Screening at TIFF: Akinola Davies Jr.’s ‘My Father’s Shadow’

A powerful work of memory and political fragility, Akinola Davies Jr.’s My Father’s Shadow is a stunning semi-autobiographical feature debut. Set during the 1993 Nigerian election—when military dictator Ibrahim Badamasi Babangida overturned unfavorable results—the story unfolds through the eyes of two young brothers and follows them on a day trip to Lagos with their estranged father, whose interactions they watch and absorb.

Fittingly co-written by Davies Jr. and his older brother Wale Davies—the pair’s father died when they were young—the movie follows bickering siblings Akin and Remi, aged 8 and 11. The two boys are also played by real brothers Godwin Egbo and Chibuke Marvelous Egbo, who bring a playful, naturalistic energy to their childish arguments over paper cutouts of professional wrestlers. When their father Folarin (Sopé Dìrísù) arrives unexpectedly one afternoon, showing up indoors like a phantom, their surprise isn’t so much about seeing someone they didn’t expect but someone they never expected to see again. Davies Jr. shoots Folarin like an unknowable spirit, both revered and intimidating, as the film embodies both wish fulfillment and agonizing memory. It feels, at the outset, like a means for the filmmaker to better understand himself.

Folarin bluntly scolds the boys and drags them to the city to collect money he’s owed, during which he shows them a fun time and catches up with old friends and political comrades (who all lovingly call each other Kapo). They even run into a few astounded relatives along the way, who are surprised to see Folarin after so long. Without explicit gestures, the film becomes a ghost story of sorts. Folarin may be alive and well in the literal plot, but Davies Jr. often collapses time in ways that hint at something more soulful and more painful than a linear retelling.

Cinematographer Jermaine Edwards’ thoughtful use of high-contrast celluloid yields a warm and detailed texture, turning My Father’s Shadow into a living photograph—a memento of the past—breathing life into the city’s jam-packed rhythmic tapestry. On occasion, something in the movie’s fabric seems to slip, as if a projectionist had nudged the film strip aside to insert a few stray (and damaged) frames of darkened flashbacks, which Folarin appears to “see” in moments he zones out. With news of political atrocities on the TV and radio, Folarin and his children’s trip (surrounded by armed guards) becomes a visit not just to crowded Lagos markets but an excursion to 1993 from an omniscient future vantage, as though Davies Jr. were attempting to use images to send messages back in time—or to receive them from the past.

This sense of premonition, woven throughout the movie’s fabric, is counterbalanced with a childlike simplicity. All throughout the visit, Akin and Remi try to reconcile their father’s love with his frequent absence—a scenario so far beyond their understanding that it causes tantrums. However, despite this tale being told through the adolescents’ eyes, the camera remains tethered to Dìrísù’s introspective conflict without cutting away, always feeling within inches of a satisfying answer. Both in 1993 and today, Folarin remains an open wound for Davies Jr., but observing this cinematic version of him—entirely in his element and among friends and acquaintances—is perhaps the closest the filmmaker can come to truly knowing him.

If there’s a flaw in the movie’s approach, it’s only in how it’s packaged for international viewers. There’s a florid naturalism to the dialogue, which switches between English and Yoruba, but the former—a slang-filled Nigerian Pidgin—is often subtitled in ways that westernize the dialogue, robbing it of its flavor. Phrases like “No vex” become “Don’t be angry,” while longer, more detailed statements are oversimplified. The gossipy exchange, “Meself just resumed last week. I don’t know you hear Chioma born twins inside January?” is reduced to the far more clinical and formal “Personally, I just resumed last week. I don’t know if you heard, Chioma had twins in January?” in the lower third.

While this happens throughout, it’s not a dealbreaker by any means, but My Father’s Shadow was notably the first Nigerian film to make it to world cinema’s most prestigious stage: the Cannes Film Festival’s official competition. This speaks to the fact that international distribution still needs to catch up to how the rigidity of language can hinder artistic expression. These western subtitle standards in particular clash with the movie’s keenly observed realism, while the more accurate, more colorful alternative would have been an easily understood window into Davies Jr.’s recollections.

Still, keen eyes and ears are likely to absorb the film in full, given its vivid dramatic presentation. From its gentle introduction to its jarring final scene—a lifelike anticlimax that makes sense spiritually more than logistically—My Father’s Shadow acts as both a retrospective and a soulful reconstruction, breathing life into the past while distinguishing the personal and pragmatic details that inform the complexity of a person—even one who exists entirely in memory.

More in Film

• Screening at TIFF: Agnieszka Holland’s ‘Franz’

• ‘Make Me Famous’ Reminds Us That Ed Brezinski, and All Artists, Deserve Better

• Screening at Venice: Luca Guadagnino’s ‘After the Hunt’

• Screening at TIFF: Nia DaCosta’s ‘Hedda’

• BlackStar Film Festival’s 2025 Selections Unpack the Power and Pretense of Cinema as a Liberatory Tool

• Screening at Venice: Gus Van Sant’s ‘Dead Man’s Wire’