By Eliott Grover My brain is oatmeal and my bloodshot eyes are about to slide out of their sockets. And yet, I’ve rarely felt so invigorated. While attending the Sundance Film Festival from the comfort of my home, I watched 25 new movies over eight wild days. It was a cinephile’s Hanukkah. The ass-shaped divot on my couch might become a permanent topographical feature of the living room, but I’m not complaining. This year was supposed to mark the return of the independent film world’s crowning event to Park City, Utah. Organizers had planned for a hybrid festival, with virtual and in-person sc…