[Pictured: a still from Natalia León’s “Como si la tierra se las hubiera tragado,” which is playing in the Animated Short Film Program at the 2025 Sundance Film Festival]
By Lucy Spicer
One of the most exciting things about the Sundance Film Festival is having a front-row seat for the bright future of independent filmmaking. While we can learn a lot about the filmmakers from the 2025 Sundance Film Festival through the art that these storytellers share with us, there’s always more we can learn about them as people. We decided to get to the bottom of those artistic wells with our ongoing series: Give Me the Backstory!
With less than a month to go until the 2025 Sundance Film Festival, we’re busy poring over the Fest’s program, eager to find our future favorite stories among this new slate of filmmakers. As we continue to dig into the Short Film Program as part of our Backstory series, we invite you to learn more about the Latine filmmakers included in this year’s lineup.
Among the short films whose directors chose to self-identify, 12 of the 57 titles in the 2025 Fest’s program feature one or more Latine filmmakers. Spanning seven of the eight shorts programs, these 12 projects include fiction and nonfiction works, animation, and short films that showcase the kaleidoscopic identities that make up the Latine community, including stories from Argentina, Venezuela, Cuba, Mexico, the Dominican Republic, and more. We’ve compiled responses from nine Latine filmmakers with works in the upcoming Festival: Natalia León, Rodrigo Ojeda-Beck, Gervasio Canda, Paula Boffo, Patricio Plaza, Jorge Thielen Armand, Juan Frank Hernandez, Joanna Fernandez, and Jazmin Garcia.
Read on to gain insight into these directors and their short films, which include stories about agriculture, returning home, day laborers, queer rave culture, the enduring nature of family, and monsters that live in the shadows and in our minds.
Natalia León (Como si la tierra se las hubiera tragado): This film was inspired by the work of Karen Villeda in her book Agua de Lourdes: Ser mujer en México. Like most of my work, the film was born out of a strong desire and need to investigate something that is very painful to me and that I could not understand: the numerous disappearances and femicides in Mexico. Since the film addresses a very complex and difficult subject, I decided to approach it in a personal way. My own feelings and experiences were an important guideline when writing the screenplay. My characters, Olivia and the pretty young girl, do not have a close relationship, as this reflects the relationship I have with these women: To this day, I do not know any of them personally; however, their stories affect me deeply.
Rodrigo Ojeda-Beck (The Long Valley): The film was shot in the Salinas Valley, a place both [co-director Robert Machoian] and I have called home at different times over the years. It is a beautiful and complicated place that we both felt has a kind of poetry to it, so we have always wanted to make a project that could bring some of the stories and landscapes of the area to the screen.
We are also consistently inspired by photography and specifically how it functions as a medium. Generally, photography is not about explaining what is happening; instead, each photograph presents a moment, with no additional context. I find a joy and a mystery in letting one’s eye and mind wander within the space of that one image. Cinema, on the other hand, tends to fill in all the gaps. The Long Valley strives to exist somewhere in between the two, guiding the viewer through an experience while still leaving the images and meaning open for interpretation. In completing this film, photo books served as a guide to help us think about how to assemble and sequence images while preserving mystery and openness.
Gervasio Canda, Paula Boffo, Patricio Plaza (Luz Diabla): The inspiration came from our local folklore and myths in the countryside. Especially the “Luz Mala” or Bad Light, a local legend, and “Gauchito Gil,” one of our most influential pagan saints. These kinds of figures are very integrated in our customs and daily life in South America, so we felt excited about clashing the urban and the rural through a genre that we love: folk horror. Plus, this clash is through the queer sphere: a gay raver meeting these peculiar gauchos, and what comes from that encounter. It’s a way to acknowledge our “city rat” nature in relation to our popular southern culture, too.
Jorge Thielen Armand (Pasta Negra): Pasta Negra is based upon the short story Tijeras by Karina Sainz Borgo. When I read her story, I was immediately transported into a world of sensations and complicated emotions — this is how it all started — but what I kept thinking about during the whole process of making the film was my own family members who remained in Venezuela, while the majority of us left.
Juan Frank Hernandez (Platanero): My childhood in the Dominican Republic near a banana plantation.
