Director: Laura Casabe
Writer: Benjamín Naishtat
Stars: Fernanda Echevarría, Dady Brieva, Dolores Oliveiro

Synopsis: Follows a jealous girl who enlists the help of magic to interfere with a relationship involving the apple of her eye.

With the opening scene of The Virgin of the Quarry Lake, director Laura Casabé pulls her audience in with a question. It’s a simple one at face value: can’t we ever have a moment to ourselves? It’s incredibly relatable regardless of what age the viewer might be. But for a teenager, in this case, Natalia (Dolores Oliverio), this question is one that becomes more and more layered the longer the film plays out. Those tuning into The Virgin of the Quarry Lake expecting a coming-of-age film will certainly get one. But excitingly, there’s a lot more present in this film than it initially leads on. What begins with such a common occurrence morphs quickly into something sinister. It’s this undercurrent that bubbles up into a larger problem which can’t be ignored that Casabé hinges her film on. She, and screenwriter Benjamín Naishtat, do so by linking the two cruxes of the film together. The first is the emotional element of it all: Natalia, or Nati, is on the cusp of finally coming into her own. The second is the time and place during which this film is set: 2001, during the Argentinian economic crisis. By wrapping these dilemmas up amongst one another, Casabé’s film has as much to say about a single individual as it does an entire society. The commonality linking the two dramatically? Apathy.

Nati is taking a bath when the film begins. What should be a calm release is instead intruded on by yelling that only becomes more pervasive. As she comes to learn, there’s a displaced individual relieving himself in the middle of the street. Before anything can even be processed or next steps can be taken, a man from the neighborhood begins brutally attacking the individual. It’s a jarring shock for Nati that catapults her back to reality. But for the viewer, it takes us elsewhere. It’s such a clearly unjust and upsetting reaction. Captured with such a cold lens, we very quickly want it to end. But Casabé doesn’t let us off the hook that easily. It’s only after Nati pleads to her grandmother to stop the violent perpetrator that the film eases up its instantaneous grip on us. This is an event that nobody would ever want to confront; it’s now something that cannot ever be forgotten. How long has this been going on that somebody could have such an explosive reaction to an unfortunate situation? The scarier thought is, “What if this was the first time?” It’s an opening sequence that sets your expectations on edge. With a surreal quality to it, it’s made all the more strange by the next scenes following Nati as if it never occurred. She’s in chat rooms with friends, listening to music, hanging out at the public pool. But it’s in this tonal back-and-forth that slowly blurs the divide between one another that Casabé finds the thrill that sustains her film.

It becomes clear during the course of The Virgin of the Quarry Lake that Casabé wants to examine the breaking point of both an individual and of a society. And the pair of these come about by a group of people that are both apathetic and frightened. During the period in which this film is set, Nati’s neighborhood is beset by frequent blackouts, rationed water, and lack of government assistance. In the few instances we see neighborly interactions, they’re marked by hostility, anger, and fear set back onto Nati. It’s not always entirely out of malice, but out of worry and anger that nothing is going to be as okay as they’d hoped. In turn, this feeling of isolation and what almost feels like entitlement, is a lens that Nati is beginning to see the world through. Casabé uses violence sparingly in this film, but makes sure it feels explosive upon its arrival. It not only jolts the viewer to attention, but directly calls attention to what Casabé feels we are teaching a younger generation. At one point, Nati tells a young boy her grandmother has taken in that “life is crap.” For the adults in her life, it most certainly is. And Nati is beginning to feel that, because of her own problems, coupled with where she’s living, this is true. Oliverio’s performance seems to reckon with what should matter most. But just because there’s turmoil going on in the economy doesn’t mean Nati’s personal struggles are any less valid.

The Virgin of the Quarry Lake primarily follows a group of friends who have known each other for quite some time. As they spend the summer together, it’s clear that the three girls and their beloved Diego (Agustín Sosa) have had little trouble operating as a unit. It’s not until Silvia (Fernanda Echevarría), a woman a decade their senior, swoops in and invades their group hangouts. It’s done in the most annoying way possible; through bragging about how worldly and well-traveled she is, alongside displaying all the excellent music taste and easy access she has at clubs and concerts. There’s a comedic take on this behavior, simply because we all know somebody a bit like Silvia. But more than anything, it’s embarrassing and upsetting. The former is felt when remembering Silvia’s audience is made up of high-schoolers. The latter is felt in that, despite both audience and characters understanding Silvia is showboating, Nati can’t help but feel envious of her standing. It’s working on Diego, whom she has more than a small crush on. The core trio of young women at the center of the film are cool! They roll as one, sharing expensive pairs of jeans, going to clubs in the city, doing everything together like any member of a tight-knit group fundamentally understands. So to see Silvia get under Nati’s skin so deeply is upsetting, and unwarranted in the sense that Silvia feels lesser than in their presence. But even so, Nati’s feelings shouldn’t be minimized! Casabé shows her audience what would happen should somebody try to do so. At such a young age, these emotions we have bottled up within perhaps matter most; it’s because they’re all we have.

