How Sundance’s Storied Past Will Help Shape the Hazy Future of Indie Film

Considering everything the Sundance Film Festival is about, its resilience—and strength—as of this writing is something of a miracle. Of late, the annual Park City-based January event has weathered, like the rest of the movie industry, significant disruptions related to the COVID pandemic, months-long strikes by actors and writers, and most recently, a deadly natural disaster. But Sundance has also long served as the meeting ground for American independent film, a sector under particular, intense threat in the era of streaming pivots, financial consolidation, and production contraction. Talk to the makers of indies and they’ll tell you—it’s hard to get these kinds of movies off the ground right now. The kinds that have long fed Sundance, and in turn Hollywood itself.

once recalled of the rousing premiere for Little Miss Sunshine, which he worked on. “I knew everyone would want it.” (It sold to Fox Searchlight for $10.5 million before grossing more than $100 million and winning two Oscars.) Now, while an obvious breakout like A Real Pain can still scramble a deal together in a day or two—the Jesse Eisenberg film also went to Searchlight—such turnarounds are now the exception, not the rule.

“I don’t know if I’m allowed to say this, but I actually miss the fast pace,” says Kim Yutani, the festival’s director of programming. “You’d go to sleep and then wake up—and there’s news that something has been sold, and somebody’s been signed.” Sitting beside her on a Los Angeles café patio, Hernandez concurs: “The whole ecosystem is different and the pace of it is different. And it’s weird.”

Accordingly, Sundance’s leadership emphasizes practicality in how best to move forward. “We’re trying to help people figure out how to think about a career and build a connection to a strong producer who can really help them move their work forward,” Satter says. “A lot of filmmakers don’t think about audience, they just make their movies. But we believe strongly: You have to think about audience early on.” Hernandez adds, “[Filmmakers] are looking for any tools that they can find to keep their budgets in check, and to make the work as efficient—to keep as much time for the creativity—as possible.”

Some solutions have been less widely embraced than others. Last year, a Sundance screening of Rashaad Newsome’s Being (The Digital Griot) prodded a walkout in response to the film’s interactive artificial-intelligence component, where audience members were prodded to engage with a chatbot. A few months later, the Tribeca Film Festival sparked controversy by programming shorts made with Sora, the text-to-video AI model, that were helmed by noted directors like Nikyatu Jusu (whose Nanny won the Grand Jury Prize at Sundance in 2022). The use of AI in films continues to stir debate as access to the technology expands, and as filmmakers look for budgetary and logistical shortcuts to achieving their visions.

“I was kind of surprised that we didn’t see more [AI] this year,” Yutani reveals of 2025’s submissions. “But we follow the artists—we would never want AI to replace the role of a creative.”

“It would be way too presumptuous for us to try to make any broad judgments or determinations,” Hernandez says. “As with any technology that continues to evolve, you are pretty bad at predicting how they’re going to impact the world in their nascent stage.” Satter, meanwhile, sees the technology as cautiously, potentially beneficial. “I’m not against people using the tools of AI creatively to help them to support their work,” she says. “I don’t want it to take over the work. But there are opportunities. We have to think somewhat differently going forward.”

The festival has developed a reputation for launching the best documentaries from around the world. Several of the recent slates of Oscar nominees have featured a majority of Sundance premieres. This year’s could well join that club, with 2024 Park City launches Sugarcane, Black Box Diaries, Porcelain War, and more already shortlisted by the Academy for best documentary.

This is where Sundance tends to speak most potently to political and cultural issues, highlighting progressive and inclusive voices. The year Roe v. Wade was overturned, several films explicitly focused on abortion access debuted at Sundance. Last year, several trans-themed films, including the Netflix-acquired, Will Ferrell-led sensation Will & Harper (also Oscar-shortlisted), proved the stars of the program.

For audiences, though, right-leaning media driven by religious and conservative themes has started to fully take over the documentary box office. Given the trendline, would an inflammatory movie like, say, Matt Walsh’s Am I Racist? be welcomed at the festival? “I don’t know that necessarily Sundance is the target for some of these films,” Yutani demurs. “We’re open to films that are expressing a point of view. We hold in our heart the notion of conversation at the festival—and healthy conversation.”

In September, Will & Harper’s other titular subject, the trans comedy writer Harper Steele, described for me her struggles in simply experiencing the festival. “I can’t go to the bathroom in Utah right now,” she said, referencing the state law requiring people to go by their sex assigned at birth when using K-12 school bathrooms or government-owned buildings’ changing rooms. “So it’s like, I’m not going back to Sundance. Do something about it, guys!”

They just might, as Sundance may soon move the festival to a new city. Three locations have been finalized: Boulder, Colorado; Cincinnati, Ohio; and Salt Lake City/Park City, which would mostly shift the event’s existing infrastructure to Utah’s capital (while still requiring organizers to navigate those conservative state laws). The new location will be officially announced in March. “Part of the challenge that we have with where we are currently is the accessibility of the festival,” Kelso, Sundance’s CEO, tells me. “You’re asked to come to the festival to bring your crew and the cast and basically show up. It is tens of thousands of dollars investment for many of these folks.”

The Sundance spirit, to look forward and defy conventional wisdom, informs why some of its leaders sound excited by the prospect of uncharted territory. After all, for various reasons, labs and satellite festivals have already moved out of Utah to great success. The pandemic pushed Sundance to lead the way in digital festival access, with some of its 2025 program again available online for ticket buyers who can’t be on the ground. “This is me personally—I love to shake it up a little bit and see what’s possible,” says Satter, who is not involved in the relocation decision. “Change is a good thing, and it forces you to really take a very clear look at what you’re doing, why you’re doing it, and the impact it’s having.”

For now, though, the festival is still in Park City, where it’s made its name for around 40 years. (Its new location will bow in 2027.) Satter will be honored over the weekend as part of the gala fundraiser, Celebrating Sundance Institute, and the festival lineup will again feature a promising group of movies coming from veterans and newcomers alike. There’s Sorry, Baby, which Yutani highlights for me: The directorial debut of Eva Victor, backed by Oscar winners Barry Jenkins and Adele Romanski (Moonlight, Aftersun). There’s Kiss of the Spider Woman, the musical adaptation starring Jennifer Lopez; it’s directed by Bill Condon, who took his Oscar-winning Gods and Monsters to Sundance way back in 1998. Again, there’s that feedback loop.

Seemingly as ever with Sundance these days, there’s also a profound disruption. The horrific Los Angeles wildfires broke out just weeks before opening night, hurting so much of the industry and directly impacting members of the festival’s community. (Satter revealed that she lost her Pacific Palisades home in the devastation; our interview took place before the fires began.) Kelso and Hernandez announced last week in a joint letter that the festival would go on, standing strong and in solidarity with those affected. It’s Sundance’s way, after all—to bring the community together in times of great struggle, and figure out what’s next, one step at a time.

“The conversation I had with Michelle was, ‘Should we pause this?’” Kelso says. “She said: Absolutely not. In a time of crisis. People need to come together, people need to convene, people need to have this opportunity to heal—and people heal through the work and the purpose of our mission.”

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