Who gave Nigerian cinema permission to become this elegant?
Ever since My Father’s Shadow landed at the Cannes Film Festival, the global arthouse crowd and film critics have been acting like they just struck gold in the heart of Lagos. Directed by the visionary Akinola Davies Jr. and anchored by an effortlessly magnetic performance from Ṣọpẹ́ Dìrísù, the film didn’t just premiere, it made history as the first Nigerian feature ever selected for the festival’s official lineup.
Nollywood walked into the Palais des Festivals with “designer agbada energy” and effectively told the old guard to make some room.
The film is a deeply resonant father-and-son odyssey set against the backdrop of Nigeria’s volatile 1993 elections. It has critics tossing around comparisons to Roma and Moonlight like confetti. While audiences were busy weeping over the film’s quiet, intimate family moments, social media was flooded with grainy Cannes selfies from fans suddenly claiming fluency in “cinema language.”
For decades, the global perception of Nollywood was boxed into loud comedies, lightning-fast turnarounds, and viral streaming tropes. Then My Father’s Shadow arrived, captured on 16mm film with a poetic, cinematic soul, reminding the world that Nigerian storytelling can sit comfortably—if not dominantly—beside the global greats.
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The ascent has been nothing short of meteoric. From Cannes standing ovations to a sweep at the British Independent Film Awards (BIFA) and heavy BAFTA buzz, the film is now firmly in the Oscar conversation. With a MUBI distribution deal under its belt, My Father’s Shadow has become that friend who leaves the neighborhood and is suddenly the keynote speaker at international panels.
Meanwhile, the “film bros” of Reddit are suddenly self-proclaimed experts on West African aesthetics. Threads are teeming with descriptors like “haunting” and “transcendent,” while others question why the film isn’t being celebrated with even more thunderous volume back home.
The biggest flex? The film remains unmistakably, unapologetically Nigerian. The chaotic rhythm of Lagos, the specific brand of family tension, and the heavy weight of 90s politics feel lived-in and authentic. It refuses to water itself down for an international palate, proving that the more specific the story, the more universal the reach.
After this, don’t be surprised if every aspiring African filmmaker starts their pitch with: “We’re taking this to Cannes.”Because after My Father’s Shadow, that dream no longer feels like a long shot, it looks like the new standard.
