Every Sundance leaves an impression on me — no, more than that. It feels like a permanent mark etched into my soul. Of course, there’s the snow, the crowded Main Street cafés, the films and conversations that linger long after you leave Park City. But there’s always something more — something that awakens me to our shared humanity. Something heavier and more tender.
Knowing this was my final Sundance in Park City brought a quiet poignancy. It felt like everything I’ve experienced here over the years — every interview, every premiere, every protest, every late-night conversation about art and the survival of the industry — was building toward this moment. And this year, it broke open.
At times, it was overwhelming — but not in a way that made me want to retreat. It reminded me why this work matters. Why storytelling matters. Why solidarity matters.
Because Sundance has never existed in a bubble. It has always reflected the world outside its theaters.
In 2017, after Trump first became president, Chelsea Handler led the Women’s March in Park City. During the pandemic and the rise of Black Lives Matter, solidarity wasn’t abstract — it was necessary. Tabitha Jackson was the Executive Director of the festival during the pandemic, and her words always stayed with me, especially during her opening speech at the 2020 Carla Conference. This year, protests against ICE unfolded alongside premieres. The festival once again reminded us: cinema and our present climate are intertwined.
We are living in a time when authoritarianism is no longer theoretical. In moments like this, story becomes both a mirror and a connector of humanity.
Witness to the Storyteller
Over the years, I’ve come to understand my role more clearly. I’m not at the center of these stories — I’m a witness to the storyteller. My work at Cinema Femme has always been about elevating underrepresented voices in our industry, particularly women and gender-expansive voices, and ensuring they are heard in full.
Two themes followed me through this festival: storytelling as power, and solidarity as action.
At the Cinema Café, Salman Rushdie sat across from film critic Justin Chang to discuss the documentary “Knife: The Attempted Murder of Salman Rushdie,” directed by Alex Gibney. Reflecting on the brutal attack he survived, Rushdie spoke of his hope that the film might reach audiences’ consciousness in the same way the audience once reached him—physically, instinctively—when they rushed the stage to shield him from harm. In that charged memory, the customary distance between artist and audience dissolved. Solidarity was no longer an abstract ideal or a literary theme. It became immediate. Tangible. Life-saving.
There is something profoundly beautiful about that.
Jay Duplass, speaking on the Independent Film Storytelling panel, reminded us: “As much as the messaging comes through stories, entertaining comes first.” He talked about making a film involving suicide, menopause and sobriety — and making it funny. Because audiences don’t connect through lectures. They connect through feeling.
He added, “Let’s keep getting audiences to come to the movie theaters so these theaters can stay open… so we can keep doing the thing that we love so much doing.”
The survival of storytelling spaces matters.
Natalie Erika James, whose body horror film “Saccharine” premiered at Sundance this year, reflected on how deep film communities — even platforms like Letterboxd — can lead to meaningful investment in cinema. Her film “Relic” premiered during the pandemic and relied on drive-ins and creative distribution. Even in isolation, storytelling adapted.
Scott Shooman, Head of IFC Entertainment Group, talked about “human curation” being “more than just an algorithm.” It goes back to the video store days — film lovers guiding other film lovers. That human connection is part of how culture survives.
Serve the Story
Amy Redford honored her father, the late Robert Redford, by sharing a powerful story about filmmaker Euzhan Palcy. Early in her career, Palcy was advised by Redford not to include scenes featuring an actor who had pressured her to keep them in. His guidance was simple: leave them out if they don’t “serve the story.”
She chose to protect the integrity of the film — the crew, the cast, and the truth itself.
That actor later went on to receive an Academy Award nomination.
What stayed with me most was what she said about Palcy: “I didn’t see women like this in the industry who felt they didn’t need to act like a man to earn a seat at the table.” She carried a quiet confidence.
Integrity isn’t only moral. It’s transformative.
“Serve the story.” That phrase echoed all week.
