotten this card advertising “Dreamland Village at Yarrow,” which is set up in an indoor courtyard and features some of the following:

“Rainforest Eco Tent.” (I don’t know.)
“Free Massage.”
“Free Internet Lounge.”
“Tsonga Shoe Gifting Lounge.” (I’m pretty sure “gifting lounge” means “store.”)

So my pal Childress and I wandered in to see what the deal was. The area has been made to look like a spa, with therapeutic crystals, and people lying on tables, and so forth. The sound of running water could be heard. What could not be heard was anyone coming over and saying, “Can I help you?” or “Were you interested in a free massage?” or “Welcome to the Dreamland Village” or anything. As far as I could tell, Childress and I were completely invisible to the dozen or so people milling around. So, I guess they succeeded in making the Yarrow hip, as I’m pretty sure I would be ignored if I walked into a trendy spa in L.A., too.

I had a couple hours before my next film, so I tried the pizza place that used to be a burrito place. I never went in there when it was a burrito place. I think it was one of those froofy burrito places — not a Mexican restaurant, but a restaurant where they’re like, “Oh, here’s some sun-dried tomatoes and chicken salad, wrapped up in an organic spinach tortilla!” and call it a burrito. That’s not a burrito; that’s a wrap. It’s totally different. Anyway, it’s a pizza place now, and they serve legitimate pizza — not that California Pizza Kitchen crap, where it’s like, “Oh, here’s a flat piece of bread, and we’ve put some pesto and cauliflower on it!” Californians ruin everything. And I say that as a Californian.

Anyway, properly fed, I went back to press headquarters to use that electrical outlet I’d found earlier. (If you’re wondering why my laptop must be charged so frequently, it’s because my laptop — which I use only when I travel; I have a good computer at home — was made in 1973 and is powered by coal.) Patrick Hubley, Sundance’s press coordinator and the world’s friendliest Canadian, stopped to ask me how things were going, and I mentioned the dearth of electrical outlets — I may have actually used the word “dearth” — and he said he would get his top people right on it. Of course, having seen the way he placated the Australian jerkwad yesterday, it’s entirely possible he was just humoring me, too.

Patrick asked if I’d checked out any of Sundance’s online stuff. I said, “No, I’ve been too busy watching movies on actual movie screens!” He said I should check out the online stuff and then write about it, so that people who read me would check it out too.

So apparently Sundance has some online stuff. Maybe some short films or something that you can watch. Oh, I do know you can watch some of the shorts on iTunes! So yeah, do that. That’ll be awesome.

Back to the press screenings next, with “Everything’s Cool,” a light documentary about global warming — or, specifically, about scientists’ efforts to overcome the misinformation campaign that has resulted in many people thinking global warming is a hoax. One lady in the movie pointed out that soon enough we’ll all “be with Jesus” and “all this won’t matter anymore,” which I guess is as good a reason as any to pretend global warming is a myth. If you’re pretty sure Jesus is returning REALLY soon, you could probably stop paying your rent, too.

After that screening, I had just enough time to grab another slice of pizza from Used To Be a Burrito Place before I had to dash across the shopping center to the Yarrow for my fourth and final film of the day, a cute-enough relationship comedy called “Broken English.” Parker Posey plays a New Yorker who is unlucky in love; hilarity ensues.

It was only 9-ish now, and awfully early to be going back to the condo, especially on the first Saturday of Sundance, when surely there would be frivolity and merriment up on Main Street, but dang it, there were deadlines to be met. Moreover, it was about 2 degrees outside, and the wind chill factor made it feel even more arctic, so I headed home. Where’s global warming when you need it?!

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.

It was my intention to record podcasts for today’s and next week’s “In the Dark” before I left for the Sundance Film Festival. I was all excited about being ahead of the game, and being able to post podcasts even though I was away from my home base. But alas: There was TOO much work to be done before I could leave Portland, and I wanted to get a move on to avoid running into bad weather, so the podcasts had to be sacrificed. The e-mail version still went out, though, as will next week’s.

The only new wide release is a remake of the 1986 horror flick “The Hitcher,” which wasn’t screened for critics anyway. In lieu of that, you should take advantage of the fact that “The Queen” is expanding into a lot more theaters today, and “Letters from Iwo Jima” is spreading out a bit, too.

I’ll be posting my daily reports from Sundance, as has become tradition, so watch for those in this space starting Saturday.

This week’s “Snide Remarks” Classic column is #23, published on Jan. 20, 1998 in The Daily Universe: “Just the Fats Ma’am.” It may strike you as just one of the many hundreds of columns I’ve written about dieting and/or getting in shape, but it isn’t: It’s the FIRST one I ever wrote on that subject. And I think it’s fairly amusing, even nine years later.

With commenting enabled on the movie reviews, people are able to post their angry diatribes directly, without having to send them to me. But a few hardy souls still spew their vitriol the old-fashioned way, via e-mail. I present two for your reading pleasure.

