Ahh, Saturday, here in Park City, I think it was the Fourth of ….

OK, enough with the clever 70s Chicago references (particularly because that band was so criminally lame; we used to say that, if you let one of their songs play in your car, it took 3 hours off the life of the car radio).

Anyway, a five-movie day. Seeing five movies in a day at Sundance (and doing an interview: director James Toback) means a couple of things. You’re lucky (to get into everything that you want to see – and to make it around Park City with enough speed to get there in time). And you’re exhausted by the end of the day. Both obtain in this case.

I felt even luckier. For one thing, I actually got a couple of meals in, including a terrific plate of pulled pork at a semi-fast-food BBQ joint for dinner. For another, got to hang and chat with the outrageously talkative Toback (who can say more in 10 minutes than most people can say in an hour – and do so articulately), as well as with the always-entertaining Jeffrey Wells, author of the Hollywood Elsewhere blog (www.hollywood-elsewhere.com).

On the other hand, wound up staying up until well after midnight on the phone with tech support for the wireless provider for this hotel where I’m staying out at Kimball Junction. No solution, ultimately, was provided except the suggestion, “Get yourself an Ethernet cable.”

Which I’ve now done at 5:45 a.m. – to no avail. Still no connectivity. I’ve left a phone message at the service provider – but the voicemail message says that they’re not even open on Sunday.

On the other hand, having watched Senor Wells in action – his laptop and digital camera always poised no matter where he is, his senses seemingly attuned to the presence of a Wifi signal – it may behoove me to finally truly join the ranks of the digerati and shlep my laptop with me today so I can actually post this. I’ve tried to avoid the urge to post when and wherever I pleased –  but that may just be the antiquated print-media beast that still lurks within me, digging in its heels.

So, later today, an experiment: posting as I see things. Meanwhile, many thanks to the lovely ladies Lina Plath and Clare Ann Conlon of Frank PR, who lent me a laptop from which I could post yesterday in their suite at the headquarters Marriott.

On to yesterday’s movies:

The day’s most pleasant surprise happened right off the bat: “Humpday,” apparently part of the so-called mumblecore movement – but still a movie with surprising humor, insight, comic timing. Starring Mark Duplass (a leading director in the genre) and Josh Leonard, it’s the very witty story of male friendship: like “Old Joy” but where something actually interesting happens.

Duplass is a married guy in Seattle who, along with his wife, is trying to start a family. Leonard is his artist buddy, who he hasn’t seen in years and who shows up unannounced on his doorstep at 2 a.m. The next day, Leonard winds up at some artists’ coven; when Duplass goes to pick him up after work to bring him home to his wife’s special pork-chop dinner, he instead winds up staying until 3 a.m., drinking and smoking dope – and conceptualizing a home-made porn film that can win a local amateur porn contest: one in which he and Leonard, as two straight guys, break down boundaries by boning each other.

Somehow the idea sticks, which leads to deliciously funny encounters with his askance-looking wife. As noted, the timing, the performances, the writing (such as it is, given that director Lynn Shelton had her cast improvise most scenes) – all contribute to a film that is unexpectedly funny.

Nearly as entertaining – in a completely different way – is “The September Issue,” a behind-the-scenes nonfiction film by R.J. Cutler that looks at the making of Vogue magazine’s September 2007 issue.

A couple of things struck me: For one, if Anna Wintour, the liquid-nitrogen-chilly editrix of Vogue, knew how unforgiving hi-def digital was, she never would have let a camera anywhere within several yards of her face, let alone sat for close-up interviews. She’s incredibly distant to the camera when it follows her, even though she obviously approved the project – but she can’t help revealing herself in ways that send shiver down the spine of anyone who’s ever had a controlling boss.

For another, well, fashion is idiotic. Full stop.

My favorite character in that world – and it’s a world that’s infinitely mockable, as Wintour’s own daughter tells Cutler – was Grace Coddington, one of Wintour’s deputies, a former model and the only one with enough history and strength to stand-up to La Wintour (for as much good as it does her). I loved her sense of humor, her sense of, as the Brits say, “taking the piss” out of Wintour, and particularly her willingness to say exactly what she thinks to the camera.

Anyway, it’s from A&E Indie – and hopefully it will make it into theaters, despite a movie-going/movie-releasing/movie-exhibiting climate that is, to say the least, toxic to docs at the moment.

I’ll admit that, when I was approached by a publicist for a reaction as I came out of “The Greatest,” a family drama starring Pierce Brosnan and Susan Sarandon, I had to beg off, saying, “I need to compose myself.”

A film about dealing with the effects of grief – after the car-accident death of a teen-age son – it’s well-directed (by newcomer Shana Feste, who also wrote it) but has a few false-step moments, despite a wealth of emotional honesty. It is shamelessly manipulative – but apparently I was ripe to be shamelessly manipulated. I came out a teary mess, particularly after a cathartic scene of Brosnan breaking down (after months of holding it together). This is one I need to think about some more before judging it on its own merits – and not just on its ability to make me cry.

I also have to spend some time thinking about the other two films of the day: “Lymelife” and “Spread.” “Lymelife” is a coming-of-age film set on Long Island in 1980 at the dawn of Lyme disease awareness. Initial response: I liked the performances (particularly by Alec Baldwin, Emma Roberts and Rory Culkin) but the script felt familiar.

“Spread” is like a cynical, 21^st-century version of “Shampoo,” with Ashton Kutcher as the snake-hipped gigolo, praying on women of the Hollywood Hills like Anne Heche (as a lawyer with a spectacular house, who takes him in as her own personal sex toy). It’s by David McKenzie (“Young Adam,” “Hallam Foe”) and has a hard edge that makes the sex seem shockingly clinical. Still, it’s a side of Ashton Kutcher I haven’t seen before and he pulls it off.

Well, still no call-back from the service provide, still no connectivity. Looks like the laptop makes the trip today with me to see “Cold Souls,” “When You’re Strange,” “Arlen Faber” and “Big Fan.” And looks like I’ll be posting about each one as I see it. Stay tuned.

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