Past Lives (2023 | USA | 106 minutes | Celine Song)

The Past Lives hype that immediately saturated Sundance Twitter following its premiere in Park City was not fucking around. Unsurprising that a first film is both so personal and deeply considered, but it’s an utter miracle that Celine Song pulls off this level of heart-tugging perfection while keeping her story of South Korean childhood sweethearts separated by decades and great distances so weightlessly unfussy. Song opens the film with a minor mystery: a trio glimpsed across the bar by strangers quietly speculating on their relationship to each other. It’s harmless social game, but a meaningful glance at the camera immediately piques our attention.

The film spends the ensuing time answering that question. We meet the duo as children in Seoul, twenty-four years earlier on the precipice of a major emigration. Just as we’re immersed in the pre-teen anxieties, the film catches up a dozen years later just as they’re in their early twenties, coinciding with the emergence of Facebook and Skype, complete with all the miraculous oddities of social media and the possibilities of reconnection. By the time we catch up to them in the present, Song has created full lives for each of them with the most delicate touches. This tremendous debut, with a knockout central performance by Greta Lee (and a bit of scene-stealing from John Magaro), is easily among the best of the fest, if not the whole year.

You Hurt My Feelings (2023 | USA | 93 minutes | Nicole Holofcener)

Nicole Holofcener is just incredibly good at making movies about grown ups with small problems that also can feel as big as the whole world. The primary conflict is set off when a writing professor (played with hilarious depth, dry humor, and sensitivity by Julia Louis-Dreyfus) inadvertently overhears her therapist husband’s (Tobias Menzies) opinion of the collection of short fiction she’s been trying to get published. But it’s more than the ensuing rift in their heretofore successful partnership. It’s a story of adults toward the later stages of their successful careers reckoning with self-doubts and the lingering effects of inter-generational expectations. That is, incredibly relatable while being a very comfortable and entertaining hang.

With a supporting cast including Michaela Watkins and Adrian Moayed (whose interior designer–sensitive struggling actor marriage reflects similar themes) as well as the return of “that nineties haircut” from Owen Teague as a pot-selling son trying to live up to his mother’s praise, and a stable of indie comedian therapy clients, the film both takes all of their issues seriously while remaining light, funny, and moving at every turn. A very good film. No notes. (Really, I swear.)

Rotting in the Sun (Year | USA | 109 minutes | Sebastián Silva)

Easily the wildest, indie-est thing (w/the most dicks) I’ve seen so far at this year’s Sundance (and, yes, I saw Infinity Pool, but this one’s far more grounded in real life).

The story opens with Sebastián Silva playing a depressed and death-obsessed version of himself laying low in Mexico City, doing obscene amounts of ketamine, and struggling to figure out what to make of his life in the wake of a film festival favorite going nowhere. His very good dog’s prone to eating human shit in the park, the maid ruins his paintings, and construction noise is oppressive, so his buddy who’s renovating the place suggests he get away from it at at a hidden beach at Zicatela. There, amidst checking out dozens upon dozens of nude dudes, he nearly drowns halfheartedly trying to save a drowning man who saw one of his movies the night before. He’s existentially rattled, the other guy — Jordan Firstman (also a version of his wildly popular instagram influencer self) — embraces the serendipity as an opportunity.

When Silva suddenly disappears from his own meta hall of mirrors, it’s Jordan Firstman and perpetually beleaguered housekeeper Catalina Saavedra’s show. A very funny dual splits the film as the influencer’s earnest investigations collide with misunderstandings and cover-ups. While commenting on gay culture and the follies of social media, it’s also suspenseful, affecting, and often hilarious. There’s also so much casually explicit sex and full-frontal nudity perpetually on the periphery I struggle to imagine a mainstream cut.

Flora and Son (2023 | Ireland | 94 minutes | John Carney)

John Carney is back with another chapter in an ongoing series of heart warmers that extol the life-changing Power of Music. Here the magic ensues when a scrappy single mother (a star-making performance from Eve Hewson) pulls a busted up guitar from a dumpster as a belated birthday gift for her troubled teenage son. More into laptop rap, he wants nothing to do with it, so in a misguided attempt to reset her story, she learns to play via online lessons with a sensitive strummer played by Joseph Gordon Levitt. Strong vibes, self-discovery, and connections ensue along with some heartfelt music. Must be some sneaky Irish superpower (and/or jolts of extremely profane language) that steers Flora and Son clear of super-saccharine into downright charming feel good territory.

Shortcomings (2023 | USA | 92 minutes | Randall Park)

Shortcomings tells a pretty charming story of an shithead fumbling through a six month stretch of figuring out that maybe the problem is him and not everyone else. Randall Park doesn’t quite let him off the hook, but since it’s based on a memoir (Adrian Tomine’s graphic novel) there’s at least the promise of future self-reflection and change. So the camera holds Justin Min in enough adoring esteem enough to keep us along for the ride as his snobbish, self-involved character self-destructs a long-term relationship, behaves badly with flings (including outsider East Bay artist played by Tavi Gevinson) while on a break, and leans on his hilarious grad school friend (Sherry Cola), in episodic capers from coast to coast.

