It’s rare that you see five films in a day at a film festival and hit all good ones. But as I settled in to Tim Blake Nelson’s “Leaves of Grass” Monday night in Toronto – my fifth and final film of the day – I thought I might have a shot at it.

No such luck. After an amusing and promising first half, Nelson’s philosophical stoner comedy suddenly took a wrong turn and never recovered. You hate to see that happen, particularly when you’re enjoying the film – and then it just kind of collapses in a heap, like a jalopy under Laurel and Hardy.

“Leaves of Grass” certainly starts with audacious energy, referencing everything from Plato and Walt Whitman to John Prine and Little Feat. It’s constructed like a farce, built around a pair of estranged twin brothers – both played by Edward Norton – who reunite in Oklahoma for a wild weekend scheme that one convinces the other to be part of. Growing pot, Jews in Oklahoma and noodling for catfish (if you don’t know what that is, type that phrase into YouTube) are just the beginning of the fun.

The set-up is there for all sorts of mistaken identity twists with erudite and cross-cultural jokes, but smart and with heart. Then suddenly Nelson detours into bloody, irreversible violence that lets all the air out of the film, stripping it of the comedy and turning deadly serious in a deadening way. It’s a shocking miscalculation, and the film can never right itself.

Until that point, it had been a surprisingly strong day, beginning with “The Joneses,” an intelligent and sneaky comedy about suburban life and the need to keep up with the neighbors – the titular family – in the latest consumer goods and the lifestyle that they symbolize.

The family of the title is led by David Duchovny and Demi Moore, who have two teen-age kids (Ben Hollingsworth and Amber Heard). They move into an upscale Atlanta suburb and, just like that, become the most popular folks in town. They drive the coolest cars, wear the latest fashions – you get the picture. Everyone wants to be like them – which means owning all the same brand-name merchandise that the Joneses have.

The twist – and there is a definite twist – is inventive; these folks are not who they seem to be and that’s all I’ll say. Put it this way: First-time writer-director Derrick Borte keeps things loose but finds just the right ways to help bring down this house of cards, while spoofing contemporary acquisitiveness and its effect on self-esteem. Moore and Duchovny have an interestingly prickly chemistry and this film could be a sleeper.

“Youth in Revolt” is yet another comedy about a high-school kid losing his virginity – but with a difference. The old trope gets a witty, complex reworking by filmmaker Miguel Arteta, working from a novel by C.D. Payne. Their secret weapon: Michael Cera, who makes the film’s central character, Nick Twisp, into almost a Dickensian hero, battling his way through a complex world of unpredictable turns and daunting characters.

Nick lives in Oakland with his divorced mom (Jean Smart) and her dirtball boyfriend (the ubiquitous Zach Galifianakis, who is in two other films at this festival). Convinced he’ll never get laid, he meets his soul mate when the family goes on an impromptu vacation to Ukiah: Sheeni Saunders (Portia Doubleday), who, like Nick, also loves foreign films and feels like a stranger in her own family.

Nick’s Byzantine adventures focus on his attempts to be with Sheeni, against her parents’ wishes, with a series of outlandish turns. It’s all played with wonderful deadpan sarcasm and panic by the low-key Cera, who adroitly handles the dual role of Nick’s French bad-boy alter-ego, Francois.

I also found myself captivated by Rebecca Miller’s “The Private Lives of Pippa Lee,” the first film in perhaps forever to give Robin Wright (Penn?) not only the heroine’s role – but a lead part that lets her play comedy as well as drama.

She plays Pippa Lee, the wife of a famous retiring publisher (Alan Arkin). Before she met him, her life was aimless and chaotic, thanks to the role model of a mother (Maria Bello) with a Dexedrine habit. Now that her aging husband has moved her from Manhattan to a retirement community in Connecticut, she finds herself sleep-walking through her life, literally and figuratively, casting her memory backwards to her youth (where she is played by Blake Lively) to figure out how she got to this point.

Through it all, Wright is amazingly limber, shifting from the poignant to the goofy with a shrug and a smile, finding humor in the most unlikely places. Part of it is the  loosey-goosey character in Miller’s script – but it takes an actress of Wright’s range to pull it off.

Finally, I saw “Glorious 39,” an atmospheric and suspenseful thriller set in 1939 England, when it was still very much up for grabs whether England would try to appease Hitler or go to war with him. Stephen Poliakoff’s film features a compelling central performance by Romola Garai, as a member of a well-off family who uncovers a plot by the powerful forces for appeasement, who are willing to go to nefarious ends – including murder – to silence their opponents.

Beautifully shot, with a terrific cast that includes Julie Christie, Bill Nighy and Jeremy Northam, “Glorious 39” works well for two hours. Unfortunately, it’s 130 minutes long and deflates rather than ends. The same can be said for Grant Heslov’s “The Men Who Stare At Goats,” a subversive little comedy starring Ewan McGregor, George Clooney, Jeff Bridges and Kevin Spacey. Here’s another movie that’s wild, funny and unpredictable - then seems to go to pieces in the final 15 minutes (though this one pulls itself together for the finale).

The end – well, it’s nigh. I’m seeing one more film Tuesday morning before hopping a plane back to New York. I’ll be back with one more round-up, to touch on the rest of the festival films I saw – in the week or so before the festival – on Wednesday.

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