For my second Sundance dispatch, I exchanged my snow boots for my slippers, and viewed most of the films from the comfort of my couch. While certainly not comparable to watching movies in the snowy mountains, I felt a coziness in my experience at home. The excitement from the in-person festival was still fresh in my mind, and it powered me through my last run of films. Of the films I watched at home, I was impressed by the multitudes of stories that these films represented. I noticed how many of them were able to balance opposing feelings, and the insights those gave me into new perspectives. As the festival came to a close, I felt excited for the year of movies ahead, hoping that each of these in this dispatch find distribution so that wider audiences will be able to experience their important stories.
Sally
Sally Ride was a strong-willed physicist and astronaut who became the first American woman to go to space in 1983. She was also a lesbian. These two sides of her cannot and will not — partly thanks to Cristina Costantini’s exquisite “Sally,” — be ignored or separated. Costantini’s stirring documentary on the American hero is framed primarily through the eyes of Ride’s life partner, Tam O’Shaughnessy, who had a 27-year relationship with Ride. Through intimate interviews, archival footage, and a few narrative scene recreations, “Sally” is the long awaited tribute to an American hero.
Ride was a woman used to pressure. To become an astronaut, one must thrive in those situations. What Ride did not train for, however, was navigating the life of a public figure as a closeted lesbian. “Sally,” though a portrait of a historic figure, also powerfully exemplifies what it means to be a symbol. To be a symbol means you do not get to be a full person, instead forced to hide certain aspects of yourself to protect the idea you are representing. These standards of the era forced Ride to keep her private life private up until the time of her death in 2012. Anecdotes from Ride’s partner, friends, and family illustrate the struggle of fighting against yourself to feed a higher calling.
Minorities have always been forced to be perfect representatives of their community. Ride was tasked with being the perfect woman. Any mistake made would be reflected on all of the women astronauts, scientists, and engineers standing behind her. Despite this pressure, Ride still found a way to be her true self, though it had to be in secret. O’Shaughnessy recognizes the unfairness of their situation, but the glimmer in her eyes as she recounts memories of Ride is unshakeable. In spite of every odd stacked against them, they loved. Sally Ride was never one to turn down a challenge and she succeeded in the greatest challenge of all: finding happiness in a world that is determined to tear you apart.
Come See Me in the the Good Light
Continuing on with Sundance 2025’s exceptional presentation of documentaries, specifically queer ones, I was incredibly moved by Ryan White’s “Come See Me in the Good Light.” Centering on Colorado poet laureate Andrea Gibson’s journey with cancer, the film beautifully and agonizingly ponders how death can bring us closer to life. Along with their poet partner Megan Falley, Gibson moves between the lowest emotions of grieving the loss of life and highest joys of soaking up all the time you have left.
White weaves interviews of extreme honesty and vulnerability of the couple with Gibson’s spoken word poetry. Through its run time, Gibson illustrates their journey of reconciling with their incurable cancer diagnosis while still trying to fight for more days. The outcome is a joyous reconciliation with your circumstances, and how you must make the most of every moment you have.
Gibson, Falley, and their surrounding circle are able to find humor despite every setback, allowing moments of brevity in the midst of a life altering circumstance. In a documentary that tackles love, heartbreak, friendship, and mental illness, White weaves these threads flawlessly, easily floating between grief and joy. The end result is a new mindset on life, that we all just have one, and that we must not waste one second of it.
Sunfish (& Other Stories on Green Lake)
Ryan White’s compassionate documentary pairs well with Sierra Falconer’s debut feature “Sunfish (& Other Stories on Green Lake),” a meditative anthology focusing on the different characters of Green Lake. Small threads connect each of these stories, but the four vignettes exist on their own as meditations on loneliness.
Falconer’s characters are easy to get invested in, avoiding the lag that many anthologies must overcome. Each new story invites you in quickly. Falconer’s grounded script is arresting, drawing you into each of the characters’ personal dilemmas. Despite these characters never truly crossing paths, Green Lake itself is the film’s connective tissue: The flowing waves coming ashore, the birds chirping in the wind, and the sway of the trees act as atmospheric bridges.
With each tiny drama a character overcomes, a recognition is formed. Their moments of triumph, though small, reflect on the daily trials we ourselves face every day as an audience. Whether it’s the young girl learning to sail as a way to dissuade the loneliness felt by her mother’s abandonment, or the waitress who connects with a man trying to catch the biggest fish on the lake, “Sunfish” feels like a breath taken in, and in its release, the feeling that we are not alone.
Brides
Film is often used as a vehicle to experience someone else’s point of view, to help audiences better understand sometimes difficult circumstances. In Nadia Fall’s “Brides,” she and screenwriter Suhayla El-Bushra construct a story of misplaced faith, but ingeniously through the eyes of two teenage girls. In doing so, “Brides” develops into an unconventional depiction of an oftentimes misrepresented subject.
Doe (Ebada Hassan) and Muna (Safiyya Ingar) are two Muslim teenagers residing in Britain, but have embarked on a journey to Syria in order to join an extremist group after being radicalized online. After landing in Turkey, they must navigate their way through the country to get to the Syrian border and join up with what they believe will be an accepting space for Muslim girls like them. The girls’ naïveté is quickly exhibited at every encounter, the possible dangers posed to them remaining unapparent. Though the kindness of strangers aids them to get them closer to their destination, the risks they take to achieve their goal feed further into the immature view they hold of the world.
Through Doe and Muna’s journey, we as the audience gain insight into their decisions to leave their homes. Their experiences also emphasize their innocence, which is indicative as to how they were influenced to run away in the first place. Fall brilliantly crafts a dark coming of age story with an original approach. By following the two girls, “Brides” offers empathy to a very specific group of people whose decisions often are wildly misunderstood.
Sorry, Baby
In another story offering understanding, Eva Victor’s stunning debut feature “Sorry, Baby,” which they wrote, directed, and also starred in, is an extraordinary feat. Victor’s character Agnes is a literature graduate who works as faculty at the university in which they studied. Their best friend Lydie, played with charming compassion by Naomi Ackie, is now married and pregnant but is on a visit to their old house in the east coast town. “Sorry, Baby” is presented to us in chapters, the first one taking place years after the “year with the Bad Thing” happens. Victor works the story back for us, crafting a depiction of trauma that is achingly grounded while maintaining a surprising humor.
The brilliance behind Victor’s debut is in the characterization of Agnes. Agnes is awkward yet charming, and greatly intelligent. Turner’s performance is multifaceted, providing emotional insight with a glance and humorous breaks with their sardonic delivery. The non-chronological storytelling easily invites you into the character of Agnes where she is at now, then backtracks to show us the event that still reverberates throughout her life.
The ability that “Sorry, Baby” has to honestly portray how trauma affects you in the now, and in the future, is impressive. Victor’s direction and script feel undramatic, and that is precisely its moving point. Everything feels so organically performed, shot, and edited, that the end result somehow has you laughing with a pit in your stomach.
