I didn’t get into Sundance (again).

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I didn’t get into Sundance (again).

There is an unspoken rule in my world that you’re not supposed to say you didn’t get into Sundance (or whatever prestigious thing you had your heart set on), because you don’t want the stench of failure attached to your baby before it’s even born. You’re supposed to maintain the plausible deniability that you didn’t submit to Sundance and that Tribeca was the plan all along or whatever.

You are all welcome to know for sure I really, really, really wanted WILD INSIDE to premiere at Sundance. It was rejected, and I cried about it. A lot. And not for the first time. And probably not the last time.

Most likely, if you sent a film to Sundance, you are like me and you didn’t get in. It’s less than 1% who will. Truthfully: it is partially that ridiculously tiny chance of getting in that makes us want it (duh — ever heard of the scarcity principle?).

Well-meaning people will say to you, “don’t worry, it doesn’t matter.” Well, actually, if you are trying to make a living as an indie filmmaker, it does matter — quite a bit, actually. Why?

Because Sundance comes first in the 2026 calendar. Some films will start to get noticed before you, and this will matter as the year goes on. Watch how many Sundance films end up on year-end lists, win big awards, etc. They’re absolutely starting — not ending, but starting — the conversation on what are the films of the year. (Not to say this is a disaster; it’s not. My film will be a hit anyway, nobody gives me awards anyway, so who cares! It’s just now I gotta work on plan B, plan C, etc.)

Because Sundance still carries significant cachet in lots of situations, like really ALL OF THEM if we’re being honest, especially if you’re American, because even your random cousin knows to be impressed by Sundance. If you don’t think this matters to your ability to get funded, seem relevant, etc. you’re nuts. Yes this is true even if “nothing sells at Sundance anymore.” In art, it’s not just about sales; prestige and relevance matters too. (Not to say there aren’t other ways to be impressive and relevant! There are! I’ll go get ‘em! But don’t try and tell me “nobody cares about Sundance.”)

Because now I have to say no to some really great smaller festivals who want the film while I sit at home with my finished film playing the stupid premiere game. (Does the premiere game even matter anymore?)

Because all your collaborators (and definitely your funders) want a film in Sundance too. For all the above reasons. It’s a bummer to let them all down (again).

…and for a truly long list of other reasons. Long story short: it’s okay to admit that a Sundance premiere would have been a benefit to your film in the short- to medium-term. That’s the bad news.

But the good news is this: in the long term, I promise you it doesn’t matter. Nobody will remember whether you got into Sundance in two years.

In fact, when I got into Sundance for the first time in 2016 with Nuts!, the programmer introducing the premiere said I was a Sundance alum and that my previous feature Our Nixon had played there. I was stunned, because it definitely… did not.

I cried for days upon receiving that rejection, so to me it was a very memorable experience. But three years later, even Sundance thought Sundance had shown the film. What a valuable lesson that taught me!

Getty Image provided to prove I was once in Sundance (actually twice —2016 and 2019). By 2019 you better believe I thought I was part of the “Sundance family” as they like to call it lol lol lol lol lol

I wrote this post because I know I am not alone, in neither my stupid Sundance rejection (again) nor my generalized fear on how I can stay afloat (I used to dream of “thriving” lol) in the film industry. I hope to share more in the coming months about how my “plan B, plan C, etc.” is working out with my Sundance-rejected movie. I think it’ll go just fine… eventually.