"Love, Olaitan" Journeys Through Grief and Healing in Silence [#TAFM24]

This is visual storytelling at its best—until a late creative choice breaks the spell

LOVE, OLAITAN is a short film, about 15 minutes long, directed by Moyosore G. Akinsete. It was screened at The Annual Film Mischief 2024.

For an industry where films often lean heavily on dialogue, Love, Olaitan is a refreshing departure, delivering a powerful narrative with minimal spoken words. This short film follows the story of a single father, Olaitan, as he navigates parenthood, raising his daughter, Remilekun, alone while wrestling with the profound grief of losing his wife.

What sets Love, Olaitan apart is its reliance on the strength of its actors and their ability to convey deep emotions through actions and expressions rather than words. It’s a story that trusts the Nigerian audience to follow along with the narrative through visual cues, a rare but rewarding approach. The emotions portrayed—especially the father’s silent grief and the daughter’s resilience—are palpable and poignant.

One of the most impressive aspects of the film is its attention to production design. The overall detail given to the world of the movie as seen through the one setting living room feels deliberate, transporting viewers through the family's journey over time. From the set pieces to the transitions, everything is carefully considered, adding richness to the visual storytelling and enhancing immersion.

In its third act, Love, Olaitan makes a pivot in its storytelling approach I believe may have its chances to stay truly iconic: an unfounded decision to break belief and introduce dialogue in the final lap. Up until this point, the film’s minimal dialogue had worked beautifully, pulling the audience in through visual storytelling alone. But then, voiceover is introduced, and the immersion breaks. The quality of the voiceover in itself is distracting and it pulls from the emotional depth the film had built so carefully.

This is particularly painful because the film could have easily done away with the lines altogether and made it to the finish line with minimal to no chances to its visusals. Is it the father’s letter to Remilekun? Simple on-screen text could have solved that, allowing the audience to read Olaitan’s words in their own voice. The film was so close to perfection in its subtlety and restraint, and this creative decision felt unnecessary, diminishing the otherwise powerful and evocative experience.

Despite this move I consider a misstep, Love, Olaitan remains a soulful story of loss, grieving, and moving forward. Olaitan, devastated by the loss of his wife, does his best to care for his daughter, but his grief weighs heavily on him until he learns to move on by choosing to focus on the gift he still has. In the end, Remilekun, now left to confront her father’s death, picks up the pieces and moves toward her own future.

It’s a beautifully told story that lingers in the mind long after it ends, but it’s hard not to wonder what it could have been had it trusted the power of silence all the way to the end. Love, Olaitan feels like an intimate portrait of loss, but that late creative decision threatens to pull it down from the exalted position it had so successfully earned.