I had the immense pleasure of virtually attending some virtual screenings for the 2021 Sundance Film Festival, a dream I have had for most of my life thus far as an ardent fan of cinema and filmmaking. The Sundance Film Festival is an annual showcase for an eclectic range of cinema from narrative films to documentaries to short films, all of which are often considered some of the best motion pictures of their respective years. Founded in 1978, the Sundance Film Festival is one of the most revered institutions and events in the entertainment industry.
I managed to view 12 different films, though the festival itself has a far wider selection. Due to some outside constraints, I deliberately chose only the movies that had received the most discernible buzz beforehand, or the highest-profile movies that would be discussed throughout the forthcoming year, so here are abbreviated reviews and ranking of these dozen pictures.
12. John and the Hole (dir. Pascual Sisto)
IMDb calls John and the Hole “a coming-of-age psychological thriller that plays out the unsettling reality of a kid who holds his family captive in a hole in the ground.”
One of the most commendable attributes of independent films is that they provide efficient, hospitable space for filmmakers to shape their creative voices: Big studios like Disney or Warner Brothers generate entertaining blockbuster films, but it is simply not financially viable for them to fund something a bit more esoteric, such as the preceding synopsis.
John and the Hole is certainly bold, valiantly attempting to blend two diametrically opposed genres: the quaint coming-of-age tale and the psychological thriller. A sadistic take on Home Alone with an ostensibly sociopathic protagonist is undeniably intriguing and entirely original. However, it reveals itself to be rather vapid, squandering its novel premise.
Though the film is shot with claustrophobic tension and performed with delicious malice by Charlie Shotwell as the titular character, the film has no consistent thematic thread, erratically shifting from each scene with no fully discernable meaning. Is it conceptualizing the turmoils of that fateful change from adolescent to adult? Perhaps. Is it an allegory for white privilege? Maybe. It’s just that none of its ideas are pointed, concise or even transparent enough, thus rendering the film as a futile, opaque endeavor.
Grade: C-
11. One for the Road (dir. Baz Poonpiriya)
One for the Road is summarized by IMDb as “boss, a high-end club owner living in New York, who receives a call from his friend in Thailand, Aood, revealing he is in the last stages of terminal cancer.”
Just by its description, One for the Road evokes the type of cinema that will endear some and make others cringe by its apparent cloying sentimentality, and though the film is unequivocally saccharine to a fault, Poonpiriya employs unconvential, exuberant storytelling and aesthethic choices that offset its flaws. There is a rich underlying melancholic tone that permeates most of the film, giving its drama weight, and dynamic, vibrant camerawork that always feels entergetic and inventive.
However, this film too often indulges in mawkish melodrama: The characters are written broadly with most of them being archetypes, including Boss and Aood, and the storytelling itself is steeped in sensationalistic conventions. Additionally, the plot alters structurally with uneven results; the film essentially caps itself with a 45-minute flashback that recontextualizes its principal relationship with more complexity, but it is overly wrought and lacks conciseness.
One for the Road is detrimentally sugary, but its uplifting, intricate portrait of fractured human relationships is often enough to compensate.
Grade: B-
10. How It Ends (dir. Zoe Lister-Jones and Daryl Wein)
IMDb provides a summary of How It Ends, stating, “On the last day on Earth, one woman goes on a journey through LA to make it to her last party before the world ends, running into an eclectic cast of characters along the way.”
Conceived entirely during the pandemic, How It Ends addresses with wonderful candor the trauma that exclusively global tragedies are able to afflict onto the world’s population. Lister-Jones and Wein keenly subvert the audience’s expectations in their earnest comedy, crafting a human landscape that is perfectly complacent with their beloved planet’s decimation. However, this does not hinder the internal reckoning countless people experience with the apocalypse, or something resembling that.
Accompanied by a metaphysical projection of her younger self, which skillfully manifests that search for personal salvation, Lister-Jones, portraying the main character, embarks on an adventure throughout Los Angeles to hopefully rectify some failed relationships, including with both her parents, an ex-boyfriend, and estranged best friend, best she and everyone else are obliterated. The film manages to glean hope and buoyancy from its overt nihilism.
Its decidedly low-key structure and modest filmmaking do yield only sporadically endearing moments; for example, the film shifts from a pedestrian physical comedy scene with Bradley Whitford to a euphorically hilarious dialogue exchange with Olivia Wilde, both justifying but also substantiating the inherent flaws of this skit-style format with a notable comedy actor in each vignette. However, there is a poignant introspection that bolsters the majority of the film. The world may end, but personal fulfillment is never out of style.
Grade: B-
9. Land (dir. Robin Wright)
“A bereaved woman seeks out a new life, off the grid in Wyoming,” is the synopsis provided by IMDb for Land.
Many are definitely familiar with Wright, the widely acclaimed actress who appeared in beloved films like Forrest Gump and The Princess Bride. With this picture, in addition to starring in it, she makes her feature directorial debut, which is ideal for Sundance, a famous breeding ground for upcoming filmmakers.
