A.O. Scott, our critic at large, is keeping a diary as he “attends” the virtual Sundance Film Festival, which runs through Wednesday. Read previous entries here and here.

Sunday, 10 p.m. Eastern time: The arrival of snow in New York definitely adds a taste of authentic Park City-in-January atmosphere, except of course that I don’t have to slog through the blizzard to get to screenings. Which is mostly a relief, even as it removes an essential element of self-congratulation from the festival experience. Critics and journalists like to compete over who can see the most movies in a single day. Four is pretty basic. Five gives you something to feel smug about. Six is impressive, though not everyone will believe you.

But at home, watching six movies feels less like a rare and heroic feat of journalistic stamina than an all-too-usual, somewhat pathetic exercise in quarantine self-care, akin to taking in a whole season of “The Great British Baking Show” in one sitting. That isn’t something I’d brag about or even admit to having done. Also not something anyone would pay me to do, I don’t think.

Anyway, for the record (and for the money): Today’s viewing included four documentaries and two features. I didn’t make it to the end of each one — walking out of movies is one of the guilty pleasures of festival-going. The highlights were two documentaries about contemporary American adolescence: Peter Nicks’s “Homeroom,” which follows a group of Oakland high school seniors through the tumult of the 2019-20 academic year; and Parker Hill and Isabel Bethencourt’s “Cusp,” which observes a summer in the lives of three Texas teenagers, Aaloni, Brittney and Autumn.

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