My Father’s Shadow is a project with a pertinent demeanor—one that draws you from the vastness of cinema, demanding a place in whatever could constitute a personal schedule that you might have. Of course, the reasons for this almost primordial attraction are not mysterious. It is no small feat to feature Un Certain Regard—among a selection of 20 films with non-traditional premises—at the most prestigious film festival in the world: Cannes. My Father’s Shadow was also the first ever Nigerian film to be an Official Selection at Cannes, eventually getting a special mention for the Camera d’Or, an award for the best first feature film presented at the festival.

I had the opportunity to experience the film’s Nigerian debut in Ikeja, Lagos on September 19, and in short, my perspective is that it remains an ethereal piece of work that straddles the divide of poetic documentation and independent history.

In the run-up to seeing the picture, my understanding was that it was a father-son story. Two young brothers (played by real-life brothers Chibuike Marvellous Egbo and Godwin Egbo) would spend a day with their father (Sope Dirisu) exploring Lagos in one of the most politically charged atmospheres of Nigeria’s history—the aftermath of the June 1993 Presidential Elections.

Being semi-autobiographical, the story delivers on that theme strikingly, which is of note seeing as the director was barely two years old when he lost his own father. From a stylistic perspective, it also made sense that the film was written by a pair of brothers—Akinola Davis Jr., who directed the picture, and Wale Davies, who you would probably more readily identify as Tec from the conscious rap duo Show Dem Camp.

Also of note is the masterful portrayal of the brotherhood dynamic in this story, perhaps in the best way that I’ve ever seen on the big screen. Being a brother to a brother myself, I could relate to the endless arguments over everything from paper cut-out wrestling figures to more complex confrontations about our parents, ideas, and whether or not to share our monies with each other.  

At this juncture, it would be unbiblical not to spotlight the talent. Dirisu, Nigerian in heritage but London-born and raised, puts on a mature, contemplative performance as the complicated and worn father of the two young boys. You’ve probably seen him before in his breakout role on British television, starring as Elliot Carter in Gangs of London, or in the period drama Mr. Malcolm’s List, where he played the titular character. But you’ve never seen him like this before, shouldering the burden of his broken dreams, his youngest’s inquisitiveness, and eternal frustrations concerning the unpaid labour he still willingly provides for his employer.

My Father’s Shadow was Davies Jr’s maiden feature, but it wasn’t my personal introduction to the filmmaker’s work. Those would be his earlier short films, the award-winning Lizard, and a personal favourite, Untitled, which was originally commissioned for Somerset House Studios’ permanent exhibition space. As such, I was not surprised to see signature elements of his budding style superimposed on this film, including but not limited to stills, heavy themes of invocation and perhaps devotion, and—Untitled being a film heavily informed by his interactions with his mother during the coronavirus lockdown—resonant themes of distant family.  

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This review is aiming not to give too much away, as it is my staunch belief that every Nigerian should see this picture. But most resonant about this film was its urgency. Despite the incredibly well-grounded set design, from the ‘Hope 93’ MKO Abiola presidential campaign posters on the wall to the reverend Kenny Hill billboards advertising salvation, it was almost easy to forget that this film was speaking towards events from more than 30 years ago.

Take for instance the father, Folarin, and his struggle to collect his paycheck from his employer. This was an important touchstone of the film, on which the entire story’s premise rests. It’s the reason the boys follow him to the city for the day in the first place. And that same premise is heavily represented in present-day events, some 32 years after the happenings of the film, where Nigeria is still firmly wedged in the crevices of conversations on mainstay underemployment. I say underemployment and not unemployment because unfortunately in 2023, Nigeria started defining unemployment by the International Labour Organisation’s standards. Before, according to our national bureau of statistics, it used to be that you were unemployed if you worked less than 20 hours a week. Now? Anybody who has worked for at least an hour in a week is considered employed.

But it wasn’t just employment woes that had me feeling like our present realities are just hit songs from a national struggle playlist that has been on repeat for decades. It was the state of public transportation, infrastructure, endless filling station queues, rancorous danfo and beer parlour discussions. Throughout the film’s runtime, I was pressingly reminded of the aphorism by 19th-century critic Jean-Baptiste Alphonse Karr: “the more things change, the more they remain the same.”

However, perhaps less dismally were the nostalgic undertones of the film. Subtle nods to the lives we lived, like the boys refusing chocolate gifts from Mekus, their father’s colleague, until getting the slight gesture of a bobbed head that every Nigerian child knows means private approval. It was the disciplined performances of the two young actors, bringing their youth and timid understanding of the world into the film and reminding us all of how we saw the world as little children. It was Sope Dirisu’s majestic performance as a worn, tired young Nigerian father. You can see the frustration in his gaze as he takes in his environment, each passing experience reminding him of his stolen tomorrow.

But, most chillingly represented in this snapshot of our past, was the tenacious optimism. In a local canteen scene where the boys eat with their father as they listen to the news, a familiar phrase was uttered. “Nigeria go better. If e no better for our time e go better for our children time,” a 30-something-year-old career woman says. Hearing that made me sit up in my chair because almost verbatim, I had heard someone say something similar just a few days ago, when I was on a flight to Nigeria after a few weeks away. The only difference? In the film, the calendar says ‘1993’.

If politics is not really your thing, don’t be misled by this review to believe that it is all that is on display in this extremely well-told story. Stripping all of it aside, one is left with themes of supernatural intervention, a contemplation on conjugal fidelity, and of course, a study into the eternal devotion of a father to his children. If you will see this film as it makes its theatrical run in Nigeria for the next few weeks, look out for the story of how the youngest brother got his name; the fulcrum on which the entire story tilts. It’s a brilliantly delivered piece of exposition that was without a doubt, a product of a numinous, dare I say spiritual collaboration between the director’s vision, editor’s pacing, and the actor’s performance.

In the end, all reviews bear some form of criticism, harsh or otherwise. In this case, it was my experience that the story’s third act did not satisfy the arc that its beauty and resonance inaudibly promised—being birdbrained as a result of social media conditioning, I stopped paying attention for maybe 6 seconds in a film I paid rapt attention to from start to mostly finish. Somehow, that cost me a bridge to a thorough satisfaction of the end scene that I saw. Perhaps this is idiosyncratic of films with a 24 hour storyline.

Regardless, reviews are supposed to sound perspicacious, sophisticated, or perhaps, serpentine, exposing the extent of the worldliness and complexity of the writer’s perspective. They should possess an uncanny ability to communicate the emotions of the cinematic portrayal they dissect. But as I pen this, I’m fervently reminded that above everything else, reviews are supposed to be honest.

My Father’s Shadow was a remarkable debut, and I cannot wait to see more of the world from Akinola Davis Jr’s perspective.

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