When we remember, we\u2019re not remembering the original event, but the currently stored version of that event we\u2019ve got locked in our minds. Over time, our memories of our memories overwrite one another, the details shifting slightly each time, like someone pranking you by moving your furniture inch by inch. Eventually, what we recall is better described as the story we tell ourselves about what happened, rather than what actually happened. The story two brothers tell themselves about their father, and about their childhood in Nigeria, in My Father\u2019s Shadow is well-loved and well-worn\u2014a prized object or a lucky charm rubbed between thumb and forefinger over and over again.<\/p>\n
The sweet and arresting debut feature from British Nigerian writer-director Akinola Davies Jr., co-written with his brother Wale, My Father\u2019s Shadow is a day-long drama, tracking two brothers\u2019 impromptu trip to Lagos from their village. This takes place during the heart of a political struggle for their country, the 1993 Nigerian election crisis, and in the midst of a personal struggle for their family. Their father Folarin (\u1e62\u1ecdp\u1eb9\u0301 D\u00ecr\u00eds\u00f9, His House<\/a>), who works in the city, isn\u2019t a regular fixture at their house. In fact, the kids\u2014Akinola and Olaremi (respectively played by brothers Godwin and Chibuike Marvellous Egbo), ages eight and 11\u2014seem to will him into existence while playing make-believe with their paper-doll pro wrestlers.\u00a0<\/p>\n The only man cooler than The Undertaker to these \u201990s kids is their dad, who\u2019s only stopping by their house briefly before heading into Lagos to pursue some lost wages. The boys\u2019 mom has left them alone for the day, and their hazy morning has been as boring and languid as the collective buzz of a thousand summer mornings. Jermaine Canute Bradley Edwards\u2019 camera stares into the middle distance, zooming slowly (maybe ominously) into the stillness of the boys\u2019 surroundings. The lighting is muted without dimming its blasts of colors, giving montages the effect of old home movies, an aesthetic that has come to define how we think of memory and here gives the film an air of impermanence. There\u2019s a sense of danger in the air, a sense of magic in their father\u2019s appearance. Of course they\u2019re going to run off with their pop for an exciting and fantastical day trip.<\/p>\n The younger boy sharing the name of the filmmaker both reveals and belies the true nature of the fiction\u2019s relationship with the past. There is memoir baked into My Father\u2019s Shadow, but just as much historical fiction and even fantasy. As the trio make their way from the rural to the urban, catching rides in ever-shrinking vehicles as the nation\u2019s gasoline shortage becomes apparent, their dreams of buying ice cream and bonding with their dad are realized beyond their wildest imaginations. They encounter colorful figures on the street and meals far fancier than those they can prepare themselves. They even get a private romp through an inactive amusement park. But on the edges of this rose-colored memory are the complex shades of reality. Even from the kids\u2019 point-of-view, the film still catches glimpses of headlines about apartheid and military massacres, still hears radio chatter about contested elections, still feels the desperation in Folarin\u2019s plea for the backpay he\u2019s owed.<\/p>\n D\u00ecr\u00eds\u00f9 is excellent as both a larger-than-life father figure and a painfully human father. He tough-loves his boys, who are always ribbing each other in a pair of delightfully unself-conscious performances, and masks his stresses. Their bond comes to a head on a beach, in a quiet and intimate conversation juxtaposed with a violent gold rush for a nearby whale carcass. It feels like the way these boys remember their childhood in a nutshell\u2014a little chaotic, a little desperate for resources and stability, but loving nonetheless. This idea also comes across in some of Davies\u2019 frames that balance stillness and movement: Riding in the back of a pickup as the road and city disappear behind you; sitting on a bench while a Ferris wheel spins in the background.<\/p>\n