The film itself stories a woman named Edee grappling and reeling from an incident that deprived her of her husband and son, leaving her virtually alone in the world. Suffering from crippling loss and emotional detachment, Edee relocates to an isolated cabin in the Wyoming wilderness in a ploy to find solace.
As delineated, the narrative of this film is a thoroughly standard grief arc. You could probably surmise its story points with even just the slightest prod of critical thinking. However, both in front of and behind the camera, Wright employs some fresh elements into this well-worn subgenre.
She deftly juxtaposes the human condition against the incessantly changing nature of the wilderness from the volatile winter, which aligns with the disillusioning effect of said grief, to the shimmering, gentle spring, which visualizes the innate resiliency that is embedded into every human being. Along with the onscreen work of Wright and her costar Demián Bichir, the marvelous score, and the gorgeous cinematography of the environment, the film accentuates this arc with a fully realized and tactile emotional palette.
The film falters in some more rudimentary areas, though, which is somewhat shocking, considering how deft the film is with its more specific artistic choices. The colors and shading are lovely, but the outline is uneven. Even though she excels with mesmerizing landscape and wide shots, some coverage choices for close-ups of the actors are off-center and distracting. Additionally, revelation of exposition is heavy-handed and even superfluous, especially in the final two scenes that externalize excessively a soulful journey that had been so thrillingly internal. However, Wright achieves a balance that has historically proved fraught for other debuting filmmakers: a film that is rustic and intimately tender all in one stroke.
Grade: B-
8. Marvelous and the Black Hole (dir. Kate Tsang)
According to IMDb, Marvelous and the Black Hole is about “a teenage delinquent [that] teams up with a surly children’s party magician to navigate her dysfunctional family and inner demons.”
Marvelous and the Black Hole is the type of film that best epitomizes an indie charmer, a film scintillating with effervescent glow. It is a movie that is wholly convential in its narrative, adhering to the arc of the disheartened teenager who finds hope again because of a connection with an unforeseen mentor, but it is done with great panache. Tsang employs a surreal lens that makes the film so unique and engrossing.
It serves as an enamoring, authentic deconstruction of teen angst, never sensationalizing it but grounding it in the characters, and an incredibly earnest embrace of the inherent joy in all our lives, which possesses the capability of galvanizing anyone into finding internal fulfillment. It also gleans immense pathos from the characters, mostly due to the layered work of stars Miya Cech and Rhea Perlman, who delivers one of my favorite performances of the fest as the jaded yet compassionate magician. Marvelous and the Black Hole may be familiar, but it conjures wonderful movie magic from its formula that is, well, marvelous.
Grade: B
7. I Was a Simple Man (dir. Christopher Makoto Yogi)
I Was a Simple Man is summarized on IMDb as “a family in Hawai’i faces the imminent death of their eldest as the ghosts of the past haunt the countryside.”
I Was a Simple Man garnered some mixed reception from Sundance audiences with some lauding it as a masterpiece and others deeming it too pretentious; this is often the case with independent and arthouse films, especially abstract atmosphere pieces like this. Though I do not consider this film perfect, my tastes definitely align with the former.
I Was a Simple Man is an immersive, haunting piece of mysticism, a ghost story of sorts, that poignantly meditates on grief, death and the dualities of memory. This film is so singular in its depiction of those themes as Yogi submerges the audience into the almost ineffable feeling of remembrance, also aided by the gorgeous cinematography and sound design. The film washes over you like so many memories do, confining you into its languid bounds.
Yogi does generate a pace that is a bit too stately, but the film is so incredibly pensive, artfully showing how one can glean peace from regret and sorrow and the pitfalls of living in the past, which places us in an emotional stasis that is spiritually strenuous to escape.
Grade: A-
6. Passing (dir. Rebecca Hall)
“Passing follows the unexpected reunion of two high school friends, whose renewed acquaintance ignites a mutual obsession that threatens both of their carefully constructed realities,” according to IMDb.
Adapted from Nella Larsen’s seminal novel, Passing marks the assured directorial debut from actress Rebecca Hall. From the initial shot to its ambiguous conclusion, Hall maintains throughout a delicately crafted yet restrained atmosphere and characters. Shot with exquisite black-and-white cinematography and a 4:3 aspect ratio, which resembles a square box, Hall, with a sensitive cinematic lens, artfully depicts and examines the restraints placed upon two biracial women by a binary society.
There are no scenes of external professions but ones of internalized pain and meditation with monumental implications. It does function actively as an enigma, demanding rigorous dissection like its literary predecessor, but this approach universalizes the themes into broader political observations while retaining the specificity of the characters and atmosphere. Elegant yet bridled, like the women at its center, Passing is certainly cryptic on occasion, but that also renders an inherently enthralling and unbridled piece of cinema.
Grade: A-
5. Judas and the Black Messiah (dir. Shaka King)
Judas and the Black Messiah is summarized on IMDb as, “the story of Fred Hampton, Chairman of the Illinois Black Panther Party, and his fateful betrayal by FBI informant William O’Neal.”
