It’s been about three weeks since I returned from Sundance’s final year in Park City — a closing chapter for a festival that has defined independent film for decades. As expected, I missed a few titles in theaters but caught up with them at home. One such film was “If I Go Will They Miss Me”.
I’m glad that I saved my review of “If I Go Will They Miss Me” for last at this year’s Sundance, perhaps instinctively. The title suggested it would require more from me than just a quick turnaround. Ultimately, it became a film I couldn’t shake off. I sat on this review for weeks, going through three full rewrites. Not out of uncertainty, but because Walter Thompson-Hernández’s film moved me in deeply personal ways.
Expanding on his short film of the same name, Thompson-Hernández presents a coming-of-age story set in South Los Angeles that feels both grounded and mythic. The opening montage introduces a filmmaker who understands rhythm and memory. As Lil Ant (Bodhi Dell) narrates his father’s first misstep, Jon Batiste’s haunting cover of “This Bitter Earth” plays over images of Big Ant (J. Alphonse Nicholson), a carefree child whose impulsive act changes everything. The editing, handled with elegant restraint by Daysha Broadway, flows like recollection itself, seamlessly intertwining past and present.
There’s a visual and emotional throughline rooted in Black love, particularly in a slow dance between Big Ant and Lozita (Danielle Brooks) that evokes the tender intimacy of “If Beale Street Could Talk”. Thompson-Hernández isn’t imitating; he’s extending that tradition, shaping it to fit his own South Los Angeles landscape. He renders the neighborhood as lived-in poetry, where sunlit streets hold both memory and warning.
At its core, the film explores fatherhood and the expectations that come with it. Lil Ant, who dreams of becoming a pilot and idolizes Big Ant, wears a smaller gold “A” chain and sketches his father as Poseidon atop Pegasus. Recently released from prison, Big Ant feels the pressure of being placed on a pedestal. Recurring imagery of flight—children stretching their arms and jets slicing through the sky—reflects Black folklore about transcendence and escape.
Watching this film, I couldn’t help but reflect on my own son preparing to leave for college. There’s a quiet tension between pride and fear—a desire to protect, coupled with the realization that you can’t. Thompson-Hernández captures that ache with startling clarity.
Nicholson’s fragility shows an actor ready for the big leagues; Brooks’ grounded warmth brings gravity without demanding attention; and Dell carries the film with a vulnerability that feels discovered rather than performed. Together, under Thompson-Hernández’s guidance, they create something rare, a film that doesn’t shout its importance but earns it.
By the final montage, the question isn’t whether these lives will be missed; it’s whether we’re paying attention while they’re here.
Final Grade: A