By the time we arrive at the exciting climax of The Virgin of the Quarry Lake, the emotions that have been brewing the entire film are unleashed. Importantly, it’ll be understood by the audience. Casabé and Naishtat steadily build wilder genre elements into the foundation of the film before wholly committing. It’s an exciting feat in practice. Instead of opting for a full lean into overblown fantastical elements, the film operates more like a powder keg. It raises a question that Casabé and Naishtat are clearly interested in: Do we become who we grow up to be of our own accord? Or is it a mixture of the people we are surrounded by, the experiences we live through, and the setting we come of age in? It’s not quite nature versus nurture, but rather, whether or not we are willing to let ourselves be transformed by the world around us. How this film goes about examining the dilemma of transformation Nati and her friends face may be rocky at times in terms of character development, but as far as leaning completely into the conceit of the film goes, it’s an exciting venture. Ultimately, this acceptance comes at a price, and The Virgin of the Quarry Lake questions whether or not it’s worth paying.

The Virgin of the Quarry Lake is celebrating its world premiere at the 2025 Sundance Film Festival in the World Cinema Dramatic Competition category.

Grade: B-

Director: Sam Feder
Stars: Chase Strangio, Jelani Cobb, Lydia Polgreen

Synopsis: Civil rights lawyer Chase Strangio’s courtroom battles against anti-trans laws intertwine with exposing media narratives impacting public perception of transgender rights.

Chase Strangio doesn’t look like an attorney who has argued before the Supreme Court. He doesn’t look like an attorney, period, at least not the way we might imagine one in our minds. That vision is of a slouched figure who looks as though they’re nearing the end of an 85-hour work week, their hair thinning and graying, the bags under their eyes having bags of their own. It’s of the men and women we tend to see in commercials or on billboards as we enter cities where their faces are as recognizable to the general population as that of their favorite quarterback. (Trivia question: What phone number follows the words, “Hurt in a car? Call William Mattar?”) We see people who bring briefcases to steak dinners; the walls of their offices are covered in degrees and certificates, the likes of which no one actually reads, but everyone admires due to the words “Yale” and “PhD”; they don’t film Tik Toks, and if they do, you can bet that their Gen Z intern had a hand in orchestrating their stiff performance. 

Instead, Strangio looks like someone you might see enjoying a summer day on the streets of Brooklyn. He wears tank tops and jean shorts while making a pit stop at his office, the headquarters of the American Civil Liberties Union in New York City. He has a jet-black asthmatic cat named Raven whom he calls “Ravey,” an ironic nickname for the only cat who has ever calmly been administered a feline-specific asthma chamber. Tattoos stretch up and down his arms, and a stud is pierced into his left ear. Strangio does his hair in the morning, wears a chain around his neck, and anxiously eats an everything bagel with cream cheese on the floor of his office’s hallway as he awaits news of when oral arguments for an upcoming Supreme Court case will be scheduled. In other words, Strangio is more human than most non-fictional lawyers we see on a day-to-day basis, some of whom fight for basic freedoms, while most of them sleepwalk through legal proceedings en route to a hefty payday, no matter the outcome of their case. 

He also happens to be a human who, on Dec. 4, 2024, made history when he became the first known transgender person to make oral arguments before the Supreme Court of the United States in United States v. Skrmetti. The case, which was brought to challenge a Tennessee law that prohibited forms of gender-affirming care like puberty blockers and hormone therapy for transgender minors, is meant to look at whether these bans violate the Equal Protection Clause of the Fourteenth Amendment to the United States Constitution, which “guarantees that all people within a state’s jurisdiction are treated equally under the law.” A decision is still pending, though it is expected that the President of the United States will withdraw the government’s request for the Supreme Court to hear the case altogether; as Vox’s Ian Millhiser wrote in November 2024, Skrmetti is “arguably the most important trans rights case the justices have ever heard,” yet “it’s hard to imagine a worse time” for the Supreme Court to be hearing it. 

