-Who is Alek García?
I’m a filmmaker based in Guadalajara, Mexico, passionate about bold storytelling, emotional depth, and crafting a distinct visual style. As a director, producer, and screenwriter, I’ve worked to position myself as a strong voice in independent cinema, telling stories that live at the intersection of realism, psychological tension, and poetic symbolism.
I trained in Filmmaking at Imaginary Spirit Films, studied Film Production at the Cinematographic Studies Center, and honed my skills in Screenwriting at the University of Audiovisual Media. Through these experiences, I developed a creative language that blends cinematic precision with narrative experimentation.
I directed the feature film Tumorrou and the documentary Echoes of History for the Mexican Film Institute. My short films Cristal, Maybe Tomorrow, and Camila allowed me to explore human complexity through minimalist storytelling and emotional clarity.
Right now, I’m directing Roses Street, a psychological thriller designed to engage audiences through suspense and emotional intensity. I find myself constantly moving between post-production and new creative developments—always searching for new ways to deepen character exploration and enhance narrative structure.
My writing lives in scenes, my mind edits through emotion, and my heart is present in every frame. Whether I’m portraying the mystique of a shadowy neighborhood or the claustrophobia of a cabin full of secrets, I strive to capture human truth in its rawest and most cinematic form.
I don’t just tell stories, I live them. And with every new project, I aim to redefine what independent cinema can be.
-Do you remember the exact moment you fell in love with cinema?
The first time I ever went to the movies, I watched Jurassic Park, and honestly, it blew my mind. I remember being totally amazed by the magic of it all. Everything felt so real, fascinating, terrifying, and magical all at once. I laughed, I got scared, and I kept thinking, how the hell did they make this?
Funny thing is, I didn’t start out in film. My first steps in the arts were actually in musical theatre, as an actor. It wasn’t until I started acting in film and TV projects that I realized I didn’t just want to perform stories—I wanted to create them.
My first real experience with filmmaking was as a director. And from that moment on, I was hooked. I was completely captivated by the cinematic language. Filmmaking became more than just a job or a passion, it turned into the way I process the world. A way of expressing what I feel, what I see, and what I want to say. It became a way of seeing, of understanding the world, and of transforming it.
-Tell us about your project “Tumorrou”.
This film takes us into the world of a group of incredibly talented teenage actors who have joined a theatre company preparing to represent Mexico at an international festival in Canada. The story unfolds over the course of their final day of rehearsals, a day that, after so much work and dedication, becomes a turning point. The characters are forced to face their inner conflicts, personal realities, and unresolved traumas, leading them to question what comes next in their lives.
In Mexican cinema, we often see the harshness of society portrayed through the eyes of adults or marginalized communities. With Tumorrou, we wanted to shift the focus and explore how young people deal with their own demons, challenges, and the weight of their circumstances. Some manage to overcome them, some don’t. And that contrast, that truth, is at the heart of what this film wants to show.
One of the most special parts of the creative process was how involved the cast was in shaping their characters. Over the course of two months, the young actors worked closely on rewriting dialogue to make it feel more real, more reflective of their own experiences and perspectives.
We wanted them to truly own their characters, to read the script, recognize the issues, and adapt the language in a way that made sense to them, in their own voice.
So while Tumorrou is deeply rooted in fiction, it’s also a mirror. A mirror held up to a generation that’s often overlooked, yet full of complexity, resilience, and heart.
-Which Director inspires you the most?
I’ve always been inspired by both Guillermo del Toro and Darren Aronofsky, not just for their cinematic mastery but for how deeply personal their styles feel.
With Del Toro, there’s a special connection, not only because we’re both Mexican, but because he’s shown the world that fantasy and folklore can be powerful vehicles for emotional truth. I admire how he crafts intricate, poetic worlds filled with monsters that often reflect human pain more than horror. His attention to visual detail, his use of color, texture, atmosphere… reminds me that every frame is a chance to build meaning.
