Movies at Sundance Film Festival told stories of grief, resilience. The themes mirrored real life too.

PARK CITY, Utah – Each January, the Sundance Film Festival takes over the snow-tinged ski town of Park City, to celebrate original, independent storytelling. Movie enthusiasts, filmmakers and other members of the entertainment industry gather to share and discuss their art — and make important business deals to finance it.

This year, the pilgrimage was a poignant one — especially for those traveling from California, where at least 29 people died in disastrous wildfires that have continued to ravage the area around Los Angeles, leaving a trail of destruction and indescribable loss.

Just days after her house burned down in the Eaton Fire, writer-director Meera Menon traveled to Park City to promote her film Didn’t Die. The movie follows a podcaster named Vinita, fighting to maintain humor and resilience for her audience amid a zombie apocalypse that has relentlessly torn her world apart.

The film was personal for Menon, who has made a name for herself directing episodes of major TV franchises like The Walking Dead and Ms. Marvel. She told me that she was excited to make something small again with her co-writer, cinematographer and husband, Paul Gleason. Her home, baby and dog were all featured in the film.

“It was an exploration of grief and loss within the context of losing everything, which is really what happens in a zombie movie — people lose everything,” Menon said. “So what do you do to rebuild meaning and rebuild yourselves and rebuild your lives?”

A quote from French writer Hélène Cixous punctuates the film’s midpoint: “You can keep losing after loss.” Didn’t Die was inspired by the COVID-19 pandemic — how it was isolating and constantly mutating. Since then, Menon said, the film’s cast and crew faced repeated tragedies, from the death of loved ones to assault. The strikes dealt a blow to the economy of Los Angeles, which is still recovering.

“The fire is this culminating event … it’s not just us, it’s a whole lived experience of our time that seems to be one loss after another,” Menon said. “Our movie allows us to talk about it in a way that’s unfortunately all too applicable to our lives … The post-apocalyptic movie as a genre shouldn’t be as relevant as it is.”

Since Sundance’s goal is to spotlight independent filmmakers, many of the movies involve deeply personal stories. When I took the shuttle to a screening — an experience that unites all levels of movie fans to discuss what they’ve recently seen, from journalists to agents to studio executives — I expressed that I’d seen several films about grief in just a few days.

“That’s Sundance for you,” my seatmate, who had been to every possible Sundance over the last 20 years, assured me.

It wasn’t an exaggeration. In just one day, I had seen Jimpa, The Things with Feathers, Omaha and Twinless — all movies about tragic loss.

In the press line for the premiere of Rebuilding, a film about a cowboy who loses his Colorado ranch and livelihood to a wildfire, I overheard several people talking about just how prescient the movie’s premise was. Writer-director Max Walker-Silverman was inspired to make it after his grandmother lost her home in a fire.

“My grandmother’s house burned that summer, which was devastating, but also became this magical thing that brought the family together in a way, brought our neighbors together in a way,” he told IndieWire. “There was loss in that, but also an incredible outpouring of kindness as well. Through that experience, I began to see how there could be a future in what felt like a very uncertain place.”

In the film, Dusty (Josh O’Connor) reunites with his daughter and develops bonds with other displaced people living in a FEMA-funded trailer park. He cultivates meaningful friendships and restores connections while fighting to make something of himself again.

Kali Reis plays Mali, one of Dusty’s new neighbors. She told me that it was “refreshing” to be a part of something that explored the aftermath of tragedy.

“We really don’t often get to explore what happens next and how to navigate that,” she said. “It’s really important to be reminded that we are humans. We are social beings and we need to be in a community to lean on each other.”

Like the characters in Rebuilding, Sundance also carried on. The festival announced the decision to continue as planned on Jan. 13 in a statement, 10 days before it was set to begin.

“Our community has a history of coming together when passion and perseverance are needed most, drawing strength from the deep bonds that make us so resilient,” wrote acting Sundance Institute CEO Amanda Kelso and festival director Eugene Hernandez. “Right now, we may mourn, but we also know it is important to carry on … in times like these, our mission to support artists, uplift their work, and connect to communities is paramount.”

Many of the films in this year’s festival lineup had their production delayed or stalled because of the strikes, which took place between May and September 2023. Some entertainment veterans have noted that it’s a relatively quiet festival — slow and emotional in tone, with few breakout films.

More than a week into the festival’s 10-day run, only two films have been sold — body horror comedy Together to Neon and drama Train Dreams to Netflix. Both movies include characters battling grief — and in Train Dreams, that sadness and loss are brought about by a wildfire.

The video-sharing platform Vimeo, home to many of Sundance’s short films, spotlights filmmakers through its Staff Picks program. This year, 30 alumni are sharing new work at Sundance — seven of them for the first time.

Derick Rhodes, vice president of community at Vimeo, told me he’s “seen film serve as such an uplifting medium.”

“In spite of what is happening, there is still so much zest and enthusiasm for the work of these creators that gives the industry this impervious feeling of hope,” he said.

Regardless of what deals and success stories come out of Sundance this year, the festival provided a space amid tragedy where storytellers could create connections and share in their love of the craft. In the wake of the horrific loss of lives and livelihoods, people are still making and discussing art. That sentiment, and the art itself, offers hope.