David Ayala

David Ayala’s filmography lately is kind of a whirlwind—no joke, the guy’s been busy. Demain nous serons guéris (2023) kind of snuck up on everyone. This isn’t your typical feel-good flick; it’s more like a slow-burn where every character is looking for some sort of redemption, but honestly, it’s messy in a way that feels real. You’re following people who are pretty much just stumbling through life, grabbing at hope wherever they can find it. It doesn’t hand you answers. Instead, you’re left with a bunch of questions about what “healing” even means. Then comes Miséricorde (2024), which, wow, is heavy. The story dives headfirst into forgiveness and guilt, not shying away from the ugly sides of human nature. There’s this grittiness—like, nobody’s pretending to be a saint. Ayala doesn’t sugarcoat anything. It’s all raw nerves and regret, with characters who cheat, lie, and sometimes do the right thing for all the wrong reasons. The film makes you squirm a little, but in a way that’s weirdly satisfying. And Freedom (2024)? That one’s a trip. You’re tossed into a world where people are fighting for something bigger than themselves, but it’s not all grand speeches and heroic sacrifices. Instead, it’s messy, complicated, and sometimes even a little bit funny. Ayala’s characters are deeply flawed, but that’s exactly what makes them relatable. You can’t help but root for them, even when they’re making terrible decisions. There’s this sense that freedom isn’t something handed to you—it’s something you have to claw your way toward, mistakes and all.