Rediscovering My Voice After Sundance's Shift from Indie Hub to Hollywood Stage

It has been a long time since I last posted here. The reasons are many, but the biggest one is how much Sundance has changed—and how much that change affected me. For three decades, I attended the Sundance Film Festival regularly. It was more than just an event; it was a place where independent cinema thrived, where fresh voices found their stage, and where I found inspiration, education, and transformation through the films I saw. Even during the pandemic, when Sundance went online, I stayed loyal. But in recent years, my enthusiasm has faded. The festival no longer feels like the gritty, independent hub it once was. Instead, it has become a showcase for movies already backed by big sponsors, losing the raw spirit that made it special.

Then came the move from Park City, Utah, to Boulder, Colorado. That felt like a betrayal. I understood the practical reasons—Park City’s infrastructure struggled to keep up with the festival’s growth—but leaving Utah entirely was a blow to those of us who had been devoted for so long. Boulder has its charm, and Colorado’s politics might align more closely with Sundance’s current direction, but one of the things I loved most about the festival was its diversity of viewpoints. It was a place where I could meet artists and hear stories I wouldn’t encounter in my usual bubble. That sense of openness feels lost now.

At the same time, I stepped back from social media. It became a toxic space that affected my mental health. I missed sharing my thoughts and experiences, but the constant noise and negativity wore me down. Here, on my own blog, I can write in a way that feels authentic and comfortable. This space is for me, but if you want to read along, I’m glad you’re here.

The Sundance Festival I Knew and Loved

For many years, Sundance was the heartbeat of independent cinema. It was where filmmakers with limited budgets and bold ideas could find an audience. The festival was a place of discovery, where stories from the margins found their way to the center stage. I remember sitting in small theaters, surrounded by passionate cinephiles, watching films that challenged norms and expanded perspectives.

The festival’s charm was in its unpredictability. You never knew which hidden gem you might stumble upon. It was a community of creators and viewers who shared a love for storytelling that wasn’t driven by box office numbers or studio demands. The atmosphere was raw, intimate, and electric.

Even during the pandemic, when Sundance moved online, I appreciated the effort to keep the spirit alive. The virtual format allowed more people to access films from home, and I found comfort in that continuity. But it was clear that the festival was evolving.

When Sundance Became Hollywood’s Premiere Stage

Over the past few years, Sundance shifted from a platform for independent voices to a stage for movies with major sponsorships and star-studded premieres. The gritty, underground feel gave way to polished events and high-profile marketing campaigns. Films that once might have struggled to find funding now arrived with big budgets and distribution deals already in place.

This change altered the festival’s identity. It became less about discovery and more about showcasing what was already on the industry’s radar. The independent spirit felt diluted, replaced by a focus on commercial success and media buzz.

For longtime attendees like me, this shift was disheartening. The festival no longer felt like a place where new voices could break through. Instead, it seemed like a stepping stone for films already destined for the mainstream.

Park City street decorated for Sundance Film Festival, reflecting its independent roots

The Move from Utah to Colorado and What It Meant

The decision to move Sundance from Park City to Boulder was the final straw for many of us. Park City had been home to the festival for decades. It was where the community gathered, where local businesses thrived during the event, and where the festival’s identity was rooted.

I understand that Park City’s infrastructure struggled with the festival’s growth. The crowds, traffic, and accommodations became challenging. But leaving Utah entirely felt like a betrayal of the festival’s origins and the people who supported it for so long.

Boulder offers a different vibe and political climate, which may align better with the festival’s current direction. But Sundance was special because it brought together diverse viewpoints, including those that didn’t always fit the mainstream narrative. That diversity is harder to find when the festival moves to a place with a more uniform political and cultural landscape.

For me, the move symbolized a break from the past and a loss of the festival’s original spirit.

Stepping Back from Social Media to Find Clarity

Around the same time, I began to pull away from social media. What started as a fun way to share my experiences became a source of stress and negativity. The constant pressure to post, the endless scroll of opinions, and the toxic debates took a toll on my mental health.

I realized I needed a break. Without social media, I found more peace and space to think. I missed sharing my thoughts, but I wanted a place where I could write without the noise and distractions.

This blog became that place. It’s where I can express myself fully, in long form, without worrying about likes or comments. It’s a space for reflection, not performance.

Why I’m Writing Again and What This Blog Means to Me

Returning to this blog feels like reclaiming my voice. It’s not about chasing followers or trending topics. It’s about sharing my perspective honestly and thoughtfully.

Writing here allows me to process my feelings about Sundance’s changes, about the industry, and about my own journey. It’s a way to connect with others who might feel the same, but it’s also a personal outlet.

If you choose to read what I write, I’m grateful. But this space is primarily for me—a place to explore ideas, document experiences, and find meaning in a changing world.