David

The Shepherd’s Song in High Definition

For decades, the "faith-based film" has occupied a specific, often derided, corner of the cinematic map. It was a genre defined less by artistic ambition and more by a utilitarian need to sermonize, often resulting in films that felt like visual pamphlets rather than cinema. However, Phil Cunningham’s *David* (2025) arrives not as a humble plea for attention, but as a thunderous declaration of technical competence. Distributed by Angel Studios and buoyed by a record-shattering crowdfunding campaign, this animated musical seeks to do for the Old Testament what DreamWorks’ *The Prince of Egypt* did for the Exodus nearly thirty years ago: transcend the Sunday School classroom to become a legitimate piece of mythic storytelling.



Visually, *David* is a startling achievement. The animation, produced by Sunrise Productions, rejects the uncanny valley often found in lower-budget independent features in favor of a vibrant, tactile aesthetic that rivals the output of major Hollywood houses. The film understands the language of scale—a necessity for a story that hinges on the contrast between the diminutive and the gargantuan.

The directors, Cunningham and Brent Dawes, utilize this to great effect in the film’s action set pieces. The early sequence where the young shepherd defends his flock from a lion is not merely a plot beat to establish bravery; it is a kinetic ballet of fur and dust, choreographed with a fluidity that emphasizes David’s reliance on agility over brute strength. The lighting, too, plays a crucial narrative role, bathing the Judean hills in a golden, ethereal glow that visually reinforces the protagonist's divine favor long before the prophet Samuel arrives with his horn of oil.



However, where the film’s visual language soars, its narrative voice sometimes stumbles under the weight of its own accessibility. In its effort to humanize a biblical titan, the script occasionally flattens David into a recognizable modern archetype: the misunderstood dreamer. Voiced by Phil Wickham, David speaks with a contemporary cadence that can feel jarringly anachronistic against the ancient backdrop. While *The Prince of Egypt* maintained a Shakespearean gravity, *David* leans closer to the Disney Renaissance formula, softening the edges of Iron Age brutality to make room for catchy, radio-ready musical numbers.

This sanitation is most evident in the film's treatment of violence. The story of David is inherently bloody—a saga of decapitation and war. Yet, the film dances around this visceral reality, opting for a PG-rated safety that protects the audience but perhaps dilutes the stakes. The eventual confrontation with Goliath is visually spectacular, treating the giant as a towering force of nature, yet the climax feels cleaner than the messy, desperate struggle the text implies.



Despite these tonal concessions, the film possesses a genuine emotional core. It succeeds in portraying David not as a warrior-king in waiting, but as an artist whose primary weapon is his devotion. The film argues that David’s power comes from his ability to see the world through a lens of worship rather than fear. This perspective shifts the narrative focus from external conquest to internal fortitude, a theme that resonates deeply in our current cultural moment of anxiety and polarization.

Ultimately, *David* represents a seismic shift in independent animation. It proves that a crowdfunded project can command the screen with the same authority as a studio tentpole. While it may not fully reach the complex, tragic heights of the biblical source material—choosing instead the comfort of a hero’s journey—it stands as a beautifully rendered testament to the enduring power of this ancient story. It is a film that demands to be looked *at*, even if one wishes it was occasionally harder to look *away* from the grittier truths of its history.