Lifestyle
Sundance Festival breakthroughs of 2024: Here are 14 new films to look forward to
The festival returned for rousing in-person premieres, panels, and commemorative screenings of past Sundance breakouts including Napoleon Dynamite and Mississippi Masala.
Maya Dehlin/2023 Sundance Institute / Pho
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Maya Dehlin/2023 Sundance Institute / Pho
The Sundance Film Festival celebrated its 40th anniversary this year and the vibes in Park City, Utah were understandably nostalgic – sprinkled throughout the 10-day event were special screenings of past Sundance breakouts, including Mississippi Masala, Napoleon Dynamite, and Pariah.
But first and foremost, the fest was all about premiering a generous slate of new films by both emerging and established filmmakers, and the options were vast. I was in attendance for much of the festival and had the chance to sample just over 20 features in-person and online, stories ranging from intimate family dramas to bold political statements to charming coming-of-age comedies.
The festival concludes Sunday, but the awards were announced on Friday; among the big winners were the debut feature film In the Summers by Alessandra Lacorazza about the volatile relationship between a father and his daughters which won the U.S. Grand Jury Prize and the Ukraine war documentary Porcelain War which won the parallel U.S. Grand Jury documentary prize.
Some films arrived at the festival with distribution deals firmly in place, but at the time of writing, many deals and potential distribution dates are still being worked out. As is the case every year, the buzz around certain films means we all will be seeing those in streaming or theatrical form at some undetermined point in the future.
Here are some of my favorites from this year.
What the …?
A still from Presence by Steven Soderbergh.
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A still from Presence by Steven Soderbergh.
Sundance Institute
There’s usually at least one movie at Sundance every year that makes you go, What the hell did I just watch??? This year, I saw two: Steven Soderbergh’s immersive ghost tale Presence and Aaron Schimberg’s agitating psychological drama A Different Man.
Soderbergh, ever the experimental filmmaker, collaborated with screenwriter David Koepp to craft the story of a haunted house told entirely from the ghost’s point of view after a new family – which has recently been rocked by tragedy – moves in. (Lucy Liu and Chris Sullivan play the parents, newcomers Callina Liang and Eddy Maday are their bickering children.) The less you know of the details going in, the better. But what can be said for sure is that it’s an experience unlike any other, putting the viewer in the discomfiting position of watching this family’s dramas (and traumas) play out unfiltered. The technical feats Soderbergh pulls off with the camera and editing will be studied for years to come, but the narrative themes and storytelling choices demand equal dissection. Following its Sundance premiere, Presence sold to distributor Neon.
Schimberg’s movie is even weirder, and to be honest, I’m still not sure whether I think it’s brilliant or much ado amounting to … not much. But I’m still thinking about it days later, and it renders one of Sebastian Stan’s best performances to date. He plays Edward, an aspiring actor limited by a genetic facial mutation; after he undergoes reconstructive surgery to alter his appearance, he’s confronted with the consequence of this drastic decision in the form of Oswald (Adam Pearson), a jovial, beloved man who has the same medical condition Edward once had. (In real life, Pearson has neurofibromatosis.) It’s brutal, unsettling, and a lot. A Different Man came to the festival with a distribution deal already in place with A24, so expect to be baffled by it soon enough.
Familial pangs
André Holland and Andra Day appear in Exhibiting Forgiveness by Titus Kaphar.
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André Holland and Andra Day appear in Exhibiting Forgiveness by Titus Kaphar.
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Some of the biggest hits to come out of Sundance tend to be emotional family dramas (see Little Miss Sunshine, CODA). One of my favorites this year is Exhibiting Forgiveness, the feature debut of artist Titus Kaphar, starring André Holland as Tarrell, an acclaimed painter who harbors some unresolved childhood trauma. When his father La’Ron (John Earl Jelks) suddenly reappears in his life, Tarrell’s finally forced to deal with years’ worth of accumulated rage and hurt. What starts off feeling like your standard-issue indie melodrama ultimately emerges as something much deeper, more fascinating, and refreshingly unconventional. Holland and Jelks are excellent here, buoyed by strong supporting performances from Aunjanue Ellis-Taylor and Andra Day.
