“Suky:” An Action Film That Loses to Its Unanswered Questions

In Suky, power determines fate, whether in the brutal Dambe boxing matches that define the prison hierarchy or within the Nigerian justice system, the film seeks to critique. Yet, while Dambe fights operate under clear and ruthless rules, the film itself fails to establish the same narrative clarity.

Directed by Ola Cardoso and produced by Nemsia Studios—the team behind Breath of Life (2023)—Suky, an Amazon Prime original, attempts to weave visceral action with emotional depth. It perhaps draws inspiration from classic prison thrillers like Prison Break. The film opens with a familiar yet effective action movie premise: a father is murdered before his son’s eyes, setting the stage for a path of vengeance. However, as the story unfolds, the film struggles to reconcile its ambitious themes with its execution, leaving behind more questions than answers.

Tobi Bakre delivers one of the film’s most powerful performances in his brief role as Suky’s father, a boxer whose career ultimately claims his life. Despite his limited screen time, Bakre crafts a character whose every action, emotion, and motivation revolves around his son. It’s not new for Bakre, whose talent was previously showcased in Gangs of Lagos; his presence lingers even after his character’s death. Young Suky (Malik Sanni), after watching the death of his father, embodies a steely determination that suggests a clear trajectory for revenge. However, once James Damilare takes over the narrative, the film struggles to maintain its initial momentum. 

This inconsistency starts from the film’s approach to revenge. Unlike genre staples such as John Wick or Gangs of Lagos, where protagonists actively seek vengeance, Suky takes a passive approach, allowing revenge to find him instead. His imprisonment is not the result of a direct plan but rather an improbable coincidence involving the same gang that killed his father. Their decision to frame him rather than eliminate him outright raises significant questions: Why spare him if they have a history of getting away with murder? And if they saw no need to kill him before, why does his presence in prison suddenly become a threat?

Aja Prison, the film’s primary setting, is one of Suky‘s most vividly realized aspects. Its portrayal is both cinematic and deeply unsettling, reflecting the grim realities of Nigeria’s correctional facilities. Hundreds of inmates are crammed into filthy cells, stripped of dignity, fighting for food and water. The film does well to highlight the dehumanization within the justice system. But odd creative choices, like the prison guards wearing balaclavas, add to the growing pile of unanswered questions.

Marshal, the prison commander played with authority by Olarotimi Fakunle, is a highlight in the narrative muddle. Establishing his dominance from the moment Suky arrives, he executes inmates without hesitation, embodying a system built on intimidation and corruption. His arc, from enforcer to a man with ambitions beyond his role, adds depth to an otherwise predictable antagonist. And his eventual downfall, at the hands of the very criminals he once oppressed, delivers one of the film’s most satisfying moments.

The film leans heavily on Dambe boxing, an ancient Hausa martial art where shattered jaws or even death signify victory. The sport, deeply rooted in West African culture, becomes the film’s central battleground. Yet, Suky struggles to justify its inclusion beyond spectacle. Why is Dambe—traditionally a Hausa practice—the dominant form of combat in a Yoruba-majority prison? The film does not explain, making its presence feel more like a gimmick than an organic cultural touchpoint. Further complicating matters is the cultural inaccuracy of the Dambe fights. If the filmmakers could not secure real Dambe practitioners, why insist on using this martial art at all? Conventional boxing would have made more sense, providing a direct narrative link to Suky’s father while avoiding the cultural inconsistencies that weaken the film’s authenticity.

The greatest flaw in Suky is its protagonist. For a film driven by vengeance, Suky himself remains frustratingly opaque. His motivations are underdeveloped, his emotional arc flat. We never fully understand what he was doing in the years before his imprisonment or how he truly planned to avenge his father. Even his connection with Simi (Bimbo Ademoye) is underwritten—does he actually care for her, or is she simply a plot device? The film never clarifies.

Meanwhile, the supporting cast shines. Igi Imu (Suky’s secondary antagonist), Ijaya (his prison mentor), and the manipulative senator (played by Femi Adedayo) all possess distinct personalities, their actions guided by clear motivations. Their performances inject the film with much-needed depth, reinforcing the idea that Suky excels at everything except crafting a compelling lead character.

Where Suky succeeds most is perhaps in its visual storytelling. Ola Cardoso’s cinematography is a highlight, from innovative aerial shots of Aja Prison to striking compositions that capture characters through prison bars. Sound design and stunt work elevate the fight sequences, giving them weight and credibility. However, these technical strengths cannot mask the gaping narrative holes.

Suky is a film at war with itself. It boasts strong performances, a gripping premise, and moments of striking visual artistry, yet it fails to deliver a coherent story. The justice system critique is compelling but undermined by inconsistencies. The revenge arc is central yet frustratingly passive. And while Dambe boxing provides an exciting visual hook, its inclusion raises more questions than it answers. In the end, Suky (the character) might win fights, but Suky (the film) loses to its unanswered questions.