This year’s Sundance Film Festival brought a flurry of films about loss—of self, of family members, and of tired mindsets—to snowy Park City. But it was an event marked by gains, too. New additions to the festival included eight indigenous and native filmmakers, a hearty roster of directors of color, and a brand new Press Inclusion Initiative, making Robert Redford’s decision to step back as the face of Sundance feel appropriate and timely. A lot has changed since Sundance started in 1978, and the five films highlighted below offer a sampling of the diverse stories that were introduced over a momentous fortnight in Utah.
Ashton Sanders appears in “Native Son” by Rashid Johnson. Photo by Matthew Libatique.
Native Son
Native Son—a loose, present-day adaptation of the controversial 1940 book by Richard Wright—met with mixed reactions. A number of Black audience members murmured with discontent after an early morning screening in Park City, and perhaps as a result of some of the early reviews, the writer/director/cast were tense in the Q&A panel that followed. As much as I disliked the shocking novel as a teen, I happened to like this contemporary adaptation. One of the major changes the film makes is with the protagonist, Bigger’s newfound punk persona. I was borderline-giddy to see the dynamics of a weirdo Black punk kid (played by Ashton Sanders, whose aesthetic impeccably fits the part) trying to navigate his individuality amidst his Black friends. It’s a subtle mental gymnastics that I haven’t seen articulated on-screen before. For us former weirdo Black punk kids, it’s heartening. That said, the film burdens its audience with a heavy nihilism that weighs down the entire third act (and maybe even the second). Native Son encompasses the good, the bad, and the ugly of being Black in America. By the end, its narrative makes a drastic shift toward the ugly, which leaves viewers in a nebula of doom.
Lovie Simone appears in “Selah and the Spades” by Tayaresha Poe. Photo by Jomo Fray.
Selah and the Spades
Selah and the Spades is a good, old-fashioned boarding school movie that features the expected dose of debauchery—and then some. There’s comfort in the film’s familiarity—it’s reminiscent of Cruel Intentions, Tanner Hall, The Craft—but what sets it apart is its lead, Selah Summers (played by newcomer Lovie Simone). She’s the ever-desirable leader of the Spades posse—one of the five factions that dominate the campus goings-on at the Haldwell school in Pennsylvania—but also happens to be an asexual Black teenager. Selah and the Spades doesn’t dwell too much on refreshing details like the latter, but it’s brimming with them. It does spends time exposing, however, the slow-burning responses to anxiety and pressure that the majority of teens often express in private. Selah is preparing to graduate from high school, but she struggles to juggle campus politics and maintain her pristine academic standing while in search of a protégée to take on her coveted role as ruler of the Spades. Tayarisha Poe’s feature debut is a contemporary update to the cliquey prep school films we all know and love.
Tiffany Chu appears in “Ms. Purple” by Justin Chon. Photo by Ante Chen.
Ms. Purple
Justin Chon’s Ms. Purple is a quiet, generational scream and an unexpected dispatch from a subterranean Los Angeles karaoke bar, nestled beneath a Koreatown stripmall. Kasie (played by Tiffany Chu with poised vulnerability) refuses to put her dying father in hospice. Her mother abandoned them, her brother abandoned them, and she spirals in her stubbornness to avoid following in their footsteps and letting her dad down. Kasie gives him sponge baths by day and works as a hostess by night, enduring two disparate, but equally painful lives. As a doumi, she’s a booze-flinging plaything for the handsy—and downright abusive—businessmen who frequent LA’s underground Soopsok Karaoke Bar. At home, she fetters herself to her daughterly duties and puts all of her hopes and dreams on an indefinite hold. The film envelopes viewers in a Wong Kar-wai-inspired mood that’s nostalgic and affecting. Things take a hopeful turn when Kasie’s brother, Carey (Teddy Lee), comes back into the picture and a local valet guy (Octavio Pizano) invites her to his sister’s quinceañera.
Awkwafina appears in “The Farewell” by Lulu Wang.
The Farewell
Goodbyes are difficult. Even more so when they’re one-sided. Based on a This American Life episode about director Lulu Wang’s life, The Farewell follows second-gen immigrant Billi (Awkwafina) as she flies to China from her home in New York to reckon with the fact that her dear grandmother, Nai Nai, is dying of Stage IV Lung cancer and her family has decided not to tell her the truth. Awkwafina plays Billi with a relaxed dynamism that’s a bit of a departure from her more outsized roles (Crazy Rich Asians, Ocean’s 8). This film reminds viewers that there’s comedy in tragedy as Billi and her family stage a wedding in China as an elaborate excuse to spend time with their matriarch, Nai Nai.
Kiersey Clemons appears in “Sweetheart” by JD Dillard. Photo by JD Dillard.
Sweetheart
Sweetheart has the trappings of your typical thriller. Girl is lost. Girl encounters massive hybrid monster. No one believes Girl. But Sweetheart is suffused with an added layer of depth. There’s a popular trope in the thriller genre that calls for the Black characters to die first. Without giving too much away, I can say that Sweetheart subverts this expectation by offering up a lasting, tenacious Black woman protagonist. Kiersey Clemons acts her face off in a film with sparse dialogue, but much action. Even more intriguing were her comments following the midnight world premiere of Sweetheart in Park City. She discussed how the film is an allegory for society’s repeated dismissal of Black women. “Although we’re on the same island, I’m having a different experience than you,” said Clemons, “and I need you to believe me and be here for me.” There’s a kicker to this quote that I’ve removed for the sake of keeping things spoiler-free, but check out the film to learn the moral of her story.
All photos courtesy of The Sundance Institute.