Day 3 (Saturday, January 19):

Remember how I was up at 8 yesterday, and how you snidely predicted that would be the end of my early rising? Well, guess who didn’t get to bed until after 2 and still got up at 8 this morning! That’s right. Suck it, haters!

The reason for my ambitiousness was partly out of how professional and diligent I am, and partly because I wanted to see the movie about time travel and killing. It’s “Timecrimes,” a Spanish film written and directed by Nacho Vigalondo, who was at the party last night in his film’s honor, singing karaoke like a madman. I was particularly fond of his rendition of the Rolling Stones’ “Sympathy for the Devil,” in which he changed the lyric “nature of my game” to “nacho of my game.” The food at the party was nacho-based, too. This kind of thing probably happens a lot when your name is Nacho.

Speaking of the party, conversations about it were overheard on the shuttle bus today. It was the talk of the town! Apparently after we left, a squadron of tow trucks showed up to haul away the cars that people had parked in the neighboring condos’ driveways. Any party involving both the fire department and tow trucks is a success in my book.

Oh, and something else: While we were making our way to the party, there was a blackout on Main Street, plunging several parties and other events into darkness for a half hour or so. One of our pals today said that when the lights went out in the middle of their party, one of his colleagues said, “You guys, this is how ‘Cloverfield’ starts. I’m going back to the hotel.” And he fled, seemingly legitimately creeped out by the similarities. No monsters were reported on Main Street, however, unless you count Paris Hilton’s herpes sores, which are the size of buffalo.

But anyway. “Timecrimes.” Solid genre flick about a man who sees odd things in the woods near his house, goes to investigate, is terrorized by a spooky man in a bandaged face, and eventually travels through time. There are far too many hurt-your-brain paradoxes to be dealing with them at 9 in the morning, I’ll tell you that, but of course that’s not the movie’s fault.

Our next screening, over at the Holiday Village venue, was “Savage Grace,” a faux-arty, faux-sophisticated, faux-edgy piece of trash about a guy whose relationship with his mother is inappropriate. The movie is Oedipal, but it’s far from complex. I sat with Erik Childress and Cinematical Kim, and we all loathed it. Kim and I could scarcely speak of anything else immediately afterward, when we ate at the Chinese buffet that Kim likes but nobody else does. The food is OK, but drinks aren’t included, and by the time you’ve paid for the buffet and a drink and sales tax, you’re spending almost $11, which is way too much for a mediocre Chinese lunch. If this is how they do things in China, then it’s no wonder they’re in so much trouble. Killing all the non-male babies probably isn’t helping either.

Screening next was a film called “The Wackness,” starring Ben Kingsley and featuring one of the Olsen twins, either Mary Kate or Ashley, whichever one is anorexic and looks like a fish, but I needed some time to write. I repaired to Childress and Weinberg’s room at the Yarrow to work in peace and quiet while they were at the screening. They came back when it was over, ranting and raving about how much they hated it. Imagine their shock and horror later, standing in line for something else, when they heard other people speaking favorably of it! This became the source of much consternation for several minutes, and then we forgot about it.

Those two had already seen the next film on my schedule: “Diary of the Dead,” the latest zombie flick from acclaimed zombie master George Romero. As always, Romero has a great sense of humor, some cool ideas, and plenty of hammy, obvious dialogue. The concept in this one is that it’s the usual zombie outbreak, but from the perspective of college kids who document everything with video cameras. It’s almost the exact some format as “Cloverfield,” except that “Cloverfield” makes more realistic use of the gimmick. “Diary of the Dead” cheats a lot. Content-wise, though, it’s a fun zombie movie.

What was particularly fun for me was that I sat next to Jeff Vice, the film critic at Salt Lake City’s Deseret Morning News. I first started doing movie reviews in 1999 at a small paper in Utah, and Jeff was the one who helped me get the publicists’ contact info and generally showed me the ropes. I would guess I’ve watched at least 500 movies sitting right next to Jeff, and since he’s such a horror geek, “Diary of the Dead” made him as giddy as a zombie in a brain store.

A few minutes of downtime and then it was back into the screening room for “The Great Buck Howard,” starring Colin Hanks (Tom’s son) as a guy who becomes the road manager for a has-been magician/mentalist played by John Malkovich. Emily Blunt plays a publicist. Everyone seemed to enjoy the film, as the screening room was filled with sounds of laughter and merriment and Childress and Weinberg whispering about how hot Emily Blunt is pretty much every time she was on the screen. Is she lovely? Certainly. Is this a fact that needs to be restated constantly? I dare say not.

In a jovial mood after the lighthearted film, several of us headed over to Burger King next for some nourishment (if that is the right word) and conversation. The main topic: This particular Burger King’s inability to get people’s orders right. You ask for crispy chicken, you get grilled chicken. You say hold the tomatoes, tomatoes show up anyway, like slimy, unwelcome dinner guests. You expect some level of incompetence from fast food joints, but it’s disappointing when it’s the place that prides itself on letting you have it your way. And the church says amen.

We were all meeting up again at 10:30 for the last screening of the day, but in the meantime we had work to do. I knew I would be distracted if I tried to write in someone’s hotel room, so I chose the Yarrow lobby instead, with its fireplace and ample wifi. Unfortunately, seated next to me on the couch was a very friendly and chatty woman who said, “Oh, you’re a journalist writing your story?,” which means she knew what I was trying to do, yet she insisted on talking to me anyway. Under different circumstances, I’m sure I would have found her delightful and refreshing. Under these circumstances, I wanted to push her in the fireplace.

Kim said she saw Kirsten Dunst checking in to the Yarrow as we entered the lobby, but I was skeptical. Why would Kirsten Dunst stay at a dump like this? But as I was leaving again at 10:15, I saw Ms. Dunst with two of her people as they were getting into a cab. What surprised me is that while I don’t think she is good-looking at all in movies anymore (it didn’t help that she was so whiny in the last “Spider-Man”), she was very cute in person. Just adorable! And tiny, of course. All celebs are tiny.

The 10:30 screening was at Holiday Village (hooray for real theater seats!), and it was “The Merry Gentleman,” a title that bears no relation to the content of the film whatsoever. There are men in it, but no one that I’d call a “gentleman,” and no one is merry. Michael Keaton directed it and also stars as a taciturn, suicidal hitman who befriends a shy but optimistic Scottish girl played by Kelly Macdonald. There are some lovely things about the movie, but the story is slow-paced and doesn’t quite come together in the end.

As I exited the theater afterward, I found I had a text message from Laremy, my Film.com overlord. Remember how my bedroom at the condo had three beds in it even though there was only one of me? Well, Laremy had arranged a slumber party for me by allowing two guys to sleep in those other beds, and he was wondering which one (of the beds) I preferred for myself. By the time I called him back to find out who these strangers were and why he thought I wanted to share a bedroom with strangers, the strangers had already gone to bed — and sure enough, they had guessed wrong about my bed preference and had put one of the strangers in the comfortable one. Laremy said, “But I can wake him up and have him move if you want.” Did I take him up on this offer? Yes. Yes I did.

I got home to find a pair of refugees on the living room’s fold-out couch, and then the two aforementioned strangers occupying the two least comfortable beds in my room. Apparently Laremy had been busy making friends all day. He said he had warned the two I was rooming with about my legendary snoring and that they were fine with it. That’s what everyone always says. But do I still get woken up at 4 a.m. by someone walking over and punching my leg so I’ll roll over? Yes. Yes I do. Why they gotta be hatin’?

This entry was posted on Sunday, January 20th, 2008 at 9:37 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.