This case and Strangio’s presence at its core are what make up the basic framework of Sam Feder’s Heightened Scrutiny, and if Feder had elected to limit their film’s focus to that of a follow-doc tracking Strangio’s argument before the highest court in the land, it would have theoretically made for a captivating enough watch by documentary standards. But Feder’s films, including their Sundance debut, 2020’s Disclosure, tend to go the extra mile when it comes to broadening the scope of the film in question’s principal topic. With Disclosure, the equation was examining the history of Hollywood’s depiction of transgender people on screen and the cultural impact these stories had on transgender people and the country at large by way of personal stories from transgender figures in the film industry and beyond, those of which provide concrete examples of how the distortion of trans tales on screen affected their individual experiences. Heightened Scrutiny is even more sweeping, as it captures the lead-up to a historical legal case while also detailing how the transgender experience has been negatively portrayed in the media, and how such portrayal has influenced federal legislation in recent years. 

“We’re up against a manipulation machine that is incredibly effective,” Strangio says early on in the film. “So I am constantly thinking in those terms. ‘How is this going to be used against us?’” In order to examine the broad, harrowing “this” that Strangio refers to, Heightened Scrutiny brings in a seemingly-endless lineup of journalists and forward-thinking celebrities from in and intimately around the transgender community, all of whom have had their own experiences arguing for gender-affirming care, whether in writing or in oral arguments of a sort. These figures highlight how the mainstream media – from Fox News to The New York Times, from Matt Walsh to The Atlantic – have all played a part in outlining a playbook for anti-trans legislation to overtake the United States of America like an endless storm cloud. Whether that effort was subconscious or deliberate isn’t the point so much as that it has already happened, and it’s in the hands of people like Strangio to fight for the betterment of the country and its marginalized people.

Feder has a knack for interviewing incredibly intelligent, thoughtful minds in their work, not merely using sit-downs with celebrities and journalists for expositional fodder that recaps well-known historical information for the sake of their desired narratives. And to be clear, Feder has a clear-cut goal with Heightened Scrutiny, one that the film itself outlines painstakingly, but one that the director specifically stated in a pre-festival interview with the Sundance Institute’s Lucy Spicer: “Between January and June 2025, [the U.S. Supreme Court] will be determining the future of trans rights. I want to impact the public discourse before the court releases their opinion.” But they are not willing to take the easy route, as it were, in providing that information. It’s not rare to see archival footage put to use in Feder’s work, but far more of an emphasis is placed on sit-downs with perceptive thinkers on their chosen subject, specifically their history in covering or dealing with its realities.

In Disclosure, the journalist Tre’Vell Anderson – who identifies as gender nonconforming – offered insight into the history of transgender faces in popular culture that came not solely from an intellectual root, but a personal one. The writer and activist Tiq Milan, the professor and historian Susan Stryker, and Strangio himself also appeared in the documentary, which focused on Hollywood’s depiction and featured familiar figures like Michaela Jaé Rodriguez, Angelica Ross, Alexandra Billings, and Laverne Cox (who also appears in Heightened Scrutiny). Here, it’s the likes of The New Yorker’s Jelani Cobb and The New York Times’ Lydia Polgreen who profoundly examine topics like, in Cobb’s words, the “adaptable argument” that focuses on children’s safety when it comes to transgender and/or non-binary couples having kids, and how similar criticisms have been leveled in other cases, like interracial marriage. 

It’s through these interviews that Heightened Scrutiny can become slightly too in the weeds for its own good, despite the fact that its all-encompassing nature is imperative to the story Feder and his featured subjects are telling. The manner with which it unfolds can feel too academic, almost too well-researched for an 85-minute documentary to properly carry the message it wishes to deliver as effectively as desired. The weight of its central argument, to use legal parlance, may have been easier, for lack of a better word, to grasp if it was consumed in a court setting, or even in a peer-reviewed essay. In fact, that’s a topic Feder briefly lends some time to in the film’s midsection so as to highlight how often right-wing voices making broad claims against gender-affirming care based on generalities and one-off cases go unchecked, nevermind how harmful the declarations within can be to the transgender community at large. Perhaps it’s a case of lead-fingered editing, the desire to cut from point to point to point in order to pack as much information as possible into one document so that nothing is left out. But if anyone can understand that dilemma, it’s a writer, and given how crucial it is that every point is properly represented in Heightened Scrutiny, maybe the best takeaway regarding its contents is that it warrants a longer runtime, one that would make for a more streamlined and informative viewing experience. 

