It was the summer of 1980 when two directors of Salt Lake City’s United States Film Festival walked into my office at the Park City Chamber Bureau and asked if we’d like to have their festival in Park City. They explained the festival, started in 1978 with the help of the Utah Film Commission, featured what they called “regional films”—small, unique films that were made outside the Hollywood system. They said the actor Robert Redford, chair of their board, and producer Sydney Pollack, a board member, had suggested the move.

I thought it was a perfect fit: edgy, independent films in a rebellious, progressive town. Our board proposed the festival for the third week in January 1981, since the town was relatively empty between the holidays and Presidents’ Day. We didn’t mention the blizzards during January and that Parleys Canyon, in those days, was often closed. They thought a snowy affair would be unique. It would be the kickoff festival of the year, and attendees could ski when they weren’t watching films. The chamber was asked to manage the box office (we sold tickets from a red, double-decker bus), arrange one party every evening (we talked the few restaurants in town into hosting), and make street banners (we hand-painted them on my dining room floor).

During the same time, Redford, with a grant from the National Endowment for the Arts, had organized a planning conference for his visionary idea of creating a place—on Provo Canyon land he started buying in 1961—where aspiring filmmakers could develop their craft. At the Sundance Mountain Resort, famously named for Redford’s iconic role, filmmakers would be mentored by professionals in everything from directing and screenwriting to marketing and film music and could sharpen their skills in a focused and remote environment that supported the creative process. The nonprofit Sundance Institute was born in 1981 with its first Director’s Lab held in June for 10 filmmakers. The institute has nurtured new voices in American storytelling in a magical mountain setting for all these years, staying true to its original vision.

At the first US Film and Video Festival in Park City, Redford stood in the street and hawked two-dollar tickets, films were screened at the yet-unrestored Egyptian Theatre and the brand-new Holiday Village Cinema, the gritty Western Heartland taught us what independent film was all about, and, of course, a blizzard closed Parleys Canyon for one anxious day. The fledgling institute assumed creative and administrative control of the festival in 1984 and expanded it to 10 days in 1985; it also added 28 international films to narratives and docs, doubled the attendance, and featured seminars and panel discussions. But the name didn’t change to Sundance until 1991. The institute wisely established a Utah Advisory Board to stay connected with local issues and feedback.

Redford finally had both a place of development for independent films and a place for exhibition where filmmakers would witness the impact and promote and expand awareness of their work, and the film industry would create a market for a new kind of film. In 1989, when former festival volunteer Steven Soderbergh’s Sex, Lies, and Videotape created a buying frenzy and went on to become a true mainstream hit, Sundance and Park City suddenly became household names and independent films began to gain recognition. 

Global Reach

As the festival matured, its horizons expanded. Redford’s relationship with Colombian writer Gabriel Garcia Marquez brought Latin films to Park City in 1989. World Cinema and World Documentary categories were soon created, and we began to hear a mix of languages on Main Street. International press followed and sent Park City’s name across the globe. The festival soon became a place of cultural exchange, and we learned how film is a universal language.

In 2010, I helped exchange students from Beijing, who just happened to be in Park City during the festival, attend Last Train Home, a Chinese documentary about the ordeals of millions of factory workers. The amazed students and their local hosts spent the afternoon discussing the film—in English and Chinese—with the amazed filmmaker. A 13-year-old Mongolian girl arrived in 2016 with the breathtaking film The Eagle Huntress about her story of hunting on horseback with a golden eagle. The Comanche Nation brought an eagle from Oklahoma so she could demonstrate her abilities here in Park City to an astonished audience.

Genres Expand

Sundance also brought documentaries into the mainstream and documentary filmmakers into prominence. Redford has called docs, “the new long form of journalism.” They tackle backstories and take deep dives into incidents and controversial subjects not well-covered by the press. In a festival founded by a leading environmentalist, many environmental docs like Chasing Coral, Honeyland, and Who Killed the Electric Car? have been screened. In 2009, a guest at the screening of The Cove was so moved he wrote a check to the Oceanic Preservation Society for $50,000 on the spot. After the premiere of the groundbreaking An Inconvenient Truth in 2006, a boy in the packed auditorium raised his hand and was called on by Al Gore. “Mr. Gore,” he said, knowing Gore only as the narrator of the film, “I think you should run for president.”

