There’s something bittersweet about approaching this year’s Sundance Film Festival knowing it marks the end of an era in Park City. For decades, those snow-covered streets have been synonymous with discovery, debate, and the thrill of encountering films before the rest of the world catches up. In theory, a farewell year like this should have felt like a victory lap for its original location, a reminder of why Sundance mattered in the first place. Instead, the festival unfolded with an uneven rhythm.
To be clear, this was far from a failure. Sundance 2026 delivered its share of genuine highs and moments of artistic clarity, but they arrived alongside a frustrating number of misfires and films that felt undercooked or oddly muted. As a whole, it left me feeling underwhelmed, not because the promise wasn’t there, but because the execution so often fell short of what this final Park City chapter deserved.
The Musical
Sundance has long served as the starting lane of the new film year, a place where genuine discoveries often announce themselves early. So when this year’s lineup included a black comedy starring Rob Lowe, one that seemed primed to lean into the satirical sensibilities of Hamlet 2, the question wasn’t what could go right, but what could possibly go wrong. The answer, unfortunately, is quite a lot. What aims for provocation instead settles into a pit of mediocrity and forgettability, a frustrating outcome for what should have been one of Sundance 2026’s more intriguing premises.
The Musical follows Doug, a failed playwright whose dreams of earning a prestigious fellowship in New York still linger as he teaches at a middle school. After a breakup with Abigail, Doug learns she is now dating Principal Brady, a revelation that sends him spiraling. Channeling his resentment, Doug begins to scheme, hijacking what is meant to be a straightforward production of West Side Story and reshaping it into an original work that ultimately leaves everyone involved in a state of shock.
Alexander Heller’s screenplay begins with an intriguing premise but struggles to make good on it in execution. Aside from the film’s final-act musical, which admittedly works in its attempt to shock, the rest of the film never rises to that same level, gradually settling into a dull and uninvolving experience by the time the credits roll.
The Musical is unlikely to land on any worst-of-the-year lists, but it never comes close to fulfilling the promise of its wacky premise. The performances fail to leave a lasting impression, and what remains is a film that ultimately fades into a largely forgettable cinematic experience.
Public Access
In today’s media landscape, it’s easy to forget a time when public access television didn’t just exist, but served as a genuine landing ground for some of the most eccentric and inventive voices on TV. It’s a fascinating era, which makes David Shadrack Smith’s documentary all the more disappointing. What should have been an energetic dive into one of television’s most exciting subcultures instead plays like a mundane chore, rarely finding a way to meaningfully connect with its audience.
Told largely through archival footage, Public Access traces the rise of Manhattan’s public access television channels, beginning in the 1970s and running through the 1990s, while exploring their lasting influence on television today. When the film leans into that history and allows the footage to speak for itself, Smith’s documentary briefly comes alive. Those moments are where the film feels most energized, even if that energy never quite matches the wildness of what’s being shown.
Ultimately, Public Access plays like a story of missed potential. Given the cult-like nature of its subject, there was reason to believe this could have been one of the festival’s standout documentaries. Instead, it lands as a flawed and underwhelming effort, one that never fully captures the chaos, creativity, or spirit of the era it so clearly admires.
Run Amok
Sundance 2026’s selections certainly didn’t shy away from difficult subject matter. Films like Josephine tackled heavy themes with near-perfect control, while others, like Run Amok, began on a note of genuine poignancy only to land as a passable yet ultimately frustrating experience.
Films centered on school shootings remain among the most difficult to get right. Ironically, one of the most effective examinations of the aftermath of such tragedies premiered at Sundance years ago with Mass. With Run Amok, the attempt to strike a tonal balance between drama and dark comedy doesn’t always work, but the film does occasionally find its footing in the way it chooses to tell its story.
Told through the perspective of Meg, Run Amok takes place a decade after a school shooting in which her mother, a teacher, was killed. As the ten-year remembrance ceremony approaches, Meg is encouraged by Mr. Shelby to participate, prompting her to craft a musical centered on the day of the tragedy.
Writer-director NB Mager’s screenplay is at its strongest when exploring the many ways grief is processed rather than resolved. This is most evident in a devastating sequence in which Meg guides her castmates through the school’s hallways, retracing the events of the shooting and ultimately her mother’s death. It’s a harrowing and powerful moment, though by the third act, the film’s emotional highs are increasingly outweighed by its missteps.
Alyssa Marvin delivers a wonderful, breakout performance, navigating Meg’s trauma with a quiet sadness that’s thoughtfully balanced by moments of understated quirkiness. While the supporting cast largely fades into the background, Patrick Wilson remains reliably solid.
Ultimately, Run Amok is a film driven by ambition and sincerity, even as its execution falters. At its best, it offers moments of real emotional clarity, particularly in how it frames grief as something endured rather than overcome. By the time it reaches its conclusion, however, those moments feel increasingly isolated, weighed down by tonal shifts that never fully feel cohesive. There’s something admirable in its willingness to take risks with such painful material, but admiration alone doesn’t translate into impact, leaving behind a film that gestures toward something powerful without ever fully becoming it.
