Arunphong Naraphan

Arunphong Naraphan’s “In Youth We Trust” is one of those stories that just kind of grabs you by the collar and drags you straight into the messiness of figuring out who the hell you are. It’s not some polished coming-of-age tale with a neat little bow on top—nope, it’s gritty, sometimes awkward, and honestly, a little heartbreaking. The movie trails a group of friends caught between the thrill of being young and the looming anxiety of what’s next. There’s this electric undercurrent, you know? Like, every moment matters because it could be the last time things stay this carefree—or this messy. The characters feel real. You’ve got the dreamers and the cynics, the ones who pretend they’ve got it all figured out and the folks who are just barely holding it together. The film isn’t afraid to get a little raw: fights that sting, laughter that feels almost desperate, those silent moments stretched thin by everything left unsaid. And let’s be honest, the soundtrack? Chef’s kiss. It pulses right alongside the characters’ highs and lows, making you feel like you’re right there in the thick of it. “In Youth We Trust” doesn’t try to sugarcoat anything. It’s about making mistakes, trusting the wrong people, loving a little too hard, and wondering if any of it really matters in the end. But maybe that’s the point—it’s messy, it’s real, and it sticks with you long after the credits roll.