It’s clear that Neil Labute is talented. It’s clear that he is successful. It’s clear that he is twisted. It’s even clear that he is funny, in a dark, bent sort of way.

But it’s hard to see the former resident of Liberty Lake as a stand-up comedian. Yet that’s what he was Monday night following the screening of his film “The Shape of Things.”

A film that lives up to the standards of the bizarre created by such works as “Your Friends and Neighbors” and “In the Company of Men,” “The Shape of Things” is a blackly comic look, and a larger meditation on, what men and women do to each other all for the sake of their relationship.

When a woman asks what he thinks the movie means, the standard undergraduate question, he says “It’s so easy to flip that back at you it’s almost a crime not to” before giving an honest answer. In the process of explaining, LaBute, a graduate of Brigham Young University, uses the word parable — “Being back in Utah, I use the word parable,” he says.

And when someone asks him what the play looked like onstage, he takes a beat, refers to the open stage behind him, and asks, “Do you want us to do it right now?”

OK, so maybe you had to be there. But he ended up earning more laughs than a month of Sunday comic strips.

Tom Brook is a correspondent for BBC whose show “Talking Movies” shows on BBC America (available in Spokane/Coeur d’Alene on cable television and satellite). While standing outside the Eccles Theater, the auditorium at Park City High School, we strike up a conversation. We agree: The opening-night movie, “Levity” was a bad choice. “The screenplay was a bit naïve, wasn’t it,” Brook says. Brits always seem to be so cultured.

Thom Fitzgerald, writer-director of the film “The Event,” was, like most filmmakers, nervous about speaking in front of the crowd at the 1,252-seat Eccles theater. “I always get a flutter when I introduce a film,” he says. “At this altitude (6,900 feet), it lasts about 45 minutes.”

Kathleen McInnis, once chief publicist for the Seattle International Film Festival, has in recent years worked as a free-lance publicist. Publicists aren’t always allowed to express their real opinions. She’s here this year with the film “Song for a Raggy Boy.” “I’m so glad that I can speak for a film that I really like,” she says.

Unlike other films festivals (New York, for example), the volunteers who run the screenings make sure to remind everyone that they need to turn off their cell phones before the shows begin. Some of them, actors in training no doubt, have fun while doing so. “I realized at the last showing that I did the whole speech with my fly open,” he says. “But, then, Sundance is all about exposure.”

Day Three (cont.): It’s not often that you get to see three movies in a row that impress you, intrigue you, push your emotional limits, thrill you. That’s true, maybe even especially, at Sundance. Today was such a day.

It began with “The United States of Leland.” The story of a young man who, unaccountably, murders a young boy born with a developmental disability. It’s a story of actions and responsibility and, ultimately, consequences. And it’s terrific. Chances of seeing it in your local multiplex: Dream on.

Then we stick around for a film titled “The Station Agent.” It’s a curious little tale about a dwarf named Finn McBride (Peter Dinklage) who inherits an abandoned train station and, gradually, comes out of his self-imposed alienation with the help of a troubled woman and a gregarious hot dog vendor. Chances of seeing it in your local multiplex: The same as your chances of growing a third leg.

And the good stuff continued with “Pieces of April,” a study of a dysfunctional family trying to get together for a Thanksgiving dinner. Katie Holmes stars as the black-sheep daughter, but the film is owned by Patricia Clarkson as a cancer patient with the blackest sense of humor ever. Chances of seeing it in your local multiplex: Better than any chance you’ll ever have of duplicating your mother’s cranberry sauce recipe.

But, hey, one can always hope — not to mention calling your favorite theater and complaining.

OK, so things were busy on Main Street late Saturday. What that meant was that those of us who chose to go to a 10:30 p.m. critics’ screening had the theater to ourselves.

In fact, when Mary Pat and I signed in, no one else had even shown up. After a day in which the parking lot in front of the Eccles was filled with hundreds of people, it was eerie to see it empty.

“Must be the night of some pretty big parties,” Mary Pat said to the volunteer who signed us in.

“Yes,” the volunteer replied.

“We wouldn’t have been able to get into any of them anyway,” Mary Pat said.

“Oh, we could get you in,” the volunteer said.

Right, I thought. I’d rather see an Italian movie anyway. I was sure that Mary Pat agreed. Right.

“We must be the biggest losers in Park City,” she said.

In the middle of the screening of the Danish film “Open Hearts,” the story seems to take an abrupt turn. And then, to the surprise of everyone, the house lights come up and the movie stops.

A woman, whom we assume is the movie’s publicist, takes the stage. She explains that the person who put the film together screwed up and has spliced the reels together in the wrong order. She says that the director, Susanne Bier, wants to stop the screening. She tells us that we can all get coupons that will allow us to attend any other screening of our choice.