First, from someone named “yasemin,” whose attack-the-critic defense of the film “The Holiday” reminds me of the things people (read: teenage girls) said in defense of a certain other Kate Winslet film, back in the day:

Way too long and a little too cutesy…What did you mean with that…And you say :If it didn’t feel so long??? What a feeling haa…you know what…. I would prefer it longer…I really didn’t like your comment. Maybe you are in love with someone that doesn’t love you, so you couldn’t stand it… If you felt like you were stuck there watching that LONG movie, DON’T WATCH IT THEN….Oh yeah but you have to write your critics…you have to watch it…I am really sorry for you…poor you…watching that long movie, you had a hard time…maybe you are not as handsome as Jude Law maybe that’s why it was irresistible…. For the cutesy, people need cute films, at least for some minutes it makes you feel life is so beautiful and could be better anytime…but you are so hopeless that you don’ wanna believe this…”THE HOLIDAY” was smashing, and it puts a smile in your heart….What’s wrong with that…

So Yasemin is really smart and articulate and everything, and she knows the proper definitions of words like “irresistible.” She is joined by a fellow member of the literati, Jessica:

I think you should leave Larry the Cable guy alone. Is it so wrong to try to make people laugh? He is very amusing, and not just because of the “butt” jokes, but because he makes people stop being so up-tight about themselves and everyone else. He is just a funny man who spreads the funny out all over the world. And I don’t think that you need to discourage him for doing so. It is indeed true that some of his punch lines are a bit grody, but that is what makes them funny. The fact that he can take everyday abnormality’s and turn them into hysterical displays of humor should be rewarded, and not patronized. Maybe you should think about that before you keep discouraging movies.

I guess I knew Larry the Cable Guy’s horrendous movie must have fans, but I have to say, I’m surprised that one of them is a woman. Maybe Jessica is Mrs. The Cable Guy.

This week’s new “Snide Remarks” is posted here, while the podcast version of it is here. Please to be clicking and enjoying for yourselves!

You recall from previous weeks that I’m mostly taking January off from reviewing movies, so there’s not a lot to report.

I do have a review of “Alpha Dog,” though, which I saw at Sundance last year and which is actually quite good. One of the best performers in it? Justin Timberlake. Who knew?

The other three wide releases today are as follows:

“PRIMEVAL” (R for strong graphic violence, brutality, terror, and language). The honor of being the first of HOLLYWOOD’S SHAMEFUL SECRETS (movies not screened for critics) in 2007 goes to this horror film about a news team (including Dominic Purcell and Orlando Jones) searching for a “serial killer” in South Africa. Except the killer isn’t a person, it’s an animal. A big ol’ crocodile, I think, though the trailer is cagey on that point. Admit it, part of you thinks this movie sounds awesome.

“ARTHUR AND THE INVISIBLES” (1 hr., 42 min.; PG for fantasy action and brief suggestive material). From Luc Besson, crazy French director of “The Fifth Element” and “The Messenger: The Story of Joan of Arc,” comes this semi-animated fantasy about a little boy who encounters a race of tiny fairy-like creatures. Originally in French, but now dubbed into English by people like Mia Farrow, Robert De Niro, Harvey Keitel, Madonna, and … Jimmy Fallon? Reviews are mostly bad: Right now Rotten Tomatoes has it at 25 percent.

“STOMP THE YARD” (PG-13 for a scene of violence, some sexual material and language). Young street dancer from L.A. goes to a predominantly black university in Georgia, where two fraternities recruit him for his mad dancin skillz. Evidently features a lot of street dancing. A LOT. Rotten Tomatoes shows just 27 percent of critics giving it positive reviews.

Today’s podcast can be found at this link right here. May it please your ears.

As mentioned last week, we’re celebrating the 10th anniversary of “Snide Remarks” this year. So every Wednesday, we’ll post a link to a “classic” column from the archives, something that maybe hasn’t gotten much attention over the years but that is still good for a chuckle or two.

This week’s “Snide Remarks” Classic column is #21.5, “Crock of Ages,” intended for publication in The Daily Universe on Jan. 12, 1998 but never actually published (hence the .5 in the number). This one is very BYU-specific, and very Mormon-culture-specific, so it may not appeal to all readers. But if you fit the demographics, perhaps you will find it amusing. Perhaps you will also be mystified, as I was, that the communications department refused to let me publish it in the paper.

Despite Colorado and Wyoming’s best efforts, I did make it safely back to Portland very late Sunday night. I drove for 17 1/2 hours straight, which is a record for me and which actually wasn’t too bad. I guess I got in The Zone. Also, I was listening to a book-on-CD recording of “Bridget Jones’s Diary,” which was delightful.

Anyway, the long and short of it is that there’s no new “Snide Remarks” this week, what with the unexpected trip and the even more unexpected complications. But as a consolation prize, I do have a new podcast recording of last week’s column, for all interested parties. You can find it here.