Better yet, it’s already an incredibly informative film that will require revisitation for all audiences, not because it’s difficult to pin down in one sitting, but because nothing it emphasizes can be properly understood in less than an hour and a half. If you think about it through the lens of Heightened Scrutiny’s contents being its primary character’s lifelong pursuit, then of course it makes sense that a dense and intellectual work of activism can’t serve as a one-stop shop for the education of less-informed audiences. Feder said so themselves: The characteristic that contributes most to their success as a storyteller is the act of asking questions. Heightened Scrutiny asks many of them, and it often provides answers. But the trend that serves as its throughline has been publicly persistent for decades – that being the lack of trans sensibility guiding cases like Skrmetti, something Strangio directly bucked by making his historic argument before the Supreme Court – asks a question of its own: What happens now? It’s not Feder’s job, nor is it Strangio’s, to provide a concrete answer. But a work of documentarianism as vital and dynamic as this is an act of activism in and of itself. It’s another punch thrown in a fight that, if our government has its way, will end in June, when the court is expected to deliver its United States vs. Skrmetti ruling. Heightened Scrutiny is here to astutely say, “Not on our watch.”

Grade: B-

Director: Questlove
Stars: André 3000, Chaka Khan, George Clinton

Synopsis: It focuses on the life and legacy of Sly and the Family Stone, telling the story behind the rise, reign and fadeout of one of pop music’s most influential artists.

Questlove returns to Sundance after his Oscar-winning Summer of Soul with another documentary examining the scope of Black artistry. Only this time, he channels his focus into a singular group: Sly and the Family Stone. And again keeping in line with his previous film, Questlove has provided his latest with an alternate title captured in parentheticals: Sly Lives! (aka The Burden of Black Genius). And everything one could hope to gather about this documentary is right there in either title. This documentary is very much about Sly and the Family Stone, and the borderline unquantifiable impact they have made on music. But in so many ways, this film extends far beyond the group and the man at its center. Their story is just the vessel through which Questlove begins his examination. This film attempts to question the duality of what it means to be a Black artist, and a Black genius, in any capacity. And while much of this film is reverential, and celebratory of the legacy of such an iconic group, it refuses to shy away from the devastating effects such a storied history had on the individuals at the center of it all.

Early on in the film, after a ridiculously cool and fast-paced introduction, Questlove pumps the brakes completely. We see Sly Stone preparing for an interview a bit later into the prime of his career. The reporter attempts to question the seemingly downward trajectory he’s been facing. Stone replies with the simple statement that “He didn’t blow anything”, and that he feels he never changed. It’s a sobering statement whether you know anything about the man or not. The reason being is that Questlove surrounds this section of the film with fellow bandmates, historians, and contemporary artists and icons who all allude to Stone’s issues after fame. From there, it grows into a larger statement on Black artistry, and how Black artists are viewed differently not just by the public, but by the industry at large. While legendary artists like D’Angelo or André 3000 have different thought processes in regards to the pressures of Black genius, they both appear in agreement that the toll it takes is a rather large one on an individual. It’s clear that, upon being asked, they understand the weight of the question. It’s a loaded question in the sense that there’s so much to cover contextually, subjectively, and theoretically. Questlove understands this too, and opts for a fragmented approach in this documentary that speaks to his innate artistic sensibilities.

There’s an undeniable rush to hearing music presented in the context of a documentary. And if it can be seen in a loud, dark theater? One of the most enriching experiences a viewer could have. As the film makes its way through an iconic catalog full of lush music that pioneered the artform, we arguably arrive at the peak of the mountain. There are many songs by Sly and the Family Stone that could surely be counted as their best. But there’s perhaps no song more iconic in their catalog than “Dance to the Music.” It’s one of the songs that practically transcends the artists who created it. To detail why a piece of art is so pivotal, so brilliant, so legendary in its status is a very difficult task. But aside from letting the music merely speak for itself (and come on, how can hearing this song not get you dancing in your seat?), Questlove takes an approach to detailing this song that replicates his approach to this entire documentary. Visualized in a very clever way, and detailed through music theory by a fellow artist, “Dance to the Music” is broken down into individual pieces. Each instrument is given its own moment to shine and is allowed a moment to be placed into the greater whole of the song. Each individual layer is then added together to create something magical. With his fragmented approach to telling Stone’s story and examining the burden of Black genius, Questlove provides details about the variety of experiences within Stone’s life to showcase the greatness, the tragedy, and the lasting effect on music history that he had. These parts all make way to a culmination, and exist beyond the mere moments in which they occurred much like the different instruments coming together to create a sensation. It’s a thrilling approach to documentary filmmaking.