Aronofsky, on the other hand, pushes psychological storytelling to its edge. His films are intense, visceral, and unafraid to make the viewer uncomfortable. I’m drawn to how he uses rhythm, close-ups, and sound to pull us inside his characters’ minds.
What I take from both is the courage to be bold. Del Toro teaches me to embrace imagination without losing emotional depth, and Aronofsky shows me how to strip a moment down to its rawest feeling. Their influence lives in my work, where I try to balance visual storytelling with emotional truth, always aiming to create something that resonates beyond the screen.
-What do you dislike about the world and what would you change?
What I dislike the most is how deeply normalized injustice has become, especially inequality and systemic discrimination. In Mexico, and in many parts of the world, your birthplace, skin color, last name, or background still determine how far you’re allowed to go. Sometimes talent isn’t enough. Passion isn’t enough. The system is rigged from the start, and those who are born outside the margins are told to either “work harder” or stay silent.
And it’s not just economic, it’s racial, cultural, even spiritual. We still live in a world where people are judged, feared, or hated because of their race, nationality, religion, or language. There’s still a global sickness that makes it easier to divide than to connect. And the worst part is how often this hatred is institutionalized, how often it’s dressed up as policy, tradition, or patriotism.
What would I change? I’d challenge the idea that some lives matter more than others, just because of where they come from or how they look. I’d dismantle the narratives that glorify suffering for the sake of art, or that pretend diversity is a marketing tool instead of a human reality. I’d fight for a world where telling your story doesn’t feel like an act of resistance, but a right.
I don’t believe in romanticizing adversity. Adversity doesn’t just build character; it also destroys people. And we lose too many voices to that silence. If I can do anything through my work, it’s to make space for the ones who’ve been kept out, erased, or told they don’t belong. Because they do.
-How do you imagine cinema in 100 years?
I imagine cinema becoming something radically immersive, less about watching a story, and more about living it. I can see a future where storytelling is deeply interactive, where the audience becomes the protagonist, stepping into complex narrative worlds through advanced virtual reality or technologies we can’t even fully conceive yet. You’ll put on a pair of goggles or maybe something more integrated, neural even, and the story will unfold around you, not in front of you. It’ll feel personal, alive, and reactive. Something like “Total Recall”.
But as exciting as that sounds, I also have concerns. I hope that, a hundred years from now, we haven’t replaced everything with code and simulations. I still want to see real actors portraying real emotions. There’s something irreplaceable about the human face, the imperfections, the subtle gestures that no AI or motion-capture model can truly replicate. Cinema, at its core, is about human connection, and I fear that could get lost in a race for hyperrealism or algorithm-driven narratives.
What I hope is that the future of cinema finds balance. That we don’t abandon the essence of performance, storytelling, and authorship, but instead expand it. Technology should be a tool, not the storyteller. Directors, writers, actors, and cinematographers should still be at the heart of the process, even if the formats evolve.
I also believe that ethical questions will become central. Who controls these interactive narratives? Who programs the choices? What biases are embedded in those systems? Cinema in 100 years will not only entertain, it will raise questions about identity, agency, and truth in ways we haven’t yet begun to imagine.
In the best-case scenario, cinema will be more democratic, more inclusive, and more immersive, but only if we protect its soul while embracing the tools of tomorrow.
-What is your impression of WILD FILMMAKER?
I think it’s a bold and much-needed platform, one that really embraces the raw, independent spirit of filmmaking today. I appreciate how it gives space to diverse voices, from first-time filmmakers to experimental creators, without trying to fit them into commercial molds. It feels like a space where cinema is allowed to be bold, weird, imperfect, and personal.
What I like most is that it doesn’t just focus on finished films, but on the people behind them, their processes, their obsessions, their reasons for telling stories. That makes it feel more human and more relevant.
I also think it reflects the times we’re living in: fast-moving, decentralized, more accessible but also more saturated. WILD FILMMAKER leans into that chaos, and instead of trying to control it, it celebrates the creativity that comes from it.