A Real Pain, Jesse Eisenberg’s second feature behind the camera, was also a pleasant surprise; he and Kieran Culkin play estranged cousins who embark on a Holocaust tour in Poland in the wake of the death of their grandmother. It strikes the right balance of darkness, levity, and grief – the awkward dynamics within the tour group are especially notable – and Culkin is pretty perfect playing a live wire type, who’s somehow both a compassionate empath and terribly uncouth. A Real Pain left the fest with a reported $10 million Searchlight deal.
And then there’s Brief History of a Family, the feature debut of Jianjie Lin, which engages in suspenseful, thoughtful ways with the ramifications of China’s one-child policy. In it, a middle-class family of three is thrown for a loop when the son’s new friend slowly becomes an integral part of the household. Secrets, lies, envy, and unrealized yearnings unravel in this moody thriller, which is being distributed by Films Boutique.
Fight the power (or try to, anyway)
A still from Girls State by Jesse Moss and Amanda McBaine.
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A still from Girls State by Jesse Moss and Amanda McBaine.
Sundance Institute/Apple
Stories about individuals contending with oppression were all over the festival this year, and quite a few stuck out for me. Girls State, a sort-of sequel to the 2020 Sundance hit documentary (and Grand Jury Prize-winner) Boys State, follows teen girls in Missouri who are participating in the annual week-long exercise of building their own democratic government. A couple of unique factors make Jesse Moss and Amanda McBaine’s film, which is coming to Apple TV+ in April, notable: For one, its filming just so happened to coincide with the leak of the draft of the Supreme Court’s majority opinion on the right to abortion. It also depicts the first time both Boys and Girls State were hosted on the same campus – which makes the gender disparities between the two organizations impossible for the girls to ignore.
Another doc, Jazmin Renée Jones’ Seeking Mavis Beacon, is part investigation and part character study. Alongside Gen Z video artist Olivia McKayla Ross, Jones attempts to find Renée L’Espérance, the Black model who served as the face of the ’80s computer program Mavis Beacon Teaches Typing. The film asks complex questions about how Blackness is used and distorted through technology, as well as what it means to dance around ethical boundaries while excavating history.
And a couple from the other side of the world: Kneecap, a loosely autobiographical origin story of the Irish hip-hop group Kneecap, bursts with verve, bite, and righteous rage that calls to mind early Spike Lee. (They insist on speaking and rapping in Irish to preserve the dying language, and in defiance of Britain.) The dynamic trio – Mo Chara, Móglaí Bap, and DJ Próvaí – play versions of themselves alongside Michael Fassbender as Bap’s revolutionary dad.
Then there’s Soundtrack to a Coup d’Etat, Johan Grimonprez’s audacious and musical documentary deconstructing the confluence of events and political collusion that led to the assassination of Congolese prime minister Patrice Lumumba. This includes how prominent Black jazz artists were deployed by the U.S. as ambassadors to unwittingly distract from the country’s nefarious behind-the-scenes dealings. The filmmaker’s stylistic approach is riveting, wielding the rhythmic language of Louis Armstrong, Nina Simone, Max Roach, and other jazz greats alongside the callous recounting of gleeful mercenaries and world leaders. Grimonprez and his editor Rik Chaubet also pull abundantly from an array of texts, archival footage and interviews, playing liberally with sound and imagery. There’s so much information to take in, but to their credit, it never becomes so overwhelming as to lose focus.
Adolescence is hard
Maisy Stella and Aubrey Plaza appear in My Old Ass by Megan Park.
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Maisy Stella and Aubrey Plaza appear in My Old Ass by Megan Park.
Shane Mahood/Sundance Institute
Another staple of Sundance is the quirky coming-of-age movie, and My Old Ass and Dìdi deliver plenty of humor and heart.
The former is a high-concept comedy about Elliott, a queer Canadian teen (the winsome Maisy Stella) who can’t wait to leave her family’s cranberry farm behind for college. One night, she and her best friends decide to experiment with mushrooms in the woods, and during her psychedelic trip she meets her older self, played by the always wonderful Aubrey Plaza. Filmmaker Megan Park’s second feature is just weird and charming enough to work as an ode to the sweet dumbness of youth and the sage wisdom of age. It was purchased at the festival for a reported $15 million by Amazon MGM for a theatrical release followed by an eventual streaming debut on Amazon Prime.