Another wonderful element of Questlove’s direction is how stylish it is. Despite always remaining respectful to the reckoning occurring in the film, there is a playful tone to the style of Sly Lives!. This documentary is both reverential and celebratory of all that Stone has accomplished as an artist. It rarely enters a dry spell. Questlove is consistently employing exciting imagery and media formats to make for a cinematic experience that’s as exciting as listening to Sly and the Family Stone. He’s also not afraid to make choices that speak to how genuinely interesting of an artist he is. If the music of Sly and the Family Stone can be described as anything, it’s lush and constantly surprising to listeners. And for as stylish as this documentary is, there’s a fair amount that is particularly muted in response. It makes for an interesting clash of visual language, but it fits together nicely within the larger conversation being had throughout the film. Many of the talking heads for example, are mainly static shots in front of a starkly deep red or blue background. There will occasionally be close-ups, or quick action shots within the same space. It makes for a nice, simple contrast with the lush images and audio found throughout the rest of the film. While it can occasionally feel a bit fragmented, it’s great to see a musician so known for experimenting with style doing the same in his filmmaking career. They’re risks and slight missteps that can be looked past in the name of genuine creativity and artistry. Unfortunately, that doesn’t necessarily give a pass to the third act being a bit rocky. Segments of it take on the form of a traditional description of a fall from fame and become a bit directionless. Luckily, Questlove manages to land the plane by ultimately looping Stone’s later years back into examining how the public and the industry can so easily turn on Black artists.

There’s a palpable sadness to how Questlove captures Stone’s later years. It should be pointed out that throughout Sly Lives!, we witness a meteoric and awe-inspiring rise for Stone. What he did for music will be heard and cherished for generations to come. And one of the personal bombshells of this film arrives in the final third. In 1971, nearing the dissolution of the group and the rising legal troubles of Stone, it’s briefly mentioned in a newscast that Stone was only 30 at the time. It’s a baffling realization when looking back on all that Stone’s music had soundtracked throughout history up until that point. So while referring to his later years isn’t really all that late, it’s another painful reminder of the added pressures Black artists faced and continue to face. During a talk show appearance, Stone referred to there being “a pressure on all of us.” Through his musical output, he provided artists the freedom to experiment and create boldly without shame. This gift, coupled with the toll success takes, forced Stone into a zone where he seemed to do all he can to remain relevant. This is an artist that has given the world so much, and in his times of struggle due to substance abuse, the public, the industry, and the government all used his struggles to be made an example of. It’s deeply upsetting, as family members and former bandmates reckon with the alternate paths life could have taken them on had the world been more kind to a man who needed help rather than damnation. But in the end, despite a tear-inducing final moment, Questlove leaves us with a film that hopefully causes celebration and the cultural reignition of an electrifying artist. He depicts a fraction of the iconic samplings of Sly and the Family Stone across hip-hop history. He highlights the various contemporary artists who pay direct homage to the cover of the 1971 album, “There’s a Riot Goin’ On.” With this documentary, Questlove and the various people who are asked about it throughout the film admit there is a burden on Black genius. But despite that burden, there are artists who rise to the occasion and aim to shatter it over time. Sly Stone can clearly be described in many different ways. Many people in the film highlight this through a rapid-fire montage. But at the end of the day, it seems that the way Questlove wants people to remember Sly Stone most is to remember that he lives. He lives through all that he has given us.

Sly Lives! (aka The Burden of Black Genius) is celebrating its world premiere at the 2025 Sundance Film Festival in the Premieres category. It is scheduled to be released on February 13, 2025.

Grade: B

Director: Cole Webley
Writer: Robert Machoian
Stars: John Magaro, Molly Belle Wright, Wyatt Solis

Synopsis: After a family tragedy, siblings Ella and Charlie are woken up by their dad and taken on a cross-country journey, experiencing a new world. As their adventure unfolds, Ella begins to understand that things might not be what they seem.

