When I was thirteen, I remember scrolling through the movie channels of my parents’ television and finding a film called “Like Crazy,” which was labeled as a “breakout Sundance hit.” What was ‘Sundance,’ I wondered? This film began my interest and eventual education in what the Sundance Film Festival was. As my engrossment in the film industry grew, Sundance remained central to that education. Sundance, the place where independent film thrives and reaches its audience. I had always dreamed of attending the festival, but considered that too unattainable. In 2021 due to the pandemic, I was able to attend the festival virtually and went on to cover it for the next four years from my home in Chicago. Again, the dream of actually attending Sundance seemed too implausible, but covering it virtually granted me a deep fulfillment in my criticism experience.
This year, however, I found myself walking down the streets of Park City, Utah, overwhelmed by the surrealness of my situation. I saw the Egyptian Theatre in person, as its lights flickered against the backdrop of the mountains. Film lovers flooded the streets around me. I took a deep breath. I had made it here — and what I experienced was incredible.
I saw many films in the three days that I attended the festival. My viewings offered diverse stories of underrepresented communities, depicting experiences unfamiliar to me or granting insight into my own community. I also felt the power of these stories — in the political messages they stood for and in the activism that they hoped to achieve. I was able to attend a reproductive rights event as well, which was the perfect way to cap off my in-person festival experience.
Touch Me
One of the very first films I saw — one that I did not stop thinking about the entire festival — was Addison Heimann’s “Touch Me,” a colorful and twisted exploration of trauma. Opening with what must be around a six-minute one-take monologue, Joey (Olivia Taylor Dudley) relays her traumatic relationship with an extraterrestrial being who groomed and then abused her. Now living with her wealthy friend Craig (Jordan Gavaris), she struggles to live a normal life. When her abuser Brian (Lou Taylor Pucci) reaches back out to her, the two codependent friends go stay with him and fall deeper under his alluring power.
Brian’s extraterrestrial abilities allow him to erase any emotional pain with the touch of his hand. This extends to his sexual encounters as well, which is what draws both Joey and Craig to him. Under this reality, what follows is a ninety-minute examination of trauma — trauma as an excuse, as a burden, as manipulation, as reasoning. Brian mines their trauma in place of emotional connection, while the other two use it as a distraction, never fully facing their pain.
Heimann tosses these ideas around the screen for an erotic, colorful, and inventive ninety minutes. While some of the therapy speak can feel too on the nose, the result of this over-the-top style is ultimately moving. Frustrations around past hurts that still haunt us and affect our daily lives are worth reflection. We just can’t use them as a crutch, or fall into codependency with them. We must confront them and move forward. Heimann questions these ideas with a humorous intensity, making “Touch Me” hard to shake.
Sauna
In a time of great pain and fear under the new administration in America, queer and trans stories are more important than ever. Mathias Broe’s “Sauna” is a vital viewing experience. In Copenhagen, Johan (Magnus Juhl Andersen) works at the local sauna, a place for gay men to come for sexual experiences. A gay man himself, Johan is aimless and lonely in his world. Then he meets William (Nina Rask), a trans gay man who is in the process of transitioning. As the two form a tender love affair, they must navigate their new relationship along with the challenge of understanding.
Though Johan believes he holds no judgment with William being a trans man — despite other gay men holding these prejudices — Johan is still cis. His understanding of transness and that experience don’t always penetrate, and this leads to conflict in their relationship. Simultaneously, Johan and William are able to form a genuine, beautiful connection. Despite the issues the couple endures, scenes of stirring intimacy are scattered throughout the film, allowing an original love affair to be born onscreen.
What “Sauna” succeeds at so well is representing such a grounded relationship between two gay men, as well as the roadblocks they encounter. It approaches issues that are often unseen in most mainstream films, depicting topics that many audiences may be unaware of or thought to be taboo. These appear in their intimate scenes or moments of thoughtlessness from Johan. In achieving a genuine depiction, “Sauna” becomes a vibrant and moving portrait of two men in love in a world that is adamant to deny them the self-fulfillment they so deserve.
East of Wall
As my experience moved deeper into the festival, I noticed a trend in the films I was seeing — films that explored different underrepresented communities. Shifting from the global scale of the queer community in Copenhagen to the very specific community of the Badlands, “East of Wall” was a spark of light. In this intimate story of found family, Tabatha (Tabatha Zimiga) is a mother of many. She owns a ranch and raises horses while also raising a mix of her own children and lost children from her community. In this blended family of teenagers, a grieving mother, and a grandmother (Jennifer Ehle), hardship is well known.
As Tabatha struggles both with grief and financial instability, writer and director Kate Beecroft constructs an authentic representation of a very specific American experience. Taking inspiration from the very actors who portray these characters on screen, “East of Wall” is a testament to family and how it will heal you. Whether that family is blood, found, or animal, those bonds will save you.
The film utilizes the natural landscape and hard-hitting musical beats to wrap the audience up in the environment of its characters. Emotional highs and lows feel organic, extending the realism of the performances to the emotions felt on screen. Beecroft uses her personal experience with the real-life people portraying these roles to concoct a touching, honest portrait of family.
Sugar Babies
In a specificity similar to “East of Wall,” Rachel Fleit’s documentary “Sugar Babies” delves into the struggling community of rural Louisiana. Following young adult Autumn and her close-knit group of friends, “Sugar Babies” explores the American dream through the scope of the gig economy. The specific gig here is Autumn’s business as a sugar baby, which means getting money from men without the “sugar” — without having to meet them in person.
Autumn is an intelligent entrepreneur who lends her expertise to her friends and others online, teaching them how to become sugar babies. While her business booms, she is able to provide for her friends and family in ways that were previously unknown to her due to Louisiana’s lack of opportunity. Through high-energy edits of TikTok, selfies, and Cash App, Fleit adequately provides access to these individuals, allowing their personal struggles and triumphs to be seen.
Juxtaposing the cash flow of Autumn’s experiences with the reality of her environment, “Sugar Babies” aptly sheds light on the economic disparity of its subjects without placing judgment. Combined with regular factual intervals reminding viewers of the politics of Louisiana, and their refusal to raise the minimum wage, the film accomplishes an understanding of an often misunderstood group of people. The new American dream is the gig economy: it is TikTok, DoorDash, and InstaCart, and just like the old American dream — it is a fantasy.
The Librarians
Documentaries are an excellent tool to find underrepresented communities and amplify them. With “Sugar Babies,” Fleit succeeds in this. In Kim A. Snyder’s “The Librarians,” she lends her eye to multiple states in the southern United States to offer a broad perspective on the recent political movement to ban books.
Snyder’s approach begins by introducing the audience to librarians in Texas, where the movement first gained traction; we then slowly move to other states such as Florida and New Jersey. As more librarians share their stories, the far-right-backed movement is revealed to be more orchestrated than organic. The slow, steady depiction of these specific instances is supported by statistics and facts that illustrate how dangerous this issue has quickly become.
For anyone — familiar or unfamiliar — with this issue, “The Librarians” will educate and enrage you. Snyder’s multifaceted approach of interviewing different subjects of opposing political backgrounds allows the documentary to fully showcase the scope of this issue. The powerful testimonies of the targeted librarians are imperative. Their unfair treatment humanizes the issues that could easily be downplayed. By the end of the film, it feels impossible not to be moved to act.
My experience at Sundance will be unforgettable. I have walked away with new friends, connections, and ideas. Park City became a place of community, not only for film lovers, but for political action as well. The current political climate was felt heavily in the snowy mountain town. I emerged from the cold with a newfound perspective on the future, and from being surrounded by people who want to change the world. I walked away with hope.