At the Level Forward panel, Dr. Kimberlé Crenshaw reminded us, “Story is the thing that tells us who we are, where we are, and when we are. When the stories are distorted… we don’t know who we are.”
She also quoted Ava DuVernay from a panel that had taken place at this year’s Sundance: “Fear is contagious, but so is courage.”
In an era of distortion and erasure, storytelling becomes reclamation.
Crenshaw warned that fascism doesn’t thrive only on power — it thrives on compliance. Solidarity, then, is refusing silence. It is talking back.
She invoked Hazel Scott — “the Beyoncé of her day” — who was largely erased from history for standing up against racism. The work isn’t just telling new stories. It’s recovering the ones that were taken from us.
Olive Nwosu, director of “LADY” a film that elevates women who work as sex workers in Laos and premiered at Sundance this year, urged creators “to create dangerously… to write what scares us… to go to places that scare us.” She called the creative act “a force that breaks the protective shield.”
Art breaks fear.
Reshaping the Industry
Conversations about industry structure reflected the same urgency.
At the Breaking Through the Lens panel, Sophie Mas, producer of Cathy Yan’s “The Gallerist,” spoke about building production models where filmmakers can see their families — where you can work and still be home for dinner. Olivia Wilde (premiered her film “The Invite” at this year’s Sundance Film Festival) shared Marielle Heller’s observation: “I think the business was designed by men who didn’t want to go home.”
Representation is not symbolic. It reshapes systems.
Liz Cardenas emphasized the importance of decision-makers who can create inclusive environments. Sara Bernstein noted that while documentary has many women directors, far fewer women run companies.
It’s not only about who tells the story — it’s about who has the power to greenlight it.
The Ripple Effect
I was fortunate to be part of the press line for Liz Garbus and Elizabeth Wolff’s “Give Me the Ball!” — the documentary on Billie Jean King.
First, I spoke with Laura Karpman, the film’s composer, who reflected on expanding Academy membership to include more women and diverse voices, noting, “Women have been doing incredible work all along… but expanding the voting body gave people a more expansive view.”
She described Billie’s advocacy as “like a pebble dropped into a lake — it just expanded and expanded.”
That image stayed with me.
In my own interviews, mentorship kept resurfacing. Marcia Cooke, the head of ESPN Films, told me, “I wouldn’t be where I am today without mentors… who took the time to ask: Who are you? What do you want to do? How can I help?”
Liz Garbus called Billie “an American hero… the kind of American hero we should be projecting to the world.” Elizabeth Wolff said spending time with Billie makes you ask, “What would Billie do?”
And Billie herself, with those kind blue eyes, when I asked her what she hope people saw in her film, she told me with characteristic humility: “I hope it helps somebody. Even just one soul. That would mean everything.”
Billie Jean King at the red carpet premiere of “Give Me the Ball!” Photo credit by Emily Broderick 
Billie Jean King appears in Give Me the Ball! by Liz Garbus and Elizabeth Wolff, an official selection of the 2026 Sundance Film Festival. Courtesy of Sundance Institute | photo by ASSOCIATED PRESS. 
Billie Jean King appears in Give Me the Ball! by Liz Garbus and Elizabeth Wolff, an official selection of the 2026 Sundance Film Festival. Courtesy of Sundance Institute | photo by Thor Thielow.
The Last Dance
That’s what Sundance has always been at its best: not just premieres and panels, but a gathering of people committed to truth.
This year felt like a culmination — a reminder that solidarity is not passive. It’s active. It’s courageous. It’s choosing not to comply with silence.
Solidarity is the thread. Story is the map.
And in a moment when fear feels contagious, storytelling remains one of the most powerful ways to fight back.
If it helps even one soul, it means everything.
Our Sundance 2026 coverage is presented by Noisefloor Sound Solutions & Journeywork Entertainment, with support by The DCP works.
Learn more about our sponsors here: https://linktr.ee/cinemafemmesundance2026
Coverage rolling out January 28 – February 13, 2026. Follow our Instagram for coverage.
