The Sundance Film Festival always sets the tone for the indie movie year, and this year was no exception. I am looking forward to its relocation (or rebuilding) in Boulder, Colorado, for the 2027 Edition. Here are the highlights of the 2026 edition:
Rachael J. Morrison’s “Joybubbles” is a tender, unexpectedly upbeat documentary that reframes outsider ingenuity as play, resilience, and connection. Told mainly through the sensory-rich perspective of blind phone “phreak,” Joe Engressia, the film explores how the analog telephone (its tones, clicks, ringtones, busy signals, and phone books) became a portal to the world for people who often felt cut off from it, wanting connection.
By mastering precise whistled tones (sometimes with help from a Captain Crunch whistle), the film’s central figure could place long-distance calls for free, briefly becoming a “big man on campus” and even earning money, all while sticking it to AT&T, then the largest corporation in America, making it easy for audiences to root for the little guy. The film lovingly indulges in nostalgia (the last name in the phone book, numbers that spell words like “FEELING,” hacked conference calls, the sheer sentimentality of phone books and operators) while confronting the risks like felony charges and prison time. The doc wears its life-affirming demeanor on its sleeve, declaring that “Every day is a gift. Don’t be afraid to play.”
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Gemma Chan, Mason Reeves and Channing Tatum appear in Josephine by Beth de Araújo, an official selection of the 2026 Sundance Film Festival. Courtesy of Sundance Institute | photo by Greta Zozula.
Beth de Araújo’s “Josephine” unfolds through the daughter’s perspective, capturing how a single traumatic incident reshapes a child’s perception of the world. The child actor Mason Reeves delivers an incredible performance, conveying innocence and resilience. Her parents, played by Gemma Chan, who expresses everything through poignant facial expressions, and Channing Tatum, who has numerous outbursts. The film’s intimate, immersive style shifts between the child’s and the adults’ perspectives. The tension comes in doses in small moments, like when a cop tells her, “You can get hurt wearing a seatbelt.”
The film confronts growing up too fast, as Josephine grapples with the dangers of a hyper-connected world and a reminder that a child’s impressionable mind is like a sponge soaking up their surroundings, like when she notices strangers differently now. The presence of the rapist lingers without ever fully materializing, creating a silent, unsettling tension, almost like a horror movie, and the parents make imperfect, frustrating choices. The film captures how trauma follows and serves as a reminder that Josephine will carry her experience for life.
Adam Khalil and Zack Khalil’s “Aanikoobijigan [ancestor/great-grandparent/great-grandchild]” is a brisk, slightly experimental documentary that confronts the deeply unsettled question of who claims ownership over Indigenous remains, artifacts, and ancestors. Packing an impressive amount of information into its tight runtime, the film lets its lively, articulate subjects make a compelling moral case, reframing museum artifacts not as possessions meant to be stolen, but as relatives, asking hauntingly simple questions like: if an artifact is an ancestor, when can the family visit?
The film weaves together discussions of scientific racism, colonial collecting practices, and cultural erasure with visually striking and sometimes trippy imagery. One moment features a montage of Hollywood films like Poltergeist that casually exploit the “Indian burial grounds” trope. A compelling line, “We didn’t have death until America came here,” lingers long after the documentary ends. Both mind-expanding and emotionally grounded, Aanikoobijigan challenges viewers to confront colonial mindsets and reconsider what justice, care, and return to a more natural state can look like.
Will Poulter and Noah Centineo appear in Union County by Adam Meeks, an official selection of the 2026 Sundance Film Festival. Courtesy of Sundance Institute | photo by Stefan Weinberger.
Adam Meeks’ “Union County” is a painfully authentic look at addiction and recovery. Will Poulter is phenomenal, poignant, mopey, and detached as he portrays someone struggling to overcome an addiction he cannot control. Set along Highway 540 in Ohio, the film captures the authentic Midwest experience in big and small ways. You can see, hear, and even feel the damp, rainy atmosphere with crickets and church bells adding texture. Poulter’s character navigates an 18-month rehab program, working in a woodshop, with ups and downs dictated by addiction. An early car crash throws him back into old habits, forcing him to move and confront the fragility of recovery.