But we don’t want that. It’s too hard to get tickets as it is, and schedules are tight. Besides, we’re into the film. We’re enjoying it. We want to continue. We are vocal about our feelings. And it makes a difference.

The film continues. And, adults that we are, we are able to piece the story together. And when it is over, we applaud. Loudly. As I exit the theater, I stop by the director, whom I can see in the shadows. I thank her, and she smiles.

Wow, even at Sundance you can find a Hollywood ending.

■ My friend, former Spokane resident Tim Mulligan, sees the actress C.C.H. Pounder while standing in line at Starbucks.

■ I see People Magazine film reviewer Leah Rozen on the shuttle bus, and yesterday I saw New York Times film critic Elvis Mitchell — twice. Of Course, nobody cares about film critics except for other film critics.

■ We see Macaulay Culkin (“Home Alone”) and Dylan McDermott at the premiere of the film “Party Monster.”

My wife, Mary Pat Treuthart, who is co-host with me of Spokane Public Radio’s “Movies 101” show (Bob Glatzer is the principal host), had this to say about “The Singing Detective”:

I thought the film was very visually appealing, and there were some notable performances, particularly by Mel Gibson in a supporting role. He was almost unrecognizable. But, overall, the pieces did not quite come together in a satisfactory way for someone such as myself who has not seen the original. (which is supposed to be released in April on DVD!)

Finally, Dan didn’t even mention the two documentaries that we watched in the condo bringing our movie total for the day to six. He doesn’t like to brag.

■ Stanley Tucci ( “First Night”) walks by our front-row seat as we wait to watch “The Mudge Boy,” a movie that he executive-produced.

■ One after the other, our friends spot Katie Holmes, Robert Downey Jr. and Dustin Hoffman, Holly Hunter, Carla Gugino, Roger Ebert.

■ Walking to a block party that is being held on south Main Street, we see Tilda Swinton (“Adaptation”). Swinton first came to fame in this country by playing an androgynous character in “Orlando.” The screen does strange things; in person, there is nothing remotely androgynous about Tilda Swinton.

Beware works of love. “Levity” was written and directed by Ed Solomon, a first-time director known for writing such comedies as “Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure.” This film, inspired by a young man whom Solomon once met, is about a man (Billy Bob Thornton) who gets out of prison after serving 22 years for murder.

He isn’t sure what he wants to do, but he’s certain that he’s beyond redemption. Yet he still wants it. So he gets involves with a street preacher (Morgan Freeman), a young, self-destructive woman (Kirsten Dunst) who hangs around the street preacher’s make-shift clubhouse and the sister (Holly Hunter) of the young man he shot.

The result of all this work is not one, single honest moment. The film is shot in bright colors that feel inappropriate, the acting is either overwrought (Dunst) or low-key to the point of narcolepsy (Thornton). Even the great Freeman affects an irritating scratch to his deep voice that makes much of what he says unintelligible. Only Hunter manages to seem real.

Worst of all, the story seems to go nowhere intentionally. Thornton, wearing one of the worst hairpieces in movie history, stumbles from one situation to the next. Yet, unaccountably, his rumpled character manages to affect, and be affected by, everyone he meets. He even gets to sleep with Hunter’s character. Like that would happen.

The moral: Go back and read the words that began this message.

Maybe Rick Moranis would have helped.

The place: 1,500-seat Abravanel Hall, Salt Lake City’s showcase auditorium. Tiers of box seats rise up on all sides, and the wooden main floor is filled with hundreds of seats whose blue covers contrast with the gold trim on the side walls to give the place a refined feel — in a gently garish way.

The moment: This is a special night for Salt Lake, although it feels as if the hall is filled with more Hollywood and New York than with locals. Likely more. In any event, even the jeans-and-jewelry, fur-wearing crowd applauds when the house lights dim. And then Robert Redford enters the room… and applause fills the air.

Bob speaks: Redford asks the indulgence of festival regulars so that he can talk to his favorites, the filmmakers, and newcomers. He runs through the history of the event, back to the days in the 1980s when he envisioned Sundance as a true alternative to the movie-making industry. Then, the true Hollywood liberal, he talks of the enduring need for “freedom of expression” and labels as “utter nonsense” the notion that alternative voices in this post-9/11 era are in an way unpatriotic. “It’s merely the American way,” he says.

It’s not unusual to see a blend of L.A. and faux-Western chic walking down Park City’s Main Street. Instead of black-leather jackets, though, what you mostly see is fleece — vests, jackets, hats, mufflers, what have you.

At tonight’s festival opening-night film, “Levity,” which stars Billy Bob Thornton, Holly Hunter, Morgan Freeman and Kirsten Dunst, Robert Redford wore his usual uniform —jeans and sport coat. The plum-colored muffler was a nice touch.