Rye Lane (2023 | UK | 82 minutes | Raine Allen-Miller)

Squeezing in a few more #Sundance movies from home … Rye Lane is a wide-angle, candy-colored, walking and talking rom-com that opens with meet-cute bathroom tears and wildly careens through a jam-packed day of real and imagined Brixton. David Jonsson and Vivian Oprah have instant charisma and hold the screen for the entirety of this visually exhausting but fun charmer. Once they meet, the action barely stops, with their conversations stretching through an incredibly eventful day in a vibrant part of London not usually depicted on film. Amid ever-shifting settings, they get to know each other (or a version of each other) and it feels like a dare to see how long they can keep it up.

Cassandro (2023 | USA | 99 minutes | Roger Ross Williams)

Although it sometimes lurches hastily to hit all its marks of biographical highs and lows, Gael García Bernal is never not luminous in (and out of) the ring as a barrier-shattering “exotico” wrestler who rose from the amateur El Paso circuit to transcend stereotypes while winning over the over the perplexing and contradictory world of Lucha Libre. We follow his life from the low-rent circuit where he first crafts his glamorous character for the wrestling ring all the way to the peak of his fame and meeting his idols. With clear and affectionate eyes, Roger Ross Williams uses the lens of this surprising real life character for a moving, enlightening, and surprising glimpse into depicts the world of this very popular entertainment.

Fairyland (2023 | USA | 114 | Andrew Durham)

With actors as talented as Emilia Jones and Scoot McNairy, you can understand Andrew Durham’s impulse to let them cook, but this memoir of a daughter whose widowed father who brought her along on his voyage of self-discovery in through the gay heyday of 70s San Francisco is at its best when it lets the camera capture the feeling of the era, and the joy of her own self discovery rather than underlining its points with monologues. Worth it for the performances and some truly lyrical sequences, like when Emilia’s in Paris and a French guy confuses her for a local, that evoke the best of producer Sophia Coppola’s style.

The Starling Girl (2023 | USA | 116 minutes | Laurel Parmet)

The Starling Girl is another very nice showcase for Eliza Scanlen’s resume, but we’ve seen her do so much more in the likes of Little Women and Sharp Objects. Here, she’s caught in a “Hot for Preacher” story (against Lewis Pullman’s admittedly alluring youth pastor) set in yet-another highly sheltered fundamentalist community and it quickly wears thin. Although it might be intentional, the lack of perspective as to who’s in the wrong becomes intolerable as the mood piece drags on.

Landscape With Invisible Hand (2023 | USA | 105 minutes | Cory Finley)

Someone gave Cory Finley a budget and he spent it on fleshy aliens in a movie about the crushing dehumanizing effects of unrestrained global capitalism on the influencer economy. The sci-fi adaptation of the M.T. Anderson YA novel featuring an economic invasion by asexual aliens who speak in scratches and find human love exotic has its moments, but rarely gains traction as its metaphors often feel too facile. Is it weird that a billionaire’s daughter funded a movie about the insidious commodification of art in partnership with a studio whose motto is “art for art’s sake” and premiered it at an indie festival sponsored by White Claw? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ What a time to be alive!

Somehow, though, to their credit Tiffany Haddish & Asante Blackk take it deadly serious and find occasional moments of humor and sparks beauty, largely leaning on the original artworks created for the film by William Downs.

Stephen Curry: Underrated (2023 | USA | 110 | Peter Nicks)

There have been many celebrities in the house for premieres at Sundance, but I haven’t seen anywhere close to the wild enthusiasm for anyone that matches the response — from children and adults alike — when the crowd saw Steph Curry take his seat at the Eccles tonight for the premiere of Peter Nicks’s new documentary. The energy in the house was electric and the audience was extremely receptive to what was being thrown down on screen.

With Ryan Cooler among the producers, incredible access from the subject, and downright impeccable editing from J.D. Marlow, it’s easy to get caught up in the highlights reel of Steph’s uncertain origins as an undersized recruit to world-beating superstar. Coaches, teammates, and family provide context while Steph tells his story, works on finishing his degree, and takes us behind the scenes for training drills. With seemingly effortless precision, the documentary intercuts brilliantly between Davidson’s magical run in the 2008 NCAA tournament and Golden State’s run through the 2022 NBA championship. These Apple/A24 docs always look extremely crisp and I’m a sucker for an underdog success story, particularly one where you get to watch an undersized player reset his game, exceed expectations, and drain three point shots across the decades. You truly love to see it.