The counseling scenes feel raw and therapeutic, showing that progress is never simple. Recovery meetings are intimate and moving; one woman calls her group “my cure.” The slow pace and everyday struggles evoke the infamous Sundance classic “The Spitfire Grill,” emphasizing human resilience. Not all heroes wear capes, as in the case of the caseworker here doing God’s work, and Union County honors small victories with quiet empathy.
Isra’a Kassas appears in One In A Million by Itab Azzam and Jack MacInnes, an official selection of the 2026 Sundance Film Festival. Courtesy of Sundance Institute | photo by Jack MacInnes
Itab Azzam and Jack MacInnes’ “One in a Million” examines the actual cost of leaving a war-torn homeland, and the most complex parts come after leaving. From the girl’s perspective, shot over a decade, the dialogue is paired with free-flowing shots of city life, highlighting the ordinary routines that persist amid extraordinary challenges. The journey to Germany spans boats and land, exposing the family to harsh elements as they risk everything for a better life. Adjusting to new surroundings, like attending a better school. Relational strain emerges as the daughter struggles to connect with her father, reflecting the emotional toll of displacement.
The film moves through years of geopolitical shifts, which serve as a subtle, ever-present backdrop to the family’s story, like street protests against the AFD that paint the political reality. Returning to the war-torn country, the daughter reflects on her former life, offering moments of emotional resonance and sobering clarity. Viewers witness the intimate and difficult decisions families face when survival demands leaving everything behind, knowing that refugees risk it all for a better life, and how the profoundly human story is worth risking it all.
Sara Dosa’s “Time and Water” is a haunting, meditative documentary that explores memory, family, and a vanishing ecosystem. I got lost in the visuals, rarely taking notes during the feature, which isn’t a bad thing. Pairing archival footage with breathtaking nature cinematography, the doc creates a visual time capsule. Icelandic writer Andri Snær Magnason grapples with the loss of his grandparents and his country’s glaciers, and the glacier funeral serves as a poignant reminder of impermanence, both personal and ecological.
The film’s narration is soothing yet reflective, as melting glaciers and volcanic landscapes jarringly unfold, emphasizing what is slipping away. Noisy birds along cliffs, spliced with wedding footage, were a neat moment, as were the vivid maps and illustrated books that came to life on screen. Many frames are immersive, transfixing, and suffused with longing for what cannot be reclaimed. Time and Water is an elegy, a cinematic meditation, and a poignant reminder of the fragility of memory, life, and the planet. I can see this NatGeo documentary being popular among the programming at regional film festivals throughout the year and a worthy awards contender.
J. Alphonse Nicholson and Myles Bullock appear in If I Go Will They Miss Me by Walter Thompson-Hernandez, an official selection of the 2026 Sundance Film Festival. Courtesy of Sundance Institute | photo by Michael Fernandez.
Walter Thompson-Hernández’s “If I Go Will They Miss Me” is stunning in its simplicity and ocean-deep, with its themes perfectly balancing real-life grit with surreal, poetic imagery. A true highlight! Set in Watts, Lil Ant’s father-son struggle unfolds with reflective, poignant insight, grounded in lived experience. A reference to jet fuel dumped on children becomes a haunting metaphor for the world that weighs down on the children in this neighborhood. The film channels echoes of Chloe Zhao and Barry Jenkins, yet moves in a completely original rhythm.
There are some stunning shots (with a window and a mirror) during a confrontation scene. Another scene of one man talking to another about fatherhood is an incredible display of positive masculinity. (“Hold on to him tight and don’t let him fly away” was a lovely touch.) AI couldn’t make anything as beautiful, artful, and human as this movie. Walter Thompson-Hernández delivers a profoundly human, artful, and unforgettable portrait that I will think about long after Sundance. His follow-up will be one of my most anticipated movies of that year.
