Tammie Rosen, the Sundance Institute’s chief communications officer, died in December at the age 49. While the indie film world has mourned her in recent weeks, Rosen will surely be top of mind on Thursday when the 42nd annual Sundance Film Festival kicks off. This Sundance is already an emotional one, as the Robert Redford-founded event will mark its last year in Park City, Utah before heading to Colorado. Another veteran Hollywood comms exec, Brooke Blumberg of Sunshine Sachs, worked alongside Rosen for decades. Here she offers a remembrance worthy of a friend and colleague who helped great storytellers reach global audiences. – Matt Donnelly
There are rare humans in show business who remind us that what we do matters. Not because of the noise we make, but because of the stories we tell and how we tell them. Tammie Rosen was one of those souls. The kindest, most gentle bulldog I’ve ever known.
For over twenty years, I had the good fortune of knowing Tammie in every capacity: as the best adversary, the fiercest advocate, a buddy comedy of a client, a friend who showed up, and a rock. In an industry where the landscape has transformed more times than we can count over those two decades, Tammie always showed us a way forward.
She understood something fundamental that so many have forgotten — publicity is a craft. An art form. It’s not about the email blast for the sake of making noise. Through her example, Tammie taught me the importance of relationships. She knew that this work was built on human connection. Her Rolodex was legendary (she probably had a physical Rolodex somewhere), but it wasn’t just names on cards. These were relationships she had cultivated, nurtured and protected. She understood media and culture, and she knew how to read closely for intention and impact. She had an almost-mystical ability to know exactly the right person at exactly the right time.
Journalists loved her (and man did she frustrate them, in the best way!). They trusted her because she was honest and fair, and they got a kick out of her beautiful looniness. If you had to market Tammie’s special sauce, it would be built around how much she cared. Cared about the art of publicity. She elevated it. She honored it. She reminded all of us that telling stories about the people who tell stories is important work.
Tammie poured everything into her work. There was never a “no,” it was, “Who’s next? What are we telling them?” There were grids upon grids, mapping out every angle, every outlet, every relationship, every narrative. There were endless calls and meetings – and people actually loved sitting through them. We would drink up all the knowledge, dissect what was working and what wasn’t and strategize until we had it right. It’s so rare to get a consistent teacher in this business, and Tammie provided that for everyone who worked with her. She took the time to teach and mentor so many, and she LOVED it. This was not a job to Tammie, but a life’s work that she poured her entire heart into.
God, did we have fun. Hour 17, backstage? No problem. Nothing came without a cackle from Tammie. Her infamous late nights bled into late mornings. Even on day six of a festival, backstage eating whatever catering leftovers we could scrounge, she was present. Never without her famous red lips. Always shining. Filmmakers adored her. She cared so deeply for the independent film community uplifting those artists. They felt safe with her.