Judy Blume Forever (2023 | USA | 97 minutes | Davina Pardo & Leah Wolchok)

Sometimes you need one of those nice documentaries that reminds us to celebrate our icons while they’re still around to reflect on their transformational lives and careers in their own distinctive voices. As she must continually remind herself, beloved author Judy Blume is somehow 83 years old even though she still feels like a kid. Here, in this adoring documentary from Davina Pardo & Leah Wolchok, she speaks directly to the camera to tell her own story of being a young mother who revolutionized youth publishing first with Are You There God, It’s Me Margaret and then with a parade of fiction that made her a star of libraries and book fairs.. The novel essentially created an entirely new genre of candid pre-teen literature that told meaningful stories and candidly confronted once-taboo topics like puberty, menstruation, and bullying (particularly from a relatable perspective for younger girls). It brought Blume both success as well as now-predictable controversy.

Along with her writing, she also reflects on how she balanced a busy career with her own family life, children, and marriages. Although her books for kids are what made her a household name, the documentary follows her progression as a writer. We see how growing as a person also meant transitioning to writing fiction for older teens that confronted sexuality as something other than a curse (Forever…) and eventually to moving her focus to penning page-turners that captured the interests of adult readers.

Her effect on contemporary storytelling and the careers of other creatives is underscored by dozens of interviews with actors like Molly Ringwald, comedians including Amy Poehler and Samantha Bee, creators like Lena Dunham, and fellow members of banned books lists including Cecily von Ziegler and Jason Reynolds. Each tell stories of how her books shaped them, but none of their considerable star power quite matches the potency of her reflections on correspondence with children whose letters filled her mailboxes. Many wrote to her over the years as their only safe outlet to discuss problems big and small. Some used her advice to become authors in their own right; others used the harbor of her wisdom to survive the slings and arrows of childhood. As Blume recounts these stories of her life from her semi-retirement of running a quaint bookstore, the filmmakers weave together a moving and well deserved tribute to an author whose voice continues to reach so many lives.

Iron Butterflies (2023 | Ukraine/Germany | 84 minutes | Roman Liubyi)

Iron Butterflies — a documentary collage motivated by the downing of Malaysia Airlines Flight 17 over eastern Ukraine — struggles mightily and earnestly, if not entirely successfully, assembling multiple forms of evidence and interpretation, to come to terms with how eight years ago Russia shot a plane full of civilians out of the sky with no consequences. Old propaganda videos about missile systems, state sponsored media reports broadcasting outright lies confront handheld cellphone video, multinational investigations, Google maps, intercepted audio and performance art to elevate the truth while setting the incident as the seed for the ongoing conflict in the region.

Theater Camp (2023 | USA | 94 minutes | Molly Gordon & Nick Lieberman) — winner of U.S. Dramatic Special Jury Award: Ensemble

Given the amount of love evident in the making of Theater Camp it is difficult to call this vérité assemblage of Extremely Ben Platt hijinks at flailing “Camp Adirond-ACTS” a mockumentary. Set at a sleep away camp for young aspiring performing artists who flock to a rickety lakeside thespian paradise to live their truths, it finds the getaway both rudderless in the wake of it’s larger-than-life director’s absence and in financial straits unlikely to be solved by her clueless techbro son’s interim leadership. It’s almost a contest to say whether the staff — including Platt as director of drama, Molly Gordon as a music director with a connection to the great beyond, and Noah Galvin as jack-of-all trades — or the real life Theater Kids who attend the camp are the biggest scenery chewers in elevating their characters from hilarious stereotypes to fully inhabited characters. Like its big centerpiece production, it makes little sense but easily overcomes most obstacles with heart.

Scrapper (2023 | UK | 84 minutes | Charlotte Regan)

A quiet performance from Lola Campbell as a twelve-year-old girl living alone in the outskirts of London following the death of her mother is the centerpiece of Scrapper, the winner of Sundance’s Grand Jury Prize in the World Dramatic competition. Director Charlotte Regan embellishes with whimsical elements and candid form-breaking cutaways for context, setting the mood somewhere between childhood and the miniature adulthood thrust upon its sweetly practical protagonist by tragedy. The story itself, in which she’s reunited with a father she doesn’t even know (a bottle blond Harris Dickinson jumps on the latest Hot Young Dad Bandwagon) and they muddle through toward some version of caretaking is awfully slight, yet is well executed and never overplays its modest hand.

Beyond Utopia (2023 | USA | 115 minutes | Madeleine Gavin)

The other secret documentary at Sundance — for security purposes, North Korea wasn’t mentioned in the description of Madeline Gavin’s account of families fleeing an oppressive regime until after the first screening — won the Audience Award in the U.S. documentary competition. Through firsthand accounts of one mother trying to reunite with her son and a multi-generational family (young children, parents, grandmother) traversing thousands of perilous miles and multiple national borders in secret, she spotlights the work of South Korean pastor to facilitate exoduses around the heavily-fortified 38th Parallel to freedom. Amplifying the individual-level harrowing and tragic stories are testimonials from survivors, remedial world history lessons, and chilling depictions (some transmitted at great peril through smuggled phone cards) of life inside the virtual prison under the control of a dynastic line of dictators. While these characterizations of an isolated population are powerful, nothing quite speaks as strongly as the personal testimonials and reactions from people coming to realize that they spent their lives being sold a vast series of regime-serving falsehoods.