There were adorable kid’s films like Shaun the Sheep, Park City at Midnight’s outrageous horror films, films made by Utahns like Napoleon Dynamite, and crowd-pleasing comedies like Little Miss Sunshine. The screening of Fire on the Mountain in 1996, the history of World War II’s 10th Mountain Division, had one of the last local survivors of the division in the audience.

There were always coming-of-age films, sports films like Hoosiers and Prefontaine, ingenious low budget/no budget films in the NEXT lineup, and films by women directors and about women’s issues. There were the clever little cinematic snacks called Shorts, the category that Redford said was his favorite. LBGTQ+ films, a staple since the beginning with 1985’s The Times of Harvey Milk, spoke to the Sundance goal of inclusivity. Wonderful films came out of the Native and Indigenous program like Four Sheets to the Wind. Powerful political films like Anita: Speaking Truth to Power and Knock Down the House received standing ovations. The films drove local discussions for months after their screenings.

Music films also became a Sundance tradition. For more than 25 years, ASCAP presented the Sundance Music Café with daily performances and conversations about films and music that were always sold out. I’ll never forget sitting at the side of the tiny stage during a jam-packed performance of David Gray’s “Babylon.” From Neil Young: Heart of Gold, to History of the Eagles, to 20 Feet from Stardom, to Whiplash, and Summer of Soul, we’ve been treated to outstanding films celebrating music and musicians and often to the special live performances they bring to the festival. The audience gasped after the premiere of What Happened, Miss Simone? when the curtain opened and John Legend, at a grand piano, gave a surprise performance dedicated to Nina Simone.

Local Love

Like most local film lovers, every year I made myself a daily film and event schedule for all 10 days; got together my warm Sundance uniform with boots, cross-body bag, and sunglasses; looped my festival credentials around my neck; strategized daily logistics; planned meet-ups with friends; explained the drill to newbies and visitors; and headed out each morning with great anticipation for the cinematic adventure before me.

Parkites represent a significant portion of the thousands of dedicated volunteers from around the world who make the event happen. Wearing distinctive jackets, many of them volunteer year after year, developing lifelong friendships and impressing attendees with their cheerful attitude and local expertise.

Sundance distributes tickets every year to local groups with connections to film subjects and to high school students throughout the state for films that relate to their curriculum. Utah dairy farmers were invited to the screening of the charming 2013 British documentary The Moo Man about an organic dairy farm and students from Springville were mesmerized by Dinosaur 13 and were able to question the filmmaker afterwards. The harrowing documentary Last Days in Vietnam was screened for Utah veterans who served during the Vietnam War, including my husband.

As the festival grew, Park City grew. Festival experts turned unlikely spaces into theaters that had to satisfy the exacting demands of filmmakers and the industry. They often gifted sophisticated equipment to venues that made them better all year long. Additional sanctioned Sundance events—more than 100 each year—were held in restaurants, shops, galleries, yoga studios, churches, and any nook and cranny they could find.

In 2006, festival offices moved from Salt Lake to Park City and the operations and staff became a part of the community, creating jobs, connecting with City Hall, and getting to know local suppliers and expertise. The town became expert at handling major international events, transportation, crowd control, logistics, and emergency management.

Sundance has been lauded for its accommodation of people with disabilities, no small feat when dealing with deep snow. It has won awards for its commitment to reducing its environmental impact and for its recycling practices, goals that Park City shares too. During the festival, Park City’s stellar police, firefighters, and medical professionals deal with people not used to life in wintery mountains—people who thought it was a good idea to wear high heels on solid ice, who didn’t realize the effect of alcohol at high altitudes, who didn’t recognize frostbitten toes. A filmmaker once told a reporter that he prepared for Sundance by “spending 72 hours in a meat locker.”

Redford’s struggle to keep the festival small and to always get back to its core purpose was constant and often overwhelmed by outside influences. But somehow, the strength of Sundance has endured—it is the largest and longest running independent film festival in the country. It changed an entire industry, pumped content with artistic integrity into the system, created a community of independent filmmakers, and became a global forum for cultural dialogue. It is renowned for innovative storytelling. How lucky Park City has been to host the festival for 40 years, to watch history being made. How lucky I am to have 40 years of treasured Sundance memories.

Redford’s gift to Park City, and to us all, has transformed our town and our lives. It has made us smarter, more tolerant, more joyful, more informed, more connected, and more humane. We are all richer for it. Mr. Redford is right: We all hunger for beautifully told stories. 

Author Tina Stahlke Lewis has lived in Park City for nearly 50 years and has been a member of the Sundance Utah Advisory Board for more than three decades.