But the best: The woman sitting in front of me who was wearing jeans and a fur coat. Better not let PETA know.

True Story: A year ago this week, when my wife and I arrived in Salt Lake City to attend the Sundance Film Festival, we boarded the shuttle to Park City with three other people.

Nothing strange about that, of course. The ski town of Park City is the main site of Robert Redford’s annual festival, which has become probably the world’s most prestigious celebration of independent film. And unless you rent a car, which is a bad idea because parking spaces in Park City are more valuable than a three-picture deal, the best way to get up the mountain is by shuttle.

So, we’re sitting with these three other people during the half-hour ride and, naturally enough, we begin talking. We tell each other who we are, what we do, why we’re going to Park City, what we hope to see.

This, I have to say, is one of best things about Sundance: Of all the film festivals I’ve attended, from Los Angeles to New York, Sundance provides the most interesting chance meetings. The people standing in line are not just film fans. In fact, some aren’t film fans at all. They are usually film professionals of some sort – actors, editors, screenwriters, agents, film buyers or filmmaker wannabes. And many have some story to tell that’s worth hearing.

Anyway, we start talking to this one couple – both 40ish, both wearing the Sundance obligatory uniform (boots, jeans, sweater, parka) and both open about why they were there: They had a film entered in the documentary competition. They had worked hard, they had little money to show for it, and they were both very, very tired.

What’s your film’s name? we asked. “Daughter From Danang,” they said. We’ll watch for it, we promised.

And sure enough, when the film played, we did see it. And it was terrific.

It was so good that, after the festival was over and the festival awards were announced, we weren’t surprised to hear that “Daughter From Danang” had won the Grand Jury Prize for Documentary. Our hope was that the filmmakers, Gail Dolgin and Vincente Franco, were finally going to be able to get some rest.

What’s amazing is that 20,000 people attend Sundance each year. They pack the sidewalks of Main Street, they fill the restaurants, they stand in long lines in front of the theaters and they fill most seats when each of the 130-odd movies begin. So the chances of sharing time with a couple of eventual award-winners would seem remote.

But it’s more likely than at Vancouver or Seattle, the Pacific Northwest’s two biggest film festivals, much less Toronto or Berlin, two of the world’s biggest.

When I head in on the shuttle this time, I’ll definitely be wondering who my fellow passengers are. It’s always nice to be in the know.

This will make the sixth straight year that I’ve been to Sundance. I first went in 1998 to cover the premiere of “Smoke Signals,” Chris Eyre’s adaptation of Sherman Alexie’s screenplay. Every year I’ve returned, and every year I’ve seen some superior independent narrative and documentary films, not to mention shorts.

Among the best: “Southern Comfort,” “In the Bedroom,” “The Tao of Steve,” “Girlfight,” “You Can Count on Me,” “Three Seasons,” “Series 7”and “Slam.”

Of course, I’ve seen some stinkers, too. One pretentious waste of cinema was a film professor’s vanity project that featured two non-actors lounging around, mostly in the nude. The only saving grace was the film’s Italian locations.

But while going to the movies is the main reason for being at the festival, it’s not the only reason. You can see stars, up close and personal, such as Guy Pearce, Jennifer Tilley, Benicio del Toro, Leelee Sobieski, Stephen Rea, Gina Gershon, Jon Favreau, Famke Janssen, Jennifer Aniston and Brad Pitt, Ethan Hawke and Uma Thurman. You see filmmakers, such as John Waters, Errol Morris, Todd Solondz, Tom Tykwer, Joel and Ethan Coen, and Robert Altman.

You see other celebrities, too, such as Roger Ebert – who actually likes to take snapshots of filmmakers and stars with his own little camera.

You meet interesting characters – such as the guy who insists that he never buys a ticket yet never has trouble getting into a film that he really wants to see. Or the guy I saw who once threatened to do something physically improbable to someone on the other end of his cell phone. Or Jeff Gilmore, the festival’s co-director, who, no matter how low the temperature drops, has worn the same black leather jacket to every event at which I’ve seen him.

Yeah, attending Sundance is well worth the five 16-hour days that I give it every January. Beginning Thursday, I’m returning, and I’ll do what I can to share my experience with you. I’ll post daily online updates of what films I’ve seen, what celebrities I’ve spotted, what press conferences I’ve attended, what characters I run into.

My intent will be to take you into the heart of Sundance and show what the experience is like for the average festival-goer. I invite any of you to ask me questions, and I particularly invite any other Inland Northwest resident who is planning on going to contribute.

You’ll have to excuse me now. I have laundry to do.

My X-Men pajamas need washing.