From Mubi:
A semi-autobiographical tale set over the course of a single day in the Nigerian metropolis Lagos during the 1993 Nigerian election crisis. The story follows a father, estranged from his two young sons, as they travel through the massive city while political unrest threatens their journey home.
"Back when I was a child / Before life removed all the innocence / My father would lift me high"
- "Dance with My Father," written by Luther Vandross
There are certain songs in Black American culture that have domain over certain community events. “Before I Let Go” by Frankie Beverly and Maze is the ubiquitous cookout song (along with “Candy” by Cameo once it’s line dancing time). “A Song For Mama” by Boyz II Men has been immortalized in innumerable funeral/memorial slideshows. “At Last” by Etta James might be the most popular first dance song of all time (it was my Grandma’s). You’d also be hard pressed to find a Black-run club night without “Back That Azz Up” by Juvenile ft. Lil Wayne and Mannie Fresh on the playlist.
For weddings, the traditional father-daughter dance is (at least 78% of the time) backed by 2004’s “Dance with My Father” from Luther Vandross’ final studio album of the same name. Vandross (recent Grammy Winner, according to Cher) wrote this song, the lyrics of which bookend this review, as a tribute to his father, who passed away when he was 8 years old. He was awarded Song of the Year at the Grammys that year, and his song forever affected daddy-daughter dances. It also played non-stop through my head as I contemplated Akinola Davies Jr.’s personal and emotional BAFTA-nominated debut feature film, My Father’s Shadow, the Official Submission of the United Kingdom for this year’s Academy Awards.
Co-written with his brother Wale, Davies Jr.’s film tells the deceptively simple story of a day in the life of a father and his two young boys - June 24, 1993 to be exact, a day that Davies Jr. makes clear changed Nigeria forever. Folarin (played by Ṣọpẹ́ Dirísu, in a stoic, yet loving and vulnerable turn), estranged from his family by his work in Nigerian politics, takes his two sons, Aki and Remi (played by real-life brothers and first-time actors Godwin and Chibuike Marvelous Egbo, respectively), out for a spontaneous day trip and tour of Lagos, Nigeria, his hometown. Over the brisk 94-minute runtime, we see Folarin take his two boys to various places from his childhood, often running into people he knows and either works with or hasn’t seen in ages, maintaining a facade of stability amongst the growing outrage in the city, for it was on this day that the
military government of Nigeria annulled the results of the country’s freest and fairest election to date.
There’s an honesty in the portrayal of these brothers that could only have been accomplished by a writing team of siblings. I’m reminded of Crooklyn, an underrated 1994 family dramedy gem from Spike Lee that he co-wrote with his brother and sister, about a young girl and her family in Brooklyn. In Crooklyn, the standout sequence is when Troy, the daughter of the family, is visiting their grandmother for the first time and has that all-too-common uncomfortable, out-of-place feeling that comes with staying at distant relative’s home for the first time (Lee realizes this in the film by squeezing the aspect ratio, making the film uncomfortable to look at). In My Father’s Shadow, one scene that stuck with me involved Folarin forcing Remi to buy ice cream for his brother because he has no cash. Remi refuses, and thus, Folarin tells him he can’t get ice cream if he won’t share with his brother.
I can only imagine the arguments both the Lee siblings and Davies siblings might’ve had while writing these scripts, confronting one another about how certain events took place - whether or not their grandma’s house actually felt like that or whether their father actually snatched ice cream privileges - or the therapeutic moments, consoling each other when crafting the dramatic elements of a difficult scene. Shadow is so deeply personal, and in every scene, that rings true.
Two other films ran through my head while watching this film, one of them screaming, the other banging pots and pans: Bless Their Little Hearts (1983, dir. Billy Woodberry, screaming), a film about a father who struggles to find work in South Central Los Angeles, and Aftersun (2022, dir. Charlotte Wells, pots and pans), a film about a father dealing with depression while on holiday with his daughter. If these two films met and had a Nigerian baby, it would be My Father's Shadow. In Bless, the children are all played by real life siblings (an older daughter, and two younger sons) and have a camraderie that echoes Aki and Remi - only siblings know how to yell at each other that way. The commonality with Aftersun is the reflexiveness, or the overwhelming presence of the director in the film and the story. In both cases, many character aspects of the father are based on the author(s)' own father, but many are also imagined as their fathers left this Earth a long time ago.
The heart of this film, though, is Ṣọpẹ́ Dirísu's stunning performance as a father trying to maintain normalcy. The early half of this film feels loose structurally, and it wasn't until the political unrest in Lagos started to become more apparent - and Folarin's conflict, external and internal, becomes more intense - that I felt the film found its footing and became itself. If there is anything that is holds this film together, it's Dirísu (the brothers Egbo perform well as his sons and clearly inject their roles with so much of themselves, but Dirísu is driving the bus). The scene of the film is in the third act when, at the beach, Folarin has a talk with his sons. "Everything is sacrifice. You just have to pray you don’t sacrifice the wrong thing…" There have been few, more sincere portrayals of Black fatherhood in a film this decade than My Father's Shadow - Exhibiting Forgiveness (2024, dir. Titus Kaphar) is the only other that comes to mind.
Deeper than Luther Vandross, though, I felt a connection to this story. In July 2015, my dad took my brother and I to Culver City, California, his hometown, for the first time (to be fair, I had been to California before, but I was maybe 4 years old, so I have no recollection). He surprised us with plane tickets the night before we left. I was so excited. When we were there, he drove us down all of the streets with stories, and took us to restaurants he frequented as a teenager, some of which I still visit to this day (shout out Johnnie’s Pastrami). This film transported me back to that time, those three wide-eyed days. I remember being the kid attached at my father’s hip while he engages in (to my child brain) inane conversation after inane conversation, while all I think to myself is, “CAN WE GO HOME, PLEASE?! WE’VE BEEN AT CHURCH FOR 5 HOURS! SERVICE ENDED FOREVER AGO!” I remember being my father's shadow.
To this day, I have no idea what any of those conversations entailed. After seeing this film, I thought about every one of them. Every time my father turned his back to discuss something important. Obviously (and thankfully), my father wasn’t involved in anything to the scale of Folarin in the film, but the connection came through. All I know is my older brother and I would occupy ourselves, like Aki and Remi, and when they would finish, and business was handled, and my life was the same, like Aki and Remi.
My father also loves Luther Vandross, like plays-his-music-to-fall-asleep loves Luther. In so many ways, this film made me think about my relationship with my own father, his with his father, and so on. I can't swear that Akinola Davies Jr and his brother Wale Davies had that one Luther Vandross song in their heads while writing My Father's Shadow, though the final lines of the song and film favor each other immensely, but as I see it, I think this film is their way to dance with their father, again.
"Every night, I fall asleep / And this is all I ever dream"
- "Dance with My Father," written by Luther Vandross
Viewed on 2/1/26 at press screening
Published on 2/8/26