“My Father’s Shadow” is An Unflinching Reflection of the Nigerian Condition 

I’ve searched for a hundred ways to begin this review, yet none seem adequate to capture the artistry of My Father’s Shadow. Perhaps it’s fitting, then, to start where the film does—at the very beginning, with the simple intimacy of a child’s perspective.

The opening sequence envelops us through a series of intimate close-ups accompanied by a child’s contemplative monologue. We witness the miniature world through young eyes: soldier ants marching with purpose, verdant leaves catching light, the blue sky, a solitary housefly navigating its small universe. We inhabit the setting, feeling the weight of the moment suspended in time: June 18, 1993, a pivotal juncture in Nigeria’s political landscape when change seemed imminent yet ultimately remained elusive.

The film first draws us into the intimate confines of a traditional Nigerian home, where two young brothers, Remi and Akin (brought to life by Godwin Chiemerie Egbo and Chibuike Marvellous Egbo), are navigating their familiar world. Later, we learn that the home was in a village outside or close to Lagos, where the couple moved after their marriage. The boys unexpectedly encounter their father, Folarin (Sope Dirisu), when their mother is out. He makes a decision to take them to Lagos, coupled with his assurance that they’ll return before their mother arrives, a promise that feels ominous.

What follows is a journey to Lagos, filtered through the boys’ wonderstruck perspective. They have the quintessential Lagos experience: their bus breaks down mid-journey; the relentless current of Lagos people nearly sweeps one away; they ride an emotional rollercoaster that mirrors the city’s chaotic rhythm. Folarin has come to collect six months of unpaid salary, a mission that, to the viewer’s growing dismay, proves futile. He becomes their guide through parts of Lagos, taking them on a tour that reads like a love letter to the city: the National Theatre with its cultural gravitas, the nostalgic charm of Apapa Amusement Park, the endless expanse of Elegushi Beach, the communal warmth of mama put cafeterias. 

As their adventure unfolds, the brothers begin to learn more about their distant father. Beneath his exterior, they discover kindness, a man still navigating his own uncertainties, fear of the unknown. In a particularly striking scene, the elder son confronts Folarin with innocent logic: their mother explained his absences as evidence of love; he works away because he cares for them. God himself can’t be seen, but he loves us, too, the boy reasons, so is absence the same thing as love?

This question—like so many others the film poses—remains deliberately unanswered, yet it remains long after the scene fades. It’s a meditation on the nature of love, the painful sacrifices, and whether distance can indeed be devotion. The film doesn’t offer easy consolations; instead, it trusts us to sit with these uncomfortable truths.

What elevates My Father’s Shadow to masterpiece status is its meticulous attention to detail. Every element serves the narrative with precision. In a scene where Folarin attempts to collect his overdue wages, the layered soundscape tells its own story: church chants ring out, soon followed by prayers from a nearby mosque. This reveals how deeply religious faith has woven itself into Nigeria’s fabric, offering spiritual sustenance where institutional systems fail.

As the boys linger with their father, they uncover fragments of their parents’ courtship, tender revelations about their mother’s preferences, glimpses of a romance that predates their existence. These discoveries add texture to their understanding of Folarin, humanizing him beyond his role as the absent provider.

The film’s climactic moment arrives with the announcement that MKO Abiola, despite winning the election, will not assume the presidency. Democracy itself becomes another casualty of institutional failure. Though I wasn’t alive during this watershed moment of June 18, 1993, My Father’s Shadow implanted within me a visceral memory I never had. Dashed hopes. A national heartbreak. Protests. Physical wounds inflicted by a failing state.

Director Akinola Davies Jr.’s decision to incorporate authentic archival footage from that fateful day amplifies the film’s emotional authenticity. The parallel becomes inescapable: a failed country mirrors a failing father, both unable to deliver on their promises. In the cinema, someone weeps quietly in the darkness, but no one turns to look, we are all wrestling with the same overwhelming emotion.

My Father’s Shadow functions as a time capsule, uncovering personal and collective trauma with clarity. It stands as an unflinching reflection of the Nigerian condition, the perpetual tension between aspiration and reality, between love and abandonment, between what we promise and what we can deliver.

Sope Dirisu delivers a performance of remarkable conviction as Folarin. While his occasionally wavering accent might distract purists, it pales beside the truth of his portrayal. Folarin yearns to be the father his sons deserve, just as Nigeria yearned for the leadership it was promised. Neither dream materializes, but in the film’s final grace note, we understand that love sometimes manifests in sudden moments, like one last Lagos adventure shared between a father and his sons, before the world demands its painful reckonings.