When Cole Webley’s Omaha begins, we see nothing but a shell of a home. Based strictly on visual context cues, all we can fathom is that something in this house has gone terribly wrong. But when we first meet the primarily nameless Dad (John Magaro, in a gut-wrenching, astonishing performance), Ella (Molly Belle Wright), and Charlie (Wyatt Solis), it’s clear that things weren’t always this way. With a tender lens, Webley eases us into the midst of such turmoil. Dad wakes up his two children and gets them into a beaten-down car, begging them to cooperate and to gather the items they most cherish. Shot beautifully by cinematographer Paul Meyers in his first feature, so much of this film is lensed with obstacles in the way. This is especially telling in the introduction. We peer around the edge of doorways alongside Ella to see Dad as he seems to be holding back tears. We look beyond staircases we can barely see over and through dusty car windows seeing Dad speak to a sheriff. So much of Omaha feels, both visually and thematically, like a story we shouldn’t have access to. But the fact that we do makes it all the more special. It also makes it all the more heartbreaking.

Ohama is a film pretty much exclusively made up of deeply intimate moments. The approach to these events is more often than not captured through the eyes of the children, Ella and Charlie. Constantly utilizing a handheld camera whenever outside of the car, the locations and events of the film take on a larger-than-life-quality. We’re always pulled through life by the whims of fate and circumstance. But as children, this feeling is compounded through the lives of our parents. Whatever path they’re on, for better and for worse, is the path the children are often relegated to. So Ella and Charlie merely follow along on this journey with an unknown destination. Through the children, Webley often exudes a sense of wonder. The world just looks so vast and magical before their eyes as they run across salt flats flying a kite. They could seemingly remain there forever, frozen in pure bliss unbeknownst of what tomorrow will bring. All the while, Magaro remains off in the distance, carrying the weight of the world in his face.

To state it plainly, Omaha doesn’t work without the three outstanding performances it revolves around. Starting with Magaro, so much is captured in his face. The pain, despite the film only revealing momentary glimpses into it, radiates off his features. Robert Machoian’s excellently sparse script utilizes the lack of concrete information as a feature rather than a bug. Whatever Dad is going through, he is trying to keep his children free from that emotional weight. But he’s not hiding it nearly as well as he would like to. And thus, the brilliance of Omaha reveals itself in this veiled blatancy. The film subtly shows its hand early on. But from there, Webley forces his audience to hope against hope that we’re wrong. Magaro plays a man who is profoundly lost, and his children are unfortunately being caught up in this storm. To them, this is a confusing experience, peppered with moments of joy. The balancing act of such beauty and pain lies in the hands of these unbelievable child performances from Belle Wright and Solis.

Despite the unknown circumstances around which this film revolves, Dad and his children are a clear unit. So much of the film is full of inside jokes and adorably childish improvised questions. The common routines they share with one another have become muscle memory. Belle Wright is exceptional as Ella. As she tries to slowly piece together context clues from the behavior of her father, you can almost see her internally reckoning with what learning the results will mean for her childhood. Yet there’s still an expression of youthful hope across her face as she tries to entertain herself and her brother amidst the packed car. Next to Solis as Charlie, the two provide a genuine and necessary chemistry as brother and sister. Of course they bicker. And of course, they hide a depth of thoughts within their silent stares out the window. When they are creating imaginative stories in a play place or dancing along the side of the road, you’d never believe these two weren’t genuinely related. Solis, playing the younger of the two, provides such a humorous tone to the impending worry and curiosity of what might be in store for this family. The two have different approaches to brushing against the actions of their father, yet they both share the commonality of wanting to remain joyous and hopeful amidst uncertainty. 

All the while through watching Omaha, the devastating reality is this: many of these moments we’re made privy to are beautiful. If this was a standard road-trip film, it would primarily be an occasion beyond joyousness. These are memories that harken us back to moments in childhood that capture the beautiful simplicities of life. And yet, where Webley and Machoian take this film is tainted with uncertain worry. In the end, Omaha is a great film because of its ability to capture both aspects of this journey. There is a lot of beauty to be found throughout its short runtime. But there’s also such pain coursing through the very foundation of its genesis as a film. By the time Omaha ends, we’re forced to reckon with whether or not certain actions can ever be forgiven. Perhaps there’s a shred of understanding or sympathy to be found in the context of which this film is set, but it’s equally damning towards a society that has fundamentally failed the people within it.

Omaha is celebrating its world premiere at the 2025 Sundance Film Festival in the U.S. Dramatic Competition category.

Grade: B+