Judas and the Black Messiah is garnering gargantuan acclaim and Oscar hype following its buzzy premiere at Sundance and for utterly valid reason. It is veritably searing cinema about betrayal and deceit interpersonally and systemically, all told with utmost authenticity and vitality. It scathingly indicts the systems of oppression that silenced countless individuals, such as is the case with the FBI’s vile treatment of the Black Panther Party, which only demanded justice and equality for all people, and its nefarious premeditated murder of Fred Hampton.
This film marks an electrifying new era of political stories: ones that are righteously unapologetic in their unflinchingly honest depiction of the past, a history that had been concealed by those arbitrarily holding power for decades. As this film asserts, power belongs to all, not just our governing bodies.
Judas and the Black Messiah recounts a previously opaque yet integral moment of history with thrilling transparency. The pacing can be uneven, particularly in a middle third that is inundated with exposition, but the film is nevertheless riveting because of the exemplary direction, kinetic cinematography, and the trio of lead performances, including Daniel Kaluuya, Dominique Fishback, and Lakeith Stanfield. The film embodies the form of a taut political thriller but innovates it by finding these serene and human moments, especially for Hampton, demystifying him, in its drama, rendering immense catharsis that reverberates to today.
Grade: A-
4. On the Count of Three (dir. Jerrod Carmichael)
On the Count of Three is described by IMDb as “Two guns. Two best friends. And a pact to end their lives when the day is done.”
Just by the preceding synopsis, it is clear that On the Count of Three goes to some incredibly dark and morose places. Constrastingly, though, this film is a pitch-black comedy, and Carmichael approaches it with sensitivity and skillful use of tone.
Comedy often demands or necessitates pain and tragedy, and Carmichael thoroughly comprehends that, imbuing his film with dramatic dimesion in the process, amply assisted by his and Christopher Abbott’s dynamic lead performances. With every sardonic slice of humor, the film immerses the audience into its leading duo’s struggle and hopelessness that spurred them to commit such a tragic act, though some outer details could be more firmly sketched.
It also deftly, palpably and viscerally paints a nihilistic and cruel world that is wholly bereft of morality. This cinematic journey touts a remedy for a contemporary landscape that lacks rationale or human sense: friendship and connection, which are able to glean compassion from essentially anything.
Grade: A-
3. Flee (dir. Jonas Poher Rasmussen)
According to IMDb, “Flee tells the extraordinary true story of a man, Amin, on the verge of marriage which compels him to reveal his hidden past for the first time.”
Flee is a harrowing tale of the refugee experience and repressed and liberated identity. It is so singular in its conventions, implementing childlike animation into a bleak, cathartic and deeply personal story of perseverance and strength. This film is a testament to the power of cinema, serving as a therapeutic experience for its subjects that makes it accessible and poignant to a wide audience.
This film just generates such sympathy for Amin as he struggles to fully claim his autonomy even years after his escape from fleeing his country. It innovates the documentary form and humanly meditates on what constitutes a home, thus engrossing the audience.
Grade: A
2. CODA (dir. Sian Heder)
“As a CODA (Child of Deaf Adults) Ruby is the only hearing person in her deaf family. When the family’s fishing business is threatened, Ruby finds herself torn between pursuing her love of music and her fear of abandoning her parents,” as summarized by IMDb.
There is a venerable cinematic paradigm that is easier said than executed: specificity yields utmost universality. CODA seamlessly employs this paradigm in its coming-of-age tale and even reminded me why I love cinema so dearly as an art form. Films are empathy machines that enlighten on others’ experiences, creating eclectic and moving emotional palettes in the process.
CODA is a film brimming with earnestness and emotional complexity in every frame, never providing easy answers in its thematic exploration of familial obligation. The only answers to any of its tough questions are understanding and compassion. An incandescently sincere take on the standard coming-of-age formula, this film imparts such empathy to its audience, making its conventions feel fresh like its subgenre counterparts. CODA is the crowd-pleaser of the year, maybe even this forthcoming decade: Flock to it when Apple TV+ releases it later this year.
Grade: A
1. Mass (dir. Frank Kranz)
Mass is described by IMDb as the “aftermath of a violent tragedy that affects the lives of two couples in different ways.”
On the opposite side of the coin as CODA for the inherent virtues of art, cinema is able to reflect timely issues and make sense of the unimaginable. Mass approaches the pervasive national tragedy of school shootings from the perspective of two sets of parents of both the perpetrator and victim in this tightly calibrated chamber piece. It never sensationalizes an ounce of its drama, instead treating it with tact.
Kranz masterfully elucidates the intricacies of this issue not by offering answers but by depicting its raw emotional ramifications in all its entailing grief and trauma in his subtle direction and screenplay. Jason Isaacs, Martha Plimpton, Ann Dowd and Reed Birney depict their characters with poignancy, intensity and depth. All in all, Mass is achingly human in every element, immaculately capturing the turmoils of pain and forgiveness.
It is an emotionally demanding film that yields cathartic rewards. It invokes your attention for valid reason. Mass is one of the most moving and important cinematic experiences of this year: It encapsulates the capabilities of the cinematic form with empathy and altruism.
Grade: A
Photo Credit / Sundance Film Institute
