THE FIRST TIME I SAT DOWN IN A THEATRE AT SUNDANCE, I BURST INTO TEARS.

I WAS IN PUBLIC; THEY WERE NOT HEAVING, CRAZY-PERSON TEARS.  BUT JUST AFTER I FILED INTO MY ROW AT THE EGYPTIAN, THE BEAUTIFUL OLD-SCHOOL MOVIE HOUSE ON PARK CITY’S MAIN STREET, I LOOKED UP AT THE SCREEN.  WHATEVER LOGO AND CATCHPHRASE THE PROGRAMMERS HAD SELECTED FOR THAT YEAR’S FESTIVAL SHONE BRIGHTLY, PROJECTED FROM A LIGHT THAT APPEARED ALMOST DIVINE, AND I LEANED BACK AGAINST THE PLUSH SEATS (I’M NOT SURE ANYMORE, BUT I THINK THE SEATS WERE MADE FROM A BURGUNDY VELVET), AND I COULD NOT BELIEVE THAT I WAS THERE.