I could do Sundance ’20 without breaking a sweat. I could wangle tickets from publicists like I did last year, and without a single care about wearing a Camp Woke press pass around my neck. And I’d have a good time doing the usual social whirlygig and wearing my black cowboy hat and so on.

But you know what? Fuck Sundance. The films simply aren’t vital or necessary enough — they’re for people in the greater Sundance community who may or may not tell their friends to stream this or that festival favorite down the road, and that’s all.

Yes, they screened Lulu Wang‘s The Farewell last year and that was certainly a good thing, but the classic Sundance glory days are over. The era of debuting Oscar favorites like Manchester By The Sea and Call Me By Your Name is almost certainly drawing to a close. Because Sundance is no longer a launchpad — it’s become a self-absorbed instruction chamber for woke Stalinism and the perpetuation of Sundance movies that say the right p.c. things.

I’d like to go because I’ve been attending for 25 or 26 years straight and it’s in my January blood, but it’s just not worth the money and the hassle any more. The usual five or six standouts will screen and stream in good time. On top of which money is a little tight this year so maybe next year or maybe never again…who knows?

Or maybe not until independent film culture shifts into another mode and instructive representational wokesterism is no longer the dominant tune being played on the bagpipes.