The latter, directed by Sean Wang, takes us back to 2008 – AOL Instant messenger, the early days of Facebook, the waning days of Myspace – through the eyes of Dìdi, aka Chris (Izaac Wang), a 13-year-old Taiwanese American boy. It’s set during the summer before he transitions to high school, and as one might expect, it’s both cringey and relatable in how it depicts that awkward period where friendships are tested, hormones rage, and all parents do is nag, nag, nag (or so we kids think). It’s familiar territory, but the performances and attention to period-specific detail (especially as it pertains to the teen lingo) make for a great watch.
Music is healing
Luther Vandross appears in Luther: Never Too Much by Dawn Porter.
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Luther Vandross appears in Luther: Never Too Much by Dawn Porter.
Matthew Rolston/Sundance Institute
Finally, two music documentaries tapped into the emotional power of some of our greatest pop icons.
Dawn Porter’s Luther: Never Too Much is a celebration of the legendary singer Luther Vandross, chronicling his early career as a member of the group Listen My Brother to his final commercially successful comeback with Dance with My Father before his death at the age of 54. There’s lots of great archival footage here, including of Vandross working on musical arrangements for David Bowie’s “Fascination.” Many of Vandross’ collaborators, including Dionne Warwick and Richard Marx, sing his praises and – to an extent – discuss his public struggles with his ever-fluctuating weight and speculation around his sexuality. The doc sadly doesn’t go too deep on the latter issue for reasons that are explained through his close friends, only partly satisfyingly; nevertheless, by the end of the film it’s impossible not to be moved, quite possibly to tears.
A still from The Greatest Night in Pop by Bao Nguyen.
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A still from The Greatest Night in Pop by Bao Nguyen.
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Overlapping a little with the era of Vandross is Bao Nguyen’s The Greatest Night in Pop, which drops on Netflix quite soon – Jan. 29. The “greatest night” in question is the herculean undertaking of the star-studded recording of “We Are the World,” in the hours immediately following the 1985 American Music Awards. As far as Netflix docs go, this is one of the more entertaining ones; Lionel Richie is an executive producer and he’s all over it, telling funny stories about writing the song with Michael Jackson as well as the pressure to deflate all the competing egos in the room that evening.
Does it treat this charity single as if it was the second coming of Jesus? Kind of! Are there some noticeably absent talking heads? Yup! (No Stevie, Diana, or Quincy, though we do get lots of Kenny Loggins soundbites.) Do we ever find out what the heck Dan Aykroyd was doing there? Not really! No matter – this is a breezy, thoroughly enjoyable nostalgia trip.
Headlands Brewing launched its World Cup-themed beer Common Ground ahead of the first World Cup game in June.
Justin Gellerson for NPR
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Justin Gellerson for NPR
The British betting company William Hill predicts that soccer fans will throw back more than 5 million pints of beer in stadiums and fan zones during this year’s World Cup. And that number doesn’t even account for the millions of pints being poured in bars as fans tune in to the global soccer event.
But while international soccer crowds are focusing on goals and penalties, a trio of craft breweries from the tournament’s three host nations are using the tournament to brew something increasingly rare: cross-border solidarity.
A shared recipe with local spin
The collaboration began months ago over a flurry of video chats and emails. The beermakers at Rey Árbol Brewing Co. in Mexico, Headlands Brewing in the United States, and Cabin Brewing Co. in Canada set out to design a single, unified recipe representing the brewing traditions of all three nations.
“It’s a Mexican lager,” said Alejandro Gomez, founder of Rey Árbol.
“That’s like a West Coast IPA,” said Ryan Frank, chief operating officer and brewmaster for Headlands.
“And up in Canada, most of our beers are hop driven,” said Haydon Dewes, co-founder of Cabin. “So we thought, let’s go for a dry-hopped Mexican lager.”
While all three breweries share the exact same recipe, each is giving the final product a distinct local spin, including unique, regionally designed labels. A four-pack of the U.S version costs $15.99. Frank said Headlands has produced about 130 cases of the limited-run brew.
Headlands Brewing COO and brewmaster Ryan Frank drinks a Common Ground beer in Berkeley, Calif., on June 11.
