Damilola Taylor would be 26 now. Doing what, I wonder? Playing for Manchester United perhaps, as he once told his father he would. A speedy winger, I think, he would now be pretty much at his peak. [In the voice of John Motson] Taylor, the Nigerian, goes past Azpilicueta as if he wasn’t there, cuts inside, nutmegs Terry, still plenty to do though ... Oh, I say, there’s a contender for goal of the season right there.
I’m not sure how José M would feel about his player having another career as a doctor (as Damilola also told his dad he would), but it would have made a lovely story: Man United star helps out his big sis by discovering cure for epilepsy. It wasn’t to be, though.
Damilola, Our Loved Boy (BBC1) was always going to be a weepy. It didn’t take me long. Still in Nigeria, Damilola’s parents are arguing about whether Dami should go with mum Gloria on the trip to London to get medical help for his sister, Gbemi. Then Damilola himself is begging his dad, Richard, to go, sulking one minute, showing off his knowledge of Great Britain the next. And we the viewer are begging his father not to let him go, as if it is somehow possible to change what happened. Come on, Mr Taylor, are you going to cave to your 10-year-old child?
And what about immigration – are they just going to let them in? Where’s Ukip the one and only time you want them? Who’s home secretary? Jack Straw. Are you going to allow these NHS tourists … oh, Gbemi was British-born. But Damilola wasn’t; send him home at least. It’s unbearable, knowing where this is going.
Then a 10-year-old’s excitement at flying for the first time, London for the first time, buses with upstairs, wanting to see everything, skipping everywhere, a new school, a new coat ... Oh God, the coat, the silver one, from the haunting CCTV footage. Is it really 16 years ago? I remember it so clearly. Here the coat takes on extra significance and poignancy; it confirms the worst for Gloria, desperately searching the North Peckham estate when her boy hasn’t come home, accompanied by the wail of police sirens. The victim, she overhears on a police radio, was wearing school uniform and a silver jacket. Later it will become a pawn in the blame game; Richard reprimands his wife for buying such a bright, visible, ostentatious coat.
Levi David Addai’s quietly powerful, affecting drama doesn’t dwell on Damilola’s death. The film leaves him, at the point of that CCTV image, skipping home from computer club at Peckham library in his silver coat, on that November afternoon. Richard, when he arrives, wants to see the bleak concrete stairwell his boy managed to struggle to before collapsing. “Is this where my son died?” he shouts.
Then it’s about the Taylors’ search, and fight, for justice – and what happens to a family when the unthinkable happens. (Perhaps selfishly, it makes you think about how your own family would, or wouldn’t, come through something like this.) It’s beautifully performed: by Wunmi Mosaku as Gloria, quietly torn to pieces inside. By Juwon Adedokun as Damilola’s elder brother, Tunde, beating himself up for not being there to pick up his little brother and bring him home safely. And especially by Babou Ceesay as Richard Taylor, a complex character, righteous disciplinarian and family man. He blames everyone: Tunde, Gloria, the coat, Peckham, the country, and – eventually – himself. The real Richard Taylor was involved with and consulted over the film, but that doesn’t mean he gets an easy ride. A memorable performance and portrait of a difficult, proud man consumed by anger and grief.
It’s desperately, desperately sad, of course. I was choked up pretty much throughout. And it’s hard not to feel some sense of national shame that this senseless tragedy happened to a lovely, cheeky boy, with a big smile and some silky soccer skills, before he reached his 11th birthday (shout-out, too, to newcomer and Lambeth schoolboy Sammy Kamara, who plays Damilola).
There is some sort of consolation. Manslaughter convictions, eventually; graduation for Tunde; the family somehow remains together, until Gloria’s death. And Richard continues to work with young people, campaigning against violence in the name of his son.
