Of course Sundance is fleeing. Utah has become a hateful place

Los Angeles Times

04-04-2025

This past week, the Sundance Film Festival announced it will soon leave its four-decade-plus home in Park City, Utah, for Boulder, Colo. The gut reaction from many was 'Why did they leave?' Some close watchers answered by focusing on the 'political' angle to explain the hop over the state line — that it was all about 'leaving the red state for a blue one.'
But the move from Utah to Colorado wasn't political. It was personal. A reasonable, rational choice to protect future participants and preserve the festival's integrity from hostile state politicians. The closest the Sundance Institute came to an explanation was a single line in the announcement's press release highlighting 'Boulder's welcoming environment' and the new location's alignment with the film festival's 'ethos.'
Translation: Utah has become a mean state. While Utah's leaders often tout some economic success, there's far more to life than money. Women don't succeed there: Utah's spent 10 years at the bottom in a major annual ranking of girls' and women's equality. A school child was targeted by a member of the Utah state school board (and the Legislature chose not to impeach for that offense). Other kids now justifiably fear further attacks and public shaming. Partly in response, professionals have begun to exit the state.
When asked to summarize last year's Utah legislative session, local reporters noted it was distinctively 'less friendly' toward people 'on the margins,' and that it stood out for 'the legislature wanting to do things to people rather than for people.' Utah's been measured as one of America's rudest states, perhaps because it goes out of its way to show itself to be unwelcoming to women, LGBTQ+ people and, weirdly, Californians. Gov. Spencer Cox has said he'd 'love for people to stay in California instead of coming as refugees to Utah.' Not long after he joked he'd 'love to build a wall around our state.' Not exactly warm (or all that funny).
Kind of like the state senator who, after the announcement, immediately took to X to proclaim: 'Sundance promotes pornSundance promotes alternative lifestylesSundance promotes anti-lds themesSundance does not fit in Utah anymore.'
Utah's new brand is, in a word, hate.
For many this runs counter to the common public image — a chipper, smiling Utahn, maybe a lovable character from 'The Book of Mormon.' The governor likes to proclaim the 'Utah way,' which one local reporter defined as a place where 'politics and policymaking is really nice and polite.' But like the used-car salesman's grin, that can be a front. There's often a lot more to the story and some of it's not so nice.
Full disclosure: I lived in Utah on and off (due to military service) over the last decade. Our family called Park City home for the past couple years leading up to Sundance's announcement. I've followed along from the decision's epicenter, which is why the factors in the public contest often mirrored those in our own private considerations. And, like Sundance, our family said goodbye to Utah. We recently also decamped for Colorado.
It gives me no joy to write these words. Our family chose Utah once and hoped greatly for that to pan out. There are many wonderful, kind people there. For example, I was just at the Salt Lake City airport and talked with a woman who'd volunteered at the film festival for the past 22 years. It was clear she was sad. I was sad for her and the large local community that's supported the festival for so long and so well.
But there should be no doubt that Sundance's departure is the direct result of a public life that's been deliberately polluted by Utah's politicians, who've used bad laws and bully pulpits to poison the atmosphere as much as the legendary smog inversion that often leaves Salt Lake City with some of the worst air in the U.S.
Californians have been beating a path to Utah since John Ford made John Wayne a star with 1939's 'Stagecoach.' Part of that artistic migration included Robert Redford, who bought and bootstrapped what later became the Sundance Resort in the late 1960s. Redford also then created the Sundance Institute, the organization that would grow to lead and manage the film festival.
The annual trek to Sundance wasn't just an excuse for a fun Park City ski getaway (just ask Gwyneth). It was a filmmaker's springboard, to transform up-and-comers into been-there, done-thats, including Ryan Coogler, Steven Soderbergh, Ava DuVernay and the two Andersons (Wes and Paul Thomas). It's amazing that Park City — such a small place in such a small state (Utah's entire population is smaller than that of the city of Los Angeles) has been such a great partner and had a big impact back on California.
For Utah, the loss is a big blow. Last year the festival generated $132 million for the state, more than 1,700 jobs, nearly $70 million in Utah wages and about $14 million in state and local tax revenue. Beyond money, Park City will lose its heft as the annual axis on which global film culture spun every January.
The scarier part about Sundance's move is what it says about the times we live in. It appears we've entered America's third Red Scare. Of course it features issues and problems particular to our own era, but the net result is the same — a dedicated effort to cut whole swaths of people out of participation in public and artistic life.
While perhaps nobody in Utah maintains a state-level Hollywood blacklist, they don't have to. Utah's created an environment so hostile to certain artists that they've achieved another form of censorship. You don't need to ban people if they're made to feel unwelcome through fear.
The states that insist on drawing bright red lines between what's ideologically acceptable and unacceptable will be the ones where films are policed by politicians and art is destroyed by diktat. And when those lines are drawn, everyone loses.
ML Cavanaugh is the author of the forthcoming book 'Best Scar Wins: How You Can Be More Than You Were Before.' @MLCavanaugh