The new Guthrie is a gorgeous tower of a building, a vertical experience bathed in a royal blue. Its lobby is spacious, but leads to escalators (or elevators) that whisk you to the performance spaces upstairs.
Both films deal with pain, but virtually issuing from different planets. In Wartorn it's distress of the suicide-inducing variety. In Tiny Furniture it's privileged misery -- the romantic humiliation of a plumpish young woman.
"You can't always lose yourself" in a role, says the 20-year-old Stewart, "although that's when it's at its best. I don't have a lot of control over it because I'm not really the best technical actor."
I happened to catch three films in a row on Saturday at the 2010 Sundance Film Festival that all dealt with issues of family, particularly the idea of creating a family from people to whom you aren't necessarily related.