As a prison film, Suky is unmoving; as a sports film, it is uninspiring; and as a revenge film, it is severely lacking in thrills.
By Vivian Nneka Nwajiaku
It’s easy to root for a film like Suky (2025) with a story like the one it tells. A boy full of admiration for his boxer-trainer father discovers that his father gets paid to throw matches. His father, in a bid to regain his son’s respect, defies his handlers and wins a match.
The result is a father dying in his son’s hands, and, of course, the boy wants revenge. But things get even worse when, as an adult, his activist foster parents are murdered and he gets framed as the murderer. He suddenly finds himself in prison, where he becomes an easy target for the people who murdered everyone who ever loved him.
The boy is Sunkanmi, or Suky as he prefers. He was born and raised by fighters, so it is inevitable that fighting will make or break him. Expectedly, he channels his pain and anger into his fighting, and when he fends off an attack on his life in prison, the prison marshal takes an interest in him, recruiting him into the prison’s elite group of Dambe fighters, where he must become a champion to survive.
In the normal world, Dambe fighters aim to defeat their opponents by knocking them to the ground. But the prison has turned it into an actual killing game, an underground tournament where fighters have to win their opponents by killing them, with politicians placing bets and watching prisoners die for entertainment.
So, it is easy to root for a film with a story like the one Suky tells, an underdog story with difficult circumstances, a fascinating local sport, and a quest for vengeance. But Suky, from the stables of Nemsia Studios (Breath of Life (2023), With Difficulty Comes Ease (2024)) directed by Ola Cardoso, makes it difficult to care.
Suky wants to be taken seriously, and it has very good material to warrant its seriousness. The Nigerian prison system, or “correctional” system as it is officially called, is completely disgraceful. In a country where there is little to no conversation about prison reform, projects that highlight the sorry conditions of the correctional facilities, like Tope Adebayo’s Inside Life (2022), Clarence Peters’ series also titled Inside Life (2024), and Cardoso’s Suky, now under consideration, are very important.
That is what makes Suky a valuable watch, the very fact that it shines a light on the inhumane state of Nigeria’s prisons, with the film’s Aja Prison as a microcosm of the entire system. Films like this can drive or contribute to the discourse on prison reform, as they force viewers to bear witness to the humanitarian crisis that is the prison system.
The mass of human bodies practically lie over one another in an insanely overcrowded cell. An imminent war brews when the inmates hustle to fetch bottles of brown water from a tank that has probably never been washed. The barely edible food that’s not even sufficient to go round. How easy it is to get killed without ever seeing a courtroom. And the reality of the sociological postulation of Aṣa the musician: “I’m in chains, you’re in chains too; I’m a prisoner, you’re a prisoner too, Mr. Jailer”.
But Suky lacks urgency. For all its proximity to gruesomeness and its portrayal of inhumanity, Suky feels drab and detached. And that goes for both the film and the character. When Suky says he wants revenge, those words don’t quite land (especially because he never actually seeks revenge; it just falls into his laps), and scenes that are intended to carry weight barely register.
When Suky first arrives at the prison, there is a whole charade involving the prison marshal murdering in cold blood prisoners who are said to have attempted an escape. It is an extrajudicial bloodletting that is supposed to set the stage for the recklessness and horrors of the Nigerian correctional system. And yet, the stakes never feel particularly high.
In this sports film, grand speeches are not rousing, the most important opponents are not proven to be worthy, and even the fight scenes, though well-choreographed and well-pictured, are not as thrilling as the onscreen audience would have you believe. There is a well of emotions that you are constantly aware that you should be feeling, reactions that you know you should have, but Suky rarely provokes them. This is a revenge-themed sports film that is very easy to pause.
The flatness of the film stems from a mix of factors, but inadequate characterisation and manageable performances combine to present a major drawback.
We are introduced to the eponymous Suky as a child, played by Abolade Ajibade (who appears to have been wrongly listed as Malik Sanni in the credits). It’s never easy to critique a child actor because you simply cannot hold them to the same standards as adults. But there are films where children run circles around the older actors, even in Nollywood. Oga Bolaji (2018) and Obara’M (2022) are prime examples.
In fact, we have just had one child nominated for “Outstanding Younger Voice Performer in an Animated Program” at the Children’s and Family Emmy Awards, and another for “Best Supporting Actress” at the Africa Magic Viewers’ Choice Awards (AMVCA). With Ajibade, it’s not capacity that he lacks but refinement, and there is the sense that this could be a good child actor with very good direction.
James Damilare Solomon stars as grown-up Suky, a character so grossly underwritten that it places too heavy a burden on the actor’s shoulders. Solomon has the body and skills of a fighter, but not the demeanour or characterisation of one. Sure, grief can take the form of aloofness, but he is unconvincing as a man nursing anger with an eagerness for revenge, and he does not quite sell the audacity required of an underdog.
But it’s not just the actors who play Suky. Actors who have done phenomenal work elsewhere, are just bearable here. Tobi Bakre plays Suky’s father in a decent performance that might still be one of his weakest. Ibrahim “Itele D Icon” Yekini takes on Ijaya, Suky’s trainer, with as much presence as the barely inspired character allows him. And Olarotimi Fakunle, Femi Adebayo, and Philip Asaya play dangerous villains who don’t seem all that dangerous.
Fakunle’s Marshal, in particular, is portrayed as a dangerously ambitious, yet peculiar man, but the character comes off as a jester and not in a “The Joker” kind of way. It is an interesting character that could work in a different film, but in this one, he is unthreatening and somewhat difficult to take seriously, and taking him seriously is fundamental to establishing the stakes at play in the film and the menacing place that Aja Prison is supposed to be.
Bimbo Ademoye may be the most interesting actor to watch here, balancing vulnerability and faux carefreeness as a prison doctor who has to deal with sexual harassment from the marshal who is holding her within the prison walls against her will. Still, this is not one of her standout performances, and she might not even understand her character’s purpose in the film any more than the audience does.
With all that potential and a considerably starry cast, the buck stops at the directing table. This is Cardoso’s directorial debut, and it shows.
As a cinematographer, though, Cardoso is known for his work on films like God Calling (2018), The Blood Covenant (2022), and Breath of Life. So, the camerawork in Suky, handled by Cardoso himself, is much better than the directing.
In the most striking parts of the film, he captures his characters through the prison walls, gates and windows–whether to the prison itself, or to the cells, the clinic, the fighting areas, or even a bird’s cage–with such deliberateness that ensures that the characters are truly trapped, physically and psychologically.
Hopefully, his next film will be better directed, but this is not a very strong start. As a prison film, Suky is unmoving; as a sports film, it is uninspiring; and as a revenge film, it is severely lacking in thrills. Revenge, they say, is best served cold. Sadly, Suky is tepid at best.
Rating: 2.5/5
(Suky is streaming on Prime Video)
Vivian Nneka Nwajiaku is a writer, film critic, TV lover, and occasional storyteller writing from Lagos. She has a master’s degree in law but spends most of her time reading about and discussing films and TV shows. She’s particularly concerned about what art has to say about society’s relationship with women. Connect with her on Twitter @Nneka_Viv