In The Divorce Between Sundance and Utah, It’s The Kids That Get Hurt

Since the announcement of three contender cities for the future home of the Sundance Film Festival, the feeling of a marriage in trouble has been hanging in the air. The festival was feeling the 47-year itch and started eyeing other partners. But surely it could all be solved with counseling, and we could keep things together. Right?

Wrong. On March 27, after nearly five decades as a defining presence in Utah, Sundance finally stopped wearing its ring. The reverberations were reminiscent of the 2020 earthquake, as shockwaves rippled through the Wasatch Front, and the festival, named for a Robert Redford film, suddenly evoked the wistful melancholy of The Way We Were far more than the spirited camaraderie of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. More than just a prestigious showcase for independent cinema, Sundance has been an economic powerhouse, a cultural institution and a point of pride (if we’re still allowed to use that word). 

Now, it’s headed for Boulder, Colorado — and it’s taking a massive chunk of Utah’s hopes, dreams, cultural identity and future with it. The numbers alone are staggering: $132 million in gross domestic product, 1,730 jobs for Utah residents, $69.7 million in wages and $13.8 million in state and local tax revenue — all gone. The festival’s departure doesn’t just impact hotels and restaurants; it reverberates across the entire local economy, including vendors, shuttle and Uber drivers, gig performers and, oh yeah — journalists. 

The state government, led by frenemy of the people Governor Spencer Cox, was both a help and a hindrance in the effort to keep Sundance from leaving home. Cox’s administration offered an increase in annual support from $1.4 million to $3.5 million. At the same time, the Governor cowardly caved to conservative crackpots and gleefully goose-stepped along with the Trump administration, whose anti-arts, anti-freedom of speech and anti-humanity agenda hasn’t exactly won the hearts of the film community. Simply put, you can court Hollywood to come here to celebrate creativity and artistic expression, or you can pass hate-fueled bills prohibiting the display of LGBTQ+ Pride flags on government buildings, but you can’t do both. While Cox declined to sign HB77, he let it pass, in a classic show of the Pontius Pilate approach to governing that has helped him remain a widely beloved figure among several members of his immediate family. 

That’s not to put the entire onus for the loss of Sundance on Cox or even on Utah, because the truth is that a breakup is rarely one-sided. The Sundance Institute was ready to move on to bigger and better things, including facilities with more parking options and a state with less restrictive liquor laws. The signs were there: For a festival that had Salt Lake on the table as a finalist, the decidedly limited offerings in the downtown area this year, confined to fewer venues, played like a segment from He’s Just Not That Into You. On the other hand, State Senator Dan McKay’s brazenly arrogant and ignorant vilification of the festival for featuring movies with LGBTQ+ themes and “anti-LDS messaging” (translation: anything that dares to mention the faith outside the context of carefully correlated propaganda) was simply the latest example of discouragingly stupid attacks from a section of the religious right who has remained determined to shoot a gift horse in the head. Allegedly in 2011, a Utah state senator proposed legislation to cut funding for the Institute, citing the concern that the festival showcased films that did not align with “Utah’s values.” 

We could argue about who lost that loving feeling first all day long, but the fact of the matter is simply that it’s gone, gone, gone. My primary focus is not to place blame, but rather to celebrate the memories and mourn the loss. Sundance wasn’t just about movies; it was about experiences and memories. As a journalist, I have many: skipping out on a major premiere because Lucy Lawless (Xena: Warrior Princess) looked me in the eyes and asked me to watch her directorial debut, and sitting in the front row after she personally got me a ticket; Academy Award winner Troy Kotsur (CODA) greeting me warmly because he recognized me from a previous interview, done back when he was a largely unknown actor simply being told by critics like me that he deserved an Oscar; or sharing a hug with writer-director James Sweeney on the steps of the stage of the Eccles Center after the triumphant premiere of Twinless, because as an identical twin and a critic, my thoughts on the film were important to him. And those are only memories from the past two years! 

Such moments are hardly limited to journalists, either: from the shuttle driver for Colin Hanks who found himself drag racing down State Street with another driver who had Tom Hanks in his backseat, to the wheelchair user who got stuck and found a stranger helping him across the street only to discover that it was Ben Affleck, to the bartender on a break who chased away a group of drunken bullies harassing Alan Rickman, the number of Utahns with a great Sundance story is nearly endless.

The move is a tremendous loss for me, and the greatest thing about being a journalist at Sundance was never the chance to schmooze with celebrities. It was the chance to discover something special. The moment when you’ve just witnessed a new cinematic classic, and you rush out to write a review and plead with audiences to see it, stands out as by far the best part of the entertainment journalist’s job. I dare say that if you’re any good, it’s your primary reason for even being a critic. Sure, movies are still movies, and a surprisingly great blockbuster sequel like Alien: Romulus deserves cheerleaders, too. But the fact remains that there’s nowhere else like Sundance to find opportunities to be reminded why being a critic is a privilege, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find myself questioning how much longer it will feel like one. 

The relationship between Utah and Sundance hasn’t always been easy, but it’s always been something we could count on, even if at times they were just staying together for the sake of the kids. It may have seemed to the Institute that the kids had grown up, and it was safe to finally end the relationship, but a marriage between art, commerce and location means new births every year. The umbilical cord has been cut, and now this particular wailing Sundance baby must decide whether to figure out a way to go to Boulder each January just to breastfeed, or just try to make do with drinking from the limited offerings of the virtual screening bottle (don’t try these metaphors at home, I’m a professional). 

Independent film in Utah isn’t dead — the Salt Lake Film Society has reaffirmed their commitment to providing a venue for less mainstream cinema, and other, much smaller festivals remain here, though their cultural imprint is minimal and their economic impact is nonexistent. Meanwhile, Governor Cox and Qualtrics co-founder/Utah Jazz owner Ryan Smith are thumping their chests about an all-new festival. The cynic in me simply hears the voice of Bender, the irascible alcoholic robot from Futurama, upon being kicked out a theme park on the moon, grumbling, “Yeah, well, I’m gonna go build my own theme park, with blackjack… and hookers. In fact, forget the theme park!”  

While I would love to say that I’m hopeful that Cox’s proposed Blackjack and Hookers Film Festival will go somewhere, in order for it to do so, it needs a vision and bold leadership that are not currently part of the equation. If Utah wants to land a new sugar daddy, it’s going to need more than a shopping and makeover montage. It needs to show that it’s grown, and ready to be in a committed relationship with a major film festival based on mutual respect and understanding. We would be off to a much stronger start if Cox had shown some backbone and vetoed HB77. As long as the people pulling his strings insist on clinging to an erroneous definition of “Utah’s values” dictated by bigotry, we’re doomed to stay single and bitter for a long time.

For those wanting to get involved, here is a change.org petition to overturn HB77.

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