David, a young middle-class Jewish man—corpulent, gay and afraid of flying—returns to Buenos Aires from Europe for the funeral of his uncle. On his return, David learns that his mother has decided to disconnect his father’s respirator, the only thing that has kept him alive for years. David will oscillate between living in close quarters with his mother, alienated by the pain of the imminent loss of her husband, and a voracity to fill his existential anguish, occupying his hours learning to drive, seeking low-cost medical treatments, and trying to have sex with any man who shows him a little attention.
“Said Squeezes Magic Out of Melancholy”…“Brings this somewhat mournful portrait to a quietly moving grace note suggesting the silver lining of loss is a motivational reminder to the living..” – Ioncinema
“[A] treatise on the right to fail…A tender tribute to the misfits, to those who, from their peripheral and marginal position, see the world better than the winners.” – Troiscouleurs
“A tragicomedy that lives up to the term, as it finds irruptions of welcome absurdist humour (with something of Martín Rejtman’s cinema) even in the most tragic moments…Said’s cinema in all its dimensions, constantly deepens and evolves.” – Otros Cines
“A marvel, chaotic, sweet and sour, emotional and purely detailed…The filmmaker manages to immerse the viewer in his cathartic state of shock, he manages to connect with the audience in a pain so unique.” – Spanglish Cinema
“A burlesque and touching story about the difficulty of being an adult when you are immature on a relational, emotional and sentimental level…With intelligent writing and without anything superfluous, [Said] describes universal relationships with complex roots, a family life without warmth but not without affection. The lovely ending scene between David and his mother is the perfect example.” – Le Bleu du Miroir
“Most People Die on Sundays is a testament to Said’s ever-expanding list of talents…[a] clever approach to a delicate subject.” – International Cinephile Society