Justin Gellerson for NPR
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Justin Gellerson for NPR
For the brewers, however, the project is less about marketing and more about connection: They named the multinational beer “Common Ground.”
“When I go to California or Canada, they will treat me like family,” Gomez said.
“It makes the world feel so much smaller,” said Dewes.
“It’s about building bridges and knowing what’s important in life,” said Frank. “And for us, that’s soccer and beer.”
Geopolitical friction in the taproom
The official rhetoric surrounding World Cup 2026 mirrors the brewers’ optimism, with promotional materials promising a tournament where billions are “united as individuals, united as billions.”
Yet this idealistic messaging stands in sharp contrast to a prickly geopolitical reality. Tensions between the U.S., Mexico and Canada have mounted over trade tariffs and auto manufacturing standards as the three nations renegotiate long-standing trade agreements.
The independent brewers behind Common Ground are feeling that friction firsthand through the rising costs of aluminum cans and raw ingredients.
“There are 15% tariffs slapped on any European-grown hops, which are really critical to some of our core brands,” Frank said.
Headlands Brewing brewmaster Ryan Frank and CEO Austin Sharp share a Common Ground beer in Berkeley, Calif., ahead of the first World Cup game on June 11.
Justin Gellerson for NPR
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Justin Gellerson for NPR
The political discord hasn’t just been confined to trade boards.
When signing an executive order to establish a White House Task Force for the World Cup in March 2025, President Trump suggested that cross-border hostilities might actually benefit the tournament. “Oh, I think it’s gonna make it more exciting,” the president said.
A bittersweet reminder
Tension on the soccer field is one thing; between nations, it’s another.
“It’s true that when it comes to the actual soccer, we’ve developed a very healthy, vibrant rivalry between the three countries,” said Andrés Martinez, the author of The Great Game: A Tale of Two Footballs and America’s Quest to Conquer Global Sport and co-director of Arizona State University’s Great Game Lab, which studies the intersection of sports, media and geopolitics. “But we’re also linked together in this very symbiotic relationship.”
Martinez said that when the U.S., Canada and Mexico initially launched their collaborative bid to host the World Cup back in 2017, the political climate was warmer.
“It was meant to showcase these tight bonds that had developed between the three countries,” Martinez said.
The makers of Common Ground used a shared recipe, but all created their own distinct packaging for the beer: Canada’s Cabin Brewing Co.; Mexico’s Rey Árbol Brewing Co.; the United States’ Headlands Brewing.
Cabin Brewing Company, Rey Árbol Brewing Company, Headlands Brewing
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Cabin Brewing Company, Rey Árbol Brewing Company, Headlands Brewing
But relations have soured since then, making cross-border business collaborations like Common Ground an anomaly rather than the norm for this tournament.
“To see craft beers across the three countries coming together like this, it’s a bittersweet reminder of what we were hoping to see a lot more of,” Martinez said.
Finding the real common ground
If trade wars and political posturing are looming large in Washington, D.C., Ottawa and Mexico City, they feel a world away at Headlands Brewing’s busy North Berkeley location.
As fans gathered to watch a crucial match between Mexico and South Africa at the start of the tournament, the sunny patio erupted into cheers and shrieks of “Goal!” when Mexico found the back of the net.
Headlands Brewing hosts a screening of the first World Cup game on June 11 in Berkeley, Calif.
Justin Gellerson for NPR
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Justin Gellerson for NPR
Hovering over a pint of the collaborative brew, soccer fan Roberto Mandujano reflected on the cross-border experiment.
“Three different ways, three different taste buds come together to make something cool,” he said.
When asked about the underlying political tensions between the host nations, Mandujano shrugged off the discord.
“We live in a world where everyone wants to make everything political,” Mandujano said. “But I think we’re all here for soccer. So I guess that’s the common ground.”
Pillarhenge is an eyesore. Since construction at the Eagle Rock site — so nicknamed after a decrepit colonnade — first stalled in 2008, the only thing that accumulated faster than the garbage and graffiti were the epithets from outraged community members.
While many saw blight at the corner of Colorado Boulevard and Holbrook Street, a local artist saw opportunity. One of the site’s 36 pillars — the tallest one in the middle — could be a perch for a big, pink, screeching bird.
“It was a vision, and I just knew we would do it,” says the artist who goes by Flod and is finally ready to share his story. Flod insists on anonymity because, “isn’t it more fun to leave it a mystery?”
