If Hollywood was a pedicured purse Chihuahua, Sundance would be that same shivering, anxious dog in a fitted parka and boots.
The little film festival Robert Redford co-initiated in Park City, Utah, has quickly evolved into the blend of art and commerce that its celebrated films embody. Out on a small mountain resort in sub-zero temperatures, you find enough space to watch a film and meet its makers in the same short breath you inhale to keep your lungs from freezing.
It’s the sort of intellect-covered-in-marketing-goo fun that warrants some serious post-festival decompression. Between rushing to take advantage of the shwag stations (read: like shopping in Bloomingdales…for free) to scheduling the evening of back-to-back Hollywood parties, it’s a wonder anyone actually has time to watch the films. It’s a version of LA slightly humbled by geography and weather – the same way the films are a version of their Hollywood counterparts, slightly humbled by budget and niche.