“Archive your stories, yesterday, today and forever”: BAFTA winning film ‘My Father's Shadow’ validates collective memory as resistance

Courtesy of Cannes Film Festival

Akinola Davies Jr and Wale Davies have claimed the BAFTA for Outstanding Debut by a British Writer, Director or Producer — the latest milestone in a breakout run that has already seen them make history at the Cannes Film Festival as the creators of the first Nigerian production with a feature in its official selection.

My Father’s Shadow is a story of collective memory and preservation, in a moving acceptance speech by director Akinola Davies he says, “To all those whose parents migrated to obtain a better life for their children, to the economic migrant, the conflict migrant, those under occupation, dictatorship, persecution, and those experiencing genocide, you matter, your stories matter, more than ever. Your dreams are an act of resistance.” The film is told from the perspectives of two young brothers and their father over the course of a day. The young boys accompany their father to Lagos, Nigeria, and their perceptions of the city is shaped through his experience, the conversations he has with them, and the people they encounter. Set during the 1993 political upheaval, the film follows the controversy surrounding the presidential election in Nigeria. The feeling of political unrest transforms from an inkling to a frenzy as the story progresses. I watched the film accompanied by a live score performed by the creators of the film’s original soundtrack, CJ Mirra and Duval Timothy, along with a few special guests, including South London siren Roxanne Tataei. The event was organised as part of the Tate Modern’s Nigerian Modernism exhibition, which is open until May 10th 2026.

Photography by Reece Straw courtesy of Tate

The two young brothers depicted on screen, Akinola (Godwin Chiemerie Egbo) and Remi (Chibuike Marvellous Egbo), traverse through Lagos on a journey where they learn more about the city and their father (Sope Iridusu), and witness the challenges brought on by the political instability, visit places from his past, and learn about the experiences that make him confront memories of loss and grief. Throughout the day, they gather clues about their father’s identity beyond his role as a seemingly absent breadwinner. It’s an experience many of us might be able to relate to as we grow up and the dynamics between parent and child shift. Witnessing the tenderness of the exchanges between Sope Iridusu’s character and his on screen sons was a gentle reminder that the responsibility of parenthood can at times be fraught with inconsistencies. Sometimes love is defined by making sure there is food on the table, at the cost of being physically or emotionally available. The carefully portrayed moments of vulnerability shared by the characters on screen challenge broad ideas about masculinity - especially what it is to be a Black African father. It provides a counter narrative to stereotypical on screen depictions of Black men and tropes about absent fatherhood in Black communities. It expands the representation of how patriarchal expectations of Black men impact their familial relationships. 

Ultimately, what you take away from the film is subjective. Some watched and saw echoes of their family members, or their childhood. Others watched, taking in familiar scenes of Lagos, the city they may have left behind many years ago, or call home despite having never stepped foot inside its borders. Many can relate to the depictions of political instability and disdain for the often corrupt governance that seems to define life in our homelands, whether it be Nigeria, somewhere else in Africa or beyond. For me, the film was somehow able to capture several complicated themes through the lens of child-like attention and understanding. When innocence meets inquisitiveness. When questions are asked without ulterior motive or malice, but because the obvious answer feels deeply at odds with reality. This essence of childlike wonder was captured and conveyed through the accompanying score (which you can purchase on bandcamp). The hope, joy and playfulness was palpable - almost tangible. At times, you couldn’t help but smile. Some scenes felt reminiscent of a time when each passing day felt like it could burst with possibility. The representations of the boys’ experiences depicted how entertainment can be found in fleeting moments, and the unbridled imagination needed to find wonder amongst chaos.

Lakin Ogunbanwo/BBC Films

It is abundantly clear that a duty of care was one of the core principles that guided this particular visual and sonic experience. My Fathers Shadow offers a counter narrative to the widely held belief in African (and Caribbean) continental and diasporic families that there is strength and resilience in silence. It provides an insight into the cross generational understanding that can be fostered through the vulnerable, and at times, uncomfortable practice of passing down memories. At the end of the screening I attended, Davies said “If you’re from an African household, our parents don’t talk very much, so it means a lot to try and humanise their experiences. Because a lot of what they went through, they didn’t have outlets to talk about it.” Through the film, Akinola Davies Jnr encourages young creatives to value and actively pursue archiving and representing experiences, knowledge and memories from their families and communities. As said in his BAFTA acceptance speech, “Archive your loved ones. Archive your stories, yesterday, today and forever.” The film simply would not exist without the passing down of memory from one generation to another. In this way, it is a call to action; talk to your parents and grandparents if they are still around, write down their experiences, record them, archive them. These are the fundamental conversations and activities that enable underrepresented creatives, and and as a result, minoritised communities with the ability to tell our own stories, and make history in the process. My Fathers Shadow will be showing in London until the end of February.

Words by Dominique Kistan