There’s something oddly uninspired about eponymous film titles. Suky. Just that. No hint of what’s to come, no intrigue—just the name of the protagonist, as if that alone should carry the weight of the story. But maybe that’s the point. Maybe the film wants us to step in blindly, without expectation, and discover for ourselves what kind of journey Suky is about to take. The question is: does that journey leave a mark, or does it fade into the background like its title?

A Story of Revenge, But at What Cost?

Suky presents itself as a brutal, emotionally charged revenge drama, following Olasunkanmi (Suky), played by James Damilare Solomon, a young man whose father, Adigun (Tobi Bakare), is murdered after refusing to bow to oppression in the world of underground fighting. The film introduces strong themes of survival, sacrifice, and the cyclical nature of violence.

Initially, it seems to be a straightforward story about vengeance, but as the narrative unfolds, it becomes clear that Suky’s fight is not only about revenge—it is about freedom.

However, while this shift in purpose could have made for a layered, introspective story, the film struggles with execution. The transition from revenge to a broader fight for justice is mismanaged, coming too late in the narrative. Instead of a gradual evolution, the shift feels abrupt—almost as if Suky himself forgets his original anger and only remembers it near the climax. This lack of emotional continuity makes it difficult for the audience to stay invested in his journey.

A Story That Struggles to Find Its Footing

The biggest flaw in Suky lies in its plotting. A slow-burn approach isn’t inherently a problem—if it serves a purpose. But here, the story meanders rather than builds, often losing focus. Certain plotlines, like Suky’s dynamic with Dr. Simisola (Bimbo Ademoye), feel underdeveloped. What exactly was their relationship? Was there an emotional connection forming, or was she simply a symbol in his journey? The film hints at something deeper but never follows through, making their interactions feel hollow.

Then there’s the issue of plot conveniences. Why did Suky have to kill the man who murdered his father at the very end? It’s too convenient that the same man ended up in the same prison as Suky, years later, seemingly unchanged. Time has passed, Suky has grown from a child to an adult, but his father’s killer appears frozen in time, as if he hadn’t aged, evolved, or faced consequences beyond this moment. This feels like the film forcing a full-circle ending. And if Suky did end up getting revenge in the end, then what was all that effort to redefine the film’s purpose about? Did he truly escape the cycle of violence, or did the narrative contradict itself?

These inconsistencies weaken the emotional weight of the story, making its central message feel muddled. The film wants to say something about freedom over vengeance, but moments like this blur that distinction, leaving the audience unsure of what Suky’s journey ultimately meant.

A Protagonist Who Fades Too Soon

Young Suky, played by Abolade Ajibade, is full of fire—his grief and determination are clear, and his early scenes set up what should have been a compelling character arc. However, once we transition to adult Suky (James Damilare Solomon), something gets lost. The bitterness that should define him seems to fade too quickly. He becomes a quieter, more passive presence in his own story, only reigniting his anger close to the film’s end. His transformation from a revenge-driven fighter to someone seeking a greater cause should have been gradual, but instead, the film sidetracks into prison politics, fight sequences, and other characters’ struggles, leaving Suky’s emotional journey underdeveloped.

Marshal (Olarotimi Fakunle) serves as a compelling antagonist but is also trapped in his own personal prison, both physically and psychologically. He is both oppressor and victim, controlling the prison but still answering to the powerful Senator (Femi Adebayo), who treats him as a pawn. His end serves as a cautionary tale—he fights for freedom in the wrong way, driven by selfishness, and ultimately loses. Suky, on the other hand, chooses to fight for another person’s freedom instead of his own.

Then there’s Dr. Simisola (Bimbo Ademoye), a doctor held captive in the prison system, used and controlled by Marshal. Her role is largely symbolic—like the caged bird she keeps, she is trapped, unable to free herself despite her strength and intelligence. She has accepted that there is no way out. Suky, however, offers a different perspective: fighting back may come at a cost, but it is better than surrender.

The contrast between these characters is one of the film’s stronger elements, yet the emotional impact is undercut by the film’s sluggish pacing and inconsistent focus. The story veers off into side plots and a few unnecessary fight sequences, taking away from the tension that should have built up naturally.

A Strong Effort in Action, But an Uneven Narrative

Visually, Suky does a lot right. The cinematography captures the grit of its setting, and the fight choreography is one of the film’s standout aspects. The action sequences, particularly the Dambe fighting scenes, feel raw and intense. However, even this is not without flaws—some fights fail to follow the real rules of Dambe, breaking immersion for those familiar with the sport.

The film also relies heavily on imagery rather than dialogue, which is a commendable choice. The problem is that the emotional weight needed to support this visual storytelling isn’t always there. Key moments that should be impactful often feel hollow because the buildup isn’t strong enough. But when dialogue is used, there’s an issue that stands out—the decision to have the film entirely in Yoruba. On the surface, it’s an interesting and commendable creative choice. It gives the film a unique cultural identity and are largely enjoyable. But when such choices are made, one must ask: why? Why Yoruba? What purpose does it serve?

If language is going to be central to a film’s identity, it must feel natural within the world the film builds. Here, it doesn’t. Some actors sound unnatural, as if they are struggling with the language rather than owning it. More importantly, in a typical Nigerian prison, a mix of languages would naturally emerge, reflecting Nigeria’s diversity. Yoruba wouldn’t be the universal language—except if the film provided an in-world justification for this choice, which it doesn’t. As a result, instead of enhancing realism, the language choice ends up feeling forced, limiting the film’s believability rather than enriching it.

Final Thoughts

Suky is about captivity—not just physical imprisonment, but the different ways people are bound by systems greater than themselves. Every character is fighting for freedom, yet how they fight determines their fate. The prison is not just a setting; it is a metaphor for the world the characters exist in. Suky is trapped, but so is Marshal, Dr Simisola, and the bird. The difference is that how they choose to fight for their selves.

The Marshal fights for himself, driven by power and revenge, and loses. Suky, like his father, makes a choice that isn’t entirely about himself. His father fought not just for survival but because his son pushed him to resist oppression— a choice that ultimately cost him his life. Suky, too, chooses to fight for someone else, but unlike his father, his battle doesn’t end in complete loss. Instead, it shifts the narrative from one of vengeance to one of sacrifice, showing that true freedom comes not from fighting for oneself, but for something greater.

But the film takes too long to get here. Instead of tightening the narrative around this idea, it meanders, focusing too much on the suffering of other prisoners, the corruption of the system, and side characters whose arcs never feel fully realized. The shift from revenge to freedom could have been a powerful emotional transformation, but because Suky himself is emotionally distant for much of the film, it doesn’t land with the weight it should.

The film also sets up intriguing questions about power, oppression, and choice but struggles to answer them with clarity. Suky’s journey mirrors his father’s, yet his realization comes too late to feel truly earned. He fights not for himself, but for someone else, just as his father did. And just like his father, it costs him everything. It’s a poetic, almost biblical cycle of sacrifice—but the film doesn’t dig deep enough to make that theme resonate as it should.

Verdict

Suky is a slow burn that lingers, demanding patience from its audience. Its pacing and emotional detachment make it feel longer than it is, but beneath its surface, there are layers of meaning for those willing to engage. While it may not grip viewers entirely, it offers moments of depth that leave something to reflect on after the credits roll.

Rating: 3/5