Poh Si Teng’s “American Doctor” is a brutal documentary that refuses to look away at the war crimes happening in Gaza. It opens with graphic images of dead children presented with purpose, underscoring that pixelation can become its own form of erasure. (“You pixelate this, that’s journalistic malpractice,” one doctor exclames!) Inside hospitals and outside war-torn streets, the film follows doctors who are mission-focused on saving lives and telling the truth. One man thanks a physician for doing God’s work, yet the doctor is haunted by how much more needs to be done, as some risk friendships and reputation for speaking out.
The film frames genocide as a disease fueled by political ideology, raising urgent moral questions about bombing hospitals and whether that is worth capturing one Hamas figure. Both guilt and duty weigh heavily, especially for those who eventually leave the region, feeling they are abandoning patients. A harrowing call to witness, exposing how silence enables the erasure of Palestine and the human cost of inaction. I hope a brave studio acquires this documentary because it is a must-watch.
Felipe Bustos Sierra’s “Everybody to Kenmure Street” is a powerful portrait of community resistance, grounded in history and solidarity. Opening with vintage footage of UK construction workers and immigrant laborers reminds us who actually built the streets and cities they live in. And when residents receive texts warning of an immigration raid, it is as if the past spurs them to action. Neighbors poured into the street, surrounded the van, and were there to detain Muslim immigrants on an Islamic holiday, transforming fear into a collective presence that inspired me.
What begins as a disruption becomes a peaceful sit-in (with snacks!). One line lands hard: “There’s nothing more radicalizing than being hit by a baton.” The film draws apt comparisons to America and to recent events in Minneapolis and ICE, positioning the protest within a broader legacy of human resilience and communal resistance. Reflections on suffragettes, anti-war activism, and Indigenous labor in mills connect past struggles to the present moment. One that will stay with me for a while.
Stephanie Ahn’s “Bedford Park” is authentic and gritty, unfolding with a quiet melancholy that feels deeply lived-in. The film delicately unfolds through everyday life as two souls unexpectedly come together. Moon Choi is luminous, and Son Sukku is somber. There’s an honesty to its deliberate-paced rhythm, and I did feel the runtime that lets life happen rather than forcing plot beats and a tidy resolution. “I just needed to feel something,” capturing a raw emotion. There’s a playful, intimate wrestling move that in another movie would have had humor or spectacle, but lands with unexpected tenderness.
Other scenes genuinely gave me goosebumps when I saw what was leading to these special moments. When they discuss the concept of han, about generational pain, it is revealed how it quietly shapes every interaction. A simple dance scene offers brief release, a moment of connection amid heaviness. “Bedford Park” is a small gem, patiently nurtured like the best relationships, and all the more moving for its quiet restraint and low-key knockout conclusion.
David Alvarado’s “American Pachuco: The Legend of Luis Valdez” is a vibrant, stylish celebration of a director who embodies the American story. Talking heads admire his legacy with such delight, reflecting its cultural impact and history. It sets up the labor of Mexican American farm workers who pioneered the way beneath the art. The documentary explores assimilation with clarity, showing how identity evolves. An intense sequence recounts Rubén Salazar’s death during a riot, capturing the chaotic late 1960s.
Chicano joy bursts through the scenes, talking about Pachucos, which rival Rocky Horror audiences with costumes more elaborate than the performers’! The influence of Zoot Suit on La Bamba reveals how one generation’s art shaped the decades that followed. A big highlight was toward the end with behind-the-scenes moments from La Bamba that are especially fascinating, deepening my appreciation for its unsung legacy and warranting a re-watch. This could have been a separate doc. American Pachuco is both an education and a celebration, illuminating a history too often overlooked.