Pinky overlooks workers pouring concrete at a construction site known as Pillarhenge because of its colonnade.
Flod scraped together tomato cages, chicken wire, paper, glue and pink house paint. “I’m kinda into recycling, so I didn’t even buy materials for it. It was supposed to just give a laugh, maybe last a day,” he says. That was more than a decade ago.
One day in 2014, Flod’s young adult nephew, adept at climbing, helped him hoist the 4-foot, about 10-pound papier-mache sculpture atop the 70-foot pillar. It fit perfectly. In the years since, the bird, affectionately dubbed Pinky, has inspired a movement. There are custom T-shirts, multifarious fan art, an online forum and a dedicated posse keeping constant watch. Pinky’s fame grew even as the bird bent, molted and faded with each turn of the calendar.
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As much as locals loathe Pillarhenge, they idolize Pinky. And now that construction at the site of “The One on Colorado,” a six-level, mixed-use development with 31 units, has restarted, the bird’s future is uncertain.
“There’s a lot of love for this crazy bird,” says Jonathan Ford, who has a direct view of Pillarhenge from his backyard. “It’s iconic.”
While discarded elements are through lines in Flod’s sculptural work, it’s the community impact that separates Pinky from the rest. “I’ve done other things I like a lot, but this one definitely exceeded expectations by many, many times over,” he says.
Flod, the artist behind Pinky, watched in obscurity as the bird’s popularity grew.
A reclusive artist steps forward
Flod never set out to be found. He was happy to relish in Pinky’s celebrity from the shadows. That changed in April 2023 when unknowing construction workers unceremoniously removed a disintegrating Pinky from its eyrie.
General contractor Enrique Valdez of Azteca 111 Builder Inc. was tasked with cutting the ratchet straps securing Pinky, seemingly putting an end to the bird’s reign.
Construction manager Enrique Valdez saved Pinky after concerned locals shouted at him when he removed the molting bird from its perch.
Then something unusual happened as Valdez descended in the boom lift with Pinky’s remains. Valdez recalls, “A few people stopped and yelled, ‘Don’t take Pinky!’” The distressed locals approached Valdez with cellphone videos they’d taken of the act. “They asked if I was going to bring him back and showed me the Facebook page.”
The Facebook page — Goodbye Pillarhenge Park — has been the hub of Pillarhenge lore since 2015. No sooner had clips of Pinky’s removal been posted than comments began streaming in: “Sad day for proud bird,” “End of an era,” “The bird was the best thing about Pillarhenge.”
“I didn’t know Pinky had so many fans!” laughs Valdez while describing the predicament he was in.
The community’s protectiveness saved Pinky from the landfill. Valdez deposited Pinky at a warehouse belonging to the site’s owner, showing him the Facebook posts of Pinky’s removal. The site has changed hands multiple times, with the latest owner being Ara Tchaghlassian, founder of retailer American Tire Depot.
“I told him, ‘It seems we have a legend on our hands,’” explains Valdez.
After stabilizing the hillside, the development team discussed remaking the bird with the help of the original artist. But nobody knew who that was.
“People are just done with decades of this ugliness,” says Annie Choi, owner of Found Coffee across the street from Pillarhenge, about the site. “But it also has this weird claim to fame, you know,” she says, as a regular enters the shop wearing a Pinky T-shirt.
When construction manager Enrique Valdez removed the dilapidated Pinky in 2023, it was placed in a storage unit until Flod the artist could be found.
As a career documentary filmmaker, I’m always on the lookout for quirky Los Angeles stories. I’ve been photographing Pillarhenge for more than eight years, largely on black-and-white film. I met Valdez in May 2023, shortly after construction had restarted. He invited me onto a boom lift to photograph the site from above and inquired if I knew who had made Pinky, which he’d removed just days prior. I offered to do some sleuthing.
While I fruitlessly tapped my L.A. street art connections, Valdez posted in Goodbye Pillarhenge Park: “Looking for the original artist to refurbish the bird.” He included photos of Pinky, headless and forsaken, but safe amid piles of overstuffed filing boxes.