Joanna Fernandez (The Things We Keep): I was watching an episode of Hoarders at 3 a.m., as one does, and there was this sweet, little old lady who turned absolutely monstrous when someone tried to clean out her hoard. The counselor was trying to reason with her, saying, “What’s the worst that can happen if we make this place a little safer for you?” But the hoarder was inconsolable, shouting, “You don’t understand. Bad things will happen if you take away my things.” I could tell in that moment she really, truly believed it. I sat up on my couch, feeling both fear and empathy for this woman who was completely ruled by her compulsion. And then it hit me — what if she were right? That single thought planted the seed for The Things We Keep.
Although the idea sparked from late-night trash TV, writing the film became deeply personal. I pulled heavily on my own experiences with my mother, who struggled with severe — though undiagnosed — mental illness and had hoarding tendencies herself. As I navigated my complicated relationship with her, especially after her diagnosis of early onset Alzheimer’s, I realized how much of her trauma was inherited from her mother and how it had shaped both of us. The film became a way to confront that dynamic. It’s not just about hoarding or compulsion; it’s about intergenerational trauma and how it can seep into every corner of a family, much like the sinister mold in the film.
Jazmin Garcia (Trokas Duras): Day laborers’ beautiful old pickup trucks, ubiquitous to the streets of L.A.
Films are lasting artistic legacies; what do you want yours to say?
Canda, Boffo, Plaza: The idea of an artistic legacy weighs on us a bit, but one thing we’re sure of is that we’re part of a movement of South American filmmakers reclaiming our stories, telling them through our own lens. If we had to think about what our short film says, we were interested in portraying different forms of queer life through the lens of folk horror and exploring this urban idea of the new hegemonic way of inhabiting our marica, or queer, identity. Questioning it — and questioning ourselves.
On one hand, we align with perspectives like McKenzie Wark’s in Raving, which speaks of positive dissociation and finding a home and reassociation for our communities in THE PARTY. At the same time, we once saw a tweet that said, “What we as gay people need is to go to sleep.” We agree, as sometimes we find ourselves inhabiting a new hegemony of excess intensity and an overwhelming sense of urgency, disconnecting us from lives that exist outside this bubble of passions and acceleration.
Fernandez: I want my films to say that every person’s reality is valid — even the ones that may seem irrational. Growing up with obsessive-compulsive disorder, I’ve been riddled with anxiety for as long as I can remember. “What’s the worst that can happen?” is a game my brain loves to play on a loop, always conjuring answers far worse than most would imagine. Then, add Catholic school to the mix, and, suddenly, those answers weren’t confined to this Earthly plane. Eternal damnation really takes the stakes to a new level. That constant anxiety shaped the way I see the world, and it’s deeply connected to the stories I tell. I’m fascinated by the origins of myth, the complexities of morality, and how we create monsters and scapegoats to make sense of the chaos around us.
Through my films, I want to explore realities that others might be quick to dismiss, to say, “Even if this isn’t real to you, it’s real to them, and that deserves to be seen.” With The Things We Keep, I wanted to show how trauma, anxiety, and compulsion can distort someone’s perception of the world but also how those distortions carry truth. The mother in the film isn’t just hoarding out of irrational fear — she’s protecting herself in the only way she knows how. That’s where the heart of my work lies: at the crossroads of fear and understanding, where monsters are never just monsters, and the “worst that can happen” often has a deeper meaning.
Garcia: That film has the power to inspire continued acts of liberation in an oppressive world.
Describe who you want this film to reach.
León: My aim with this film is not to propose a solution to the problem. Rather, it’s a cry of pain and anger through which I hope to arouse empathy and awareness in the viewer. Therefore, I would say I want to reach as many people as possible.
Ojeda-Beck: Dreamers.
Canda, Boffo, Plaza: Ravers, horror and fantasy lovers, maricas, sudacas, LGBTQ+ folks, and all of those who appreciate South American weird fiction.
Hernandez: I hope everyone can be moved and entertained by the story of Ti-Frè and Gran-Frè.
Garcia: Jornaleros, immigrants, Angelenos, and cumbia lovers.
Tell us an anecdote about casting or working with your actors.
Armand: Together with my casting director, John Bedoya, I made the decision to work again with nonprofessional actors. It’s what we’ve done before and where I feel the most comfortable. We shot this film in the Colombian city of Cali, so it was a challenge to find Venezuelans there, and finding local professional Venezuelan actors was not an option.
