When “Take Me Home” premiered at the Sundance Film Festival, it arrived not only as an intimate debut feature but as the expansion of a story Liz Sargent has been living with — and refining — for years. Adapted from her acclaimed short film of the same name, which also screened at Sundance in 2023, the feature went on to receive the Waldo Salt Screenwriting Award, recognizing the depth and precision of Sargent’s writing.
Inspired by her sister Anna, who plays the film’s central role, “Take Me Home” follows Anna, a 38-year-old Korean adoptee and family caregiver navigating the fragile balance of caring for her aging parents while trying to imagine a future of her own. Set in a working-class Florida suburb, the film examines caregiving, disability, and aging not as abstract issues, but as lived realities shaped by love, exhaustion, humor, and systemic failure. As a Florida heat wave disrupts the family’s routines, Anna is forced to confront what independence and community might look like in a world not designed to support her.
Sargent’s approach — both on screen and behind the scenes — is intentionally integrated and anti-ableist, prioritizing accessibility and care at every level of production. Working with an extraordinary ensemble that includes newcomer Anna Sargent, Ali Ahn, and Victor Slezak, the film refuses narratives of “fixing” or overcoming disability. Instead, it asks a more difficult and necessary question: what would it take to create environments where people with diverse care needs are able to thrive?
I spoke with Liz Sargent before the film premiered at Sundance about adapting the short into a feature, working alongside her sister, and crafting a film that invites compassion, imagination, and action — without offering easy answers.
It’s so good to finally meet you, Liz. I’ve been an admirer from afar, and I’m incredibly moved by Take Me Home. This film feels deeply personal, especially knowing you worked with your sister. Could you talk about what inspired you to make it? And I know it began as a short — how did it evolve into a feature?
Thank you. The story is very personal. Whenever I have a big emotion I can’t quite understand — or a family dynamic I can’t articulate — I tend to write from that place. I start with the feeling, then imagine what the conversation might have been, or could have been, and build it out in the most grounded way possible.
These questions have always felt like the adult questions of life to me — how we live, how we care for each other. It’s such a universal experience just to be alive. I’ve been examining these ideas for a long time.
Back in 2015, I was working in modern dance and experimental theater, and I realized it wasn’t sustainable. So naturally, I pivoted to indie film — which is also wildly unsustainable. But I wanted to tell these stories because they reflected what I was living through.
I’m the middle child of eleven. My parents had four biological kids and adopted seven more, many with different abilities. I’ve always wrestled with what my responsibility is to my siblings as an adult — how you let people struggle in a world that’s so hard when you love them deeply. And how broken the healthcare system is for people who don’t have the energy or resources to advocate for themselves. Who steps in? And where do my own dreams live within all of that?
To me, it’s the most important ethical dilemma — and one of the biggest systemic failures in our country.
My husband watched the film with me, and his mother uses a wheelchair — his father is her caregiver. He connected to it immediately. This film makes people feel seen. Thank you for that.
I’d love to talk about casting. Your sister Anna is extraordinary, and the entire cast is incredible. How did you bring everyone together, and what was it like working with Anna alongside the other actors?
We really built the film around Anna. She’s such a magnetic human being — there’s incredible depth and subtlety in her expression. She’s deeply present, empathetic, and responsive to people who come to her with care.
I cast human-first. I wanted people who understood the script, who were good humans, who were willing to love my sister, and who weren’t approaching the work from a selfish or indulgent place. This needed to be a collective process — playful, generous, and emotionally alive.
Many of the actors came from theater backgrounds and were excited by repetition and process. And the film was shot in my parents’ home, so everything was deeply personal. Without that level of care and heart, it wouldn’t be the same movie.
There’s that saying that 90% of directing is casting. For me, it’s about finding people who are willing to truly look at the world in front of them — because all the answers are already there.
Without giving anything away, the film left a deep emotional impression on me. It feels very intentional in how it invites the audience to think beyond what’s immediately in front of them. Can you talk about the choices you made in shaping that experience?
I didn’t want to present anything as a utopia — because a perfect vision can be just as limiting as showing only what’s painful or difficult. When you go too far in either direction, it gives the audience an out. They can dismiss it as unrealistic or overwhelming.
I was interested in holding something in the middle — a space that feels possible. It doesn’t require a radical overhaul, just a shift in mindset.
The film is meant to remain open. My hope is to spark imagination. I’m deeply inspired by Yoko Ono’s work around imagining — because once you can envision something as possible, it becomes easier to move toward it. I wanted audiences to leave with an active sense of care.
And it was important to me that Anna is never positioned as needing to change. There is nothing wrong with her. She is powerful exactly as she is. When we remove cognitive and physical barriers, and make space for the things everyone needs — fresh air, good food, community, purpose — people are able to thrive.
That really comes through. This was clearly a passion project. Can you talk about the behind-the-scenes team — your DP, editor, and the people who helped bring this vision to life?
Everyone had to approach this film with openness. Disabled people adjust to the world every single day — but the film industry is so rigid, so militant about process. And yet the best art comes from messiness, from aliveness.
It wasn’t easy. It required creative problem-solving and flexibility, which is rare. But we had a strong support system around Anna — an accessibility producer and an acting coach who truly cared about her as a human.
Big-name actors have teams around them all the time. Anna did too — and that should be normal. Her support was individualized to help her thrive, maintain boundaries, and feel safe.
We leaned into the difficulty. The house was small, it was Orlando in the summer, there were storms and heat and limitations. Instead of fighting it, we accepted it — and that’s where the water motif emerged. The framing, the confinement, the atmosphere — all of it grew out of those constraints.
Because Anna has short-term memory challenges, we couldn’t rely on repetition or long shooting days. We had to stay present, observe what was happening in the scene, and pivot constantly. It became a masterclass in adaptation — while never losing the heart of the film.
The relationship with nature really stood out to me — especially the rain, the water, the environment mirroring the emotional landscape.
One final question: what do you hope audiences take away from “Take Me Home”?
I want people to love Anna as much as I love her. I want them to see this family as deeply flawed, deeply loving, and trying their best.
If you love Anna, you’ll want to take care of her. You’ll want her to succeed. And I hope the film makes people angry — because anger can lead to action.
These people are America. They’re not “other.” They’re everyone. The family members hold different values, different politics — and that’s intentional. Caring about people should be bipartisan.
If we normalize care, generosity, and responsibility to one another, the call to action happens naturally.
We’ve already seen the impact. The short film screened at the White House for the Olmstead Act, and it was incredibly powerful — not because it offered solutions, but because it asked people to care.
We’re working with an organization called Caring Across Generations on the impact campaign, and the goal is simple: start the conversation.
I’m so excited to champion this film. It’s made a huge impact on me. Congratulations — and thank you for taking the time to talk.
Thank you. That means more than I can say.
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