There's a rumor going around here that critic Roger Ebert has a two-hour rule. For the first two hours after viewing a film, he not only won't offer his opinion but won't listen to anyone else's, either. Pity that more filmgoers don't take a page from his book of cinetiquette.

Everyone's been guilty of it at some point: You're sitting in a theater, the film's only halfway completed, and you're already calculating an opinion guaranteed to razzle and dazzle. You may even be concocting a catch phrase to zing as soon as the credits roll.

Nowhere do the opinion-blasters reign as they do here at Sundance. As soon as you exit a screening, it's More like Beta Dogs. Or, I Wish I'd Missed Little Miss Sunshine. Or, Please, Please Don't Come Knocking. Then there's ye olde What'd'ya think? before your eyes have even readjusted to Utah's wicked glare. And of course, there are the ones who immediately bombard you with their opinion so emphatically that you feel like a serious cinewuss if you don't respond with equal vehemence. Heckyl: I thought it was the most wretched movie at the festival! So trite! Jeckyl: Well, i thought it was the most brilliant diatribe I've ever seen! You just didn't get the dialectic of the paradigm. Again!

It's an understandable tendency. There are instances when a movie packs such a punch — be it negative or positive — that an immediate, visceral response is involuntary. Lord knows no one would deny that hashing out your opinions with your peers is half the fun at a festival. And Sundance is basically the film prom, the cinematic olympics, where one way to stake your turf is to do it, well, the way dogs do.

But it's sketchy.

For festivals are also chock-full of filmmakers who just poured their life savings and five years into what you're watching. A little quiet time helps you marinate a more measured opinion of their hard work, not to mention respects the right of others to do the same.

You're welcome for this opinion about your opinion. Consider it marinated.