Often Venezuelan migrants live in marginalized communities that are hard to access, but the main challenge was finding women who would be willing to let go of such an important piece of their identity — I’m being obscure on purpose, so as not to spoil the film.
As we began meeting Venezuelans, interviewing them, rehearsing with them, we realized most of them had been through situations very similar to the film — tough situations related to crossing the border on foot and of leaving behind loved ones and an entire life. And their lived experience was something we could channel into the film. I think this was achieved, especially toward the end where the actress playing the grandmother displays a heavy energy that still remains a mystery to me. When she first arrived at the house where the final scene takes place, she locked herself in a room and wouldn’t come out for quite some time. The house evoked memories in her that were painful, and she didn’t fully share those with me, at least verbally, but they came through in her performance. Ultimately, this kind of personal implication is one of the main reasons why I make films the way I do.
Hernandez: The Haitian actors didn’t speak Spanish. I coached them to learn their lines phonetically.
Fernandez: Jenny O’Hara (the mom) and Rebecca Holopter (Kate) are absolute powerhouses, and they deserve all the praise. What’s funny is for two characters who are constantly at odds in the film, they ended up getting along like a house on fire in real life. Because we were working with such a limited budget, we shot on the USC sound stages and built, shot, and reconfigured each room one at a time.
There was one day where we scheduled all of Jenny’s scenes in bed for efficiency, so she literally stayed in bed the entire day. Between takes, Rebecca would crawl into bed with her, and they’d just hang out and cuddle like it was a slumber party. Also I have to give a special shoutout to our mouse actor, Gerald. He was a delight to direct, though, like any true star, he had his diva moments. As an animal lover, it was incredibly important to me that we didn’t stress him out in any way. The challenge? We needed him to look distressed. So, we’d gently place him in the jar for a shot, and instead of panicking, Gerald would just lie down and take a nap. Total zen. Thankfully, we managed to capture one fleeting second of him climbing up the jar before he settled in for another snooze. We slowed it down in post to make it look like he was trying to get out, and voilà, movie magic.
Your favorite part of making the film? Memories from the process?
Canda, Boffo, Plaza: Developing this film was an absolute blast. The three of us had so much fun diving into our own legends, discovering the characters, and building the world around them. Of course, we couldn’t forget to ask for Gauchito Gil’s blessing! Every month, Patricio would visit his shrine to leave offerings, ensuring we stayed under his protection throughout production. At one point, though, we started to wonder if Gauchito might be upset with us for not offering enough — so we made an extra effort to make it up to him! Consider this a friendly reminder to keep him happy 😉
We also had an amazing time working on the voices, music, and sound design. Creating a sense of authenticity through the way this animated film sounds was something we truly cherished. We collaborated with payadores, a unique type of folkloric musician in Argentina who improvises poetic lyrics in guitar battles — like the folk version of rap battles. Two of the most renowned payadores in Argentina created the music for the gauchos’ songs, and it was an incredible experience to work with them.
Garcia: Dancing cumbia during lunch breaks with the actors! Our Jornaleros getting special treatment on set, uplifted as actors, made it a beautiful experience, one that was brand-new to them. Three of the trucks broke down [on] set — the grip team having to push a truck out of a ditch will never be forgotten.
Why does this story need to be told now?
León: Because the situation in Mexico is only getting worse.
Ojeda-Beck: We live in a polarized political climate that encourages passing judgment on others. In making this film, we tried very hard not to have it preach a specific point of view, but instead encourage audiences to connect with the subjects and the questions they raise.
Our hope is that audiences will be able to look at the issues the film broaches through a moral rather than political lens and recognize the universality of our shared humanity.
Armand: The Venezuelan crisis has been causing ravages for over 25 years now, and I think it has reached a tipping point after the disputed election in July 2024. Eight million people, or a third of the population, have left the country. This massive exodus has reached the political stages of many countries, particularly in the United States, where xenophobia is on the rise. Yet the Venezuelan catastrophe still remains widely misunderstood. While Pasta Negra isn’t intended to explain the crisis, it is a close-up look at one particular family and their emotions in the midst of surviving. I think such closeness is necessary right now. I think our world needs less info and more emotions.