Unbeknownst to its more than 800 members, Flod had been lurking in the public group for years, silently celebrating each new mention of Pinky. Valdez’s post presented a unique moment of decision for the reclusive artist: to reply risked abandoning a mystique he’d long cultivated; but ultimately the lure of a sanctioned Pinky reboot proved too tempting to refuse.
Fortifying Pinky, but for how long?
Beyond site-specific work, Flod also creates masks as part of his art practice.
Tiptoeing into Valdez’s DMs with “I may know the artist,” the two arranged to meet at the warehouse where Flod disclosed his identity, declining compensation and asking only for access to Pillarhenge. Pinky’s carcass then returned home with Flod, who set about removing the rotted skin from the chicken-wire skeleton, which he repurposed for its next version, covering it in paint-dipped cloth, instead of paper and white glue, to better withstand the elements.
Tellingly, the exterior of Flod’s home studio is Pinky’s exact shade of pink. In the yard, multicolored concrete sculptures adorn nearly every nook and cranny. Inside, hand tools, musical instruments and partially completed papier-mache projects are everywhere. “Mind the points,” Flod cautions, as I maneuver around an oversize papier-mache mask covered in protruding footlong spikes. “I can’t fix those if they break.”
Skull masks are a particular theme in Flod’s work.
The back room of Flod’s studio is like a butcher’s walk-in fridge, where dozens more masks hang from the ceiling, each more outlandish than the last. There’s a bug-eyed rabbit, a blue donkey and several variations of what appear to be skulls. “That one’s name is Charles E. Fromage.” I repeat the name and Flod adds, “Get it?”
Pinky is not Flod’s first foray into site-specific social commentary. On a hike in 2005, Flod came across a truck tire lodged between two boulders in Malibu Creek. Returning to the site with a bag of cement, he made a mixture with sand and water from the creekbed. After slathering it over the immovable garbage to make it appear as if it were just one more river rock, he titled the piece “Reinventing the Wheel.” Then there was 2015’s collaborative effort “Stella the Steelhead,” a 35-foot fish skeleton stuffed full of trash taken from the L.A. River, which a group of artists, environmental activists and volunteers towed behind an adult tricycle along the river’s bike path.
Just two months after its rescue, in December 2024, Pinky’s rebirth was heralded in Eastsider LA as “a Christmas miracle.” However, a rainstorm soon damaged Pinky’s reinforced cloth wing and the bird was temporarily removed for repairs. It was around that time that Ford moved near Pillarhenge. One morning he went out back with his coffee and noticed something … pink.
“I texted my neighbor and he responded immediately: ‘Pinky’s back! Oh, thank God, I didn’t know what happened. I love that thing!’ And I just went, So this is normal.”
During Pinky’s broken-wing pit stop, my 10-year-old daughter Margaret Green and friends Ezra Cunningham and Meta Nalepa encountered the bird in a nearby driveway while delivering their neighborhood newspaper. Flod, a subscriber, acknowledged he was Pinky’s creator. Margaret’s article, “Pink Bird: Eagle Rock Artist Found,” includes a rare photo of Pinky away from its pillar-top nest.
In response to being discovered by the grade-school journalists, Flod is effusive: “That was a really cool part of [Pinky’s] story. It definitely means a lot to me. That kind of stuff is the whole thing.”
Now, time is running out on the bird as the rising tide of concrete, scaffolding and rebar obscures Pinky from pedestrian view along the south side of Colorado Boulevard. Another few months and …“Well, you’ll still be able to see Pinky from the freeway,” says Valdez, who expects the construction work to finish in about two years.
Someone made an egg to accompany Pinky atop Pillarhenge. Flod promises it wasn’t him.
In Goodbye Pillarhenge Park, one member’s recent comment betrays what many are perhaps not ready to admit: “I will miss Pillarhenge.”
Recently, a giant egg appeared in a nest atop the pillar beside Pinky’s. “I had nothing to do with that!” insists Flod. Rumors swirl as to what will emerge when the egg hatches: Life-size bronze? Historical landmark plaque? While not quite so grandiose, Valdez says discussions are ongoing regarding the bird’s future.
“If Pillarhenge is completed and Pinky goes into the lobby or something, that’s all right, I guess,” Flod concedes. “We need more housing.” Then the artist’s acquiescence gives way to a defiant smirk: “But I want the bird to win.”
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