The Hot Button by David Poland

A few days ago, my beloved daily editor, Ms. Nowitzky, accused me of writing under the influence, as my grammar was askew. I was not under said influence. However, tonight I am. And I bet my grammar is perfect. I finally broke my one beer limit at a party. Of course, it wasn't at a Sundance party, nor a Slamdance party, but at Lapdance. What made me loosen my chastity muzzle? Well, all I can tell you is that Matt Stone directed a movie, Le Petit Package, in which his penis danced. What's a few beers after that? There are more pictures today than from any other day yet. (Click on the Sundance Photo Gallery below.) Most are from Lapdance and every one of them was taken before the influence of the vine. (Kids, don't drink and photograph.) The photos include: a look at my hotel, the infamous Alberstsons and the theater that had the materials fall from the projection booth onto some patrons, a guy who will work for distribution, a guy advertising Tap Dance, plus the photos from Lapdance which include dancers, porn stars and even a guy-guy dancer.

Frankly, the photos tell you almost everything you need to know about the one-night festival/bacchanal. The joy of the day was the ability to add Tumbleweeds to my list of great movies that focus on women at Sundance this year. Sarah Polley does the great star turns of the fest, but I'd have to add Janet McTeer to yesterday's list of the great women's performances of this year at Sundance. She is Sally Kirkland without the aftertaste. Beautiful, sexy and pure, McTerr gives a great performance as the woman who can't stop running from her life. And I can't say enough about Kimberly Brown as her adolescent daughter, who knows more about what she needs than her mother does. And to give the testosterone burdened a break, Jay O. Sanders brings subtlety and strength to his role as "the right guy" who still may not be right enough. Whether this film can beat out The Autumn Heart, Guinevere and Three Seasons for "best of show," I don't know. I kind of doubt it. But it is a delight and deserves your eyeballs.

The morning started at 8:00 a.m. with porn -- Grace Quek in Sex: The Annabel Chong Story. (Grace is her real name.) Sex suffered the same problem that every other documentary I've seen at the festival so far has suffered: not enough balls to ask the big questions. Do we really believe that Chong's career is based on the ideal of sexual independence? I mean, as we watch her cutting herself with a knife, maybe we should wonder why. Really why. Or as she runs away from the film crew, why does she do it? We never find out. The one really powerful moment is when her mother discovers what her daughter is down to. That is real. And her physical pain during the then-record-breaking 251-man marathon, that is real. The rest? Guesstimations of reality. Not enough for me to say you should take that ride.

I also got to see Happy, Texas and I wasn't disappointed. The comedy is not, as I thought, a gay-themed film. The two thieves who are hiding out and are mistaken for gay pageant producers are distinctly heterosexual. The gay humor is along the lines of Tootsie. In other words, not gay at all. Jeremy Northam is good and Steve Zahn continues to cement his place in quirky guy history. The film marks one of my favorite turns ever by William H. Macy. And the supporting cast is solid as can be. I don't recall any major flaws and why should I? If you believe this is a $2 million movie, as reported in the trades, you don't know what a $2 million movie looks like. The real budget had to be $4 to $5 million. At first, I thought not, but the tech values alone preclude a $2 million budget. That said, let's take a look at the hypothesized deals for the film. One theory is that Miramax paid more than $12 million in a bidding war. The other is that Miramax paid $500,000 more than cost (reported to make a total of $2.5 million) with producer participation in gross revenue.

Here's what I think. This movie, charming as it is, could never gross more than $30 million and should be happy to gross $20 million domestic. (It is not a comedy that is likely to travel overseas really well.) So, assuming that Miramax would never make a deal for more than 10 percent of the gross, the maximum return would be about $3 million. So, figure that in a bidding war Miramax paid a couple million more than the negative cost, say six million real dollars, and 10 percent of the gross on top, hopeful (probably too hopeful) producers could be betting that returns will be strong enough to generate more than the approximate $10 million deal offer from the other competitors.

After going 8:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m. in the press screening room, I decided to stop. I had to eat food. (See, I'm taking better care of myself. Of course, what I ate was pulled pork.) The feeling of family continues, though I went the entire day without seeing or talking to anyone from friendly PR agencies MPRM or Bumble Ward and Associates. (Actually, I did have one minute with one person from BW&A, but we didn't talk business, so it didn't really count.) The weird part is that I miss them. It's like having a kid you like miss a day of school. Not your best friend necessarily, but someone you like. (As for DDA, I got to see you guys, but a few minutes is never enough. I didn't even get a medical report on young Mary Anne.) And the end of all this is drawing near. Do I get to keep my friends when I get home? I mean, you always say you'll write when you get home from camp, but no one ever does.

Anyway, I went from lunch to Lapdance, where we set up by stringing a 100-foot phone wire ($12.99 at Radio Shack) from one part of the Silver Mine to the place where the press conference was to take place. The chat was kind of fun even though Parker and Stone refused to answer questions. I let the chatters diss them (and me) all they wanted. It was a goofy party. In a good way. And I had the odd sensation of watching men in bleached blond hair and too much jewelry handling their porn starlets (yes, real porn stars were in attendance), much as the publicists handle their talent. Only the porn talent doesn't talk back or have any opinions of their own. Also, because of the laws of Utah, there was strict adherence to policies about nudity. Many of the clothes were so tight and skimpy that you could find a vein without getting real close, but no real nudity. Except, of course, in Le Petit Package. Here's the quote: "The best dancing penis movie of the decade!"

Some free beers later and here I am in my hotel room again, prepping for tomorrow, when I'll fill in some of the holes in my Best of Sundance schedule. I still have a chance to and feel strongly compelled to see Mr. Death, Santitos, American Movie, The Legacy, The Autumn Heart, A Slipping Down Life, Three Seasons, Genghis Blues, Possums, Life Tastes Good and Southpaw. And I only have three days to do it. And I hope to spend some of that with filmmakers. So, my scheduling is being put to the test.

And now, it's off to sleep. Thanks for reading today. Take a look at the extras. And wish me luck in my quest.

E ME: Until then, keep the cards and letters coming.