Hernandez: To raise awareness of the situation of Haitians in the Dominican Republic.
Garcia: This story needs to be told NOW because we are facing an upcoming administration that threatens to deport undocumented immigrants, workers, families, people, in violent and frightening ways. Because this is not new and has been already happening.
It’s also important because the mainstream narrative has Americans buying into and affirming hierarchical citizenship, arbitrary borders, and falling into the myopic misconception that being an immigrant, especially undocumented, makes you a criminal and less than.
This story is important because it shows a group of people who are proud of who they are, their work, and their role in society, and they don’t need outside affirmations, just their own. And because we never get to see on-screen what it looks like when those relegated to laboring for others then labor for their own elevation of mind, body, and spirit.
Why is filmmaking important to you? Why is it important to the world?
Ojeda-Beck: I grew up in a small college town where we didn’t have access to cultural institutions like museums, repertory cinema, or other art venues. But my friends and I would drive to the [San Francisco Bay Area] to go CD and DVD shopping, and we could bring a little culture back home with us. I value working in a medium that is more democratic, in terms of access, versus arts that cost much more to access or can only be seen in museums.
Additionally, I really appreciate the communal aspect of film. In this era when it is easy to become incredibly isolated, there is something very special about walking out of a movie theater and recognizing that we have all just had a shared experience. That shared experience gives people something to think, talk, and even argue about.
If you weren’t a filmmaker, what would you be doing?
León: That is a great question. If I wouldn’t be able to live from my creativity and my ideas, I would probably dedicate my time and energy to helping others. Have you seen the film Je verrai toujours vos visages by Jeanne Herry? I would love to be part of a restorative justice program like the one depicted in the film.
Canda: Architect (which I already am) or a swing dancer.
Boffo: Musician or a go-go dancer.
Plaza: Anthropologist or a ballet dancer.
Fernandez: If I weren’t a filmmaker, I’d probably be a marine biologist hunting for deep-sea monsters.
Garcia: I’d be exploring caves or the human brain. Perhaps also running a flower farm with an underground radio station.
Who are your creative heroes?
Ojeda-Beck: Nathaniel Dorsky, Artavazd Peleshyan, and Hou Hsiao-Hsien
Canda, Boffo, Plaza: Lucrecia Martel, Satoshi Kon, Oscar Niemeyer (just to name a few…)
Hernandez: Satyajit Ray, David Lynch, and David Fincher
Fernandez: Guillermo del Toro and Ridley Scott are my creative heroes. Del Toro’s monsters have so much heart, and his stories balance beauty and horror perfectly. Ridley Scott builds worlds that feel real and alive, whether it’s a haunted spaceship or a dystopian future. They both show how genre can be emotional and timeless, which is exactly what I strive for in my own work.
Garcia: Mexican cinematographer Gabriel Figueroa, Audre Lorde, Los Zafiros
What was the last thing you saw that you wish you made?
León: Probably Tatami by Guy Nattiv and Zar Amir Ebrahimi
Armand: Persona by [Ingmar] Bergman
Tell us about your history with Sundance Institute. When was the first time you engaged with us? Why did you want your film to premiere/screen with us?
Ojeda-Beck: We premiered one of our first short films, Charlie and the Rabbit, at the 2010 Sundance Film Festival. Playing there, we began to understand that you only discover the full meaning of your film when you hear from the audience about what they see and feel about the film. Sundance audiences are true film lovers, so we are so excited to get to talk with them about this new film.
What’s your favorite film that has come from the Sundance Institute or Festival?
León: Flee by Jonas Poher Rasmussen
Ojeda-Beck: When we screened back in 2010, we watched Animal Kingdom at the Festival. It was a really impactful screening, and I still think about that film regularly.
Canda, Boffo, Plaza: WE CAN’T CHOOSE ONLY ONE! So: Blood Simple, American Psycho, Love Lies Bleeding, and Dogville.
Armand: La Nana by Sebastián Silva
Hernandez: Beasts of the Southern Wild
Fernandez: Get Out is hands-down my favorite Sundance film. Jordan Peele took a hard-to-tackle topic and turned it into a terrifying, hilarious, and brilliant experience. It’s a master class in using genre to say something meaningful, and it’s exactly the kind of storytelling I hope to achieve someday.
