Each morning, Jean (Olunike Adeliyi) wakes up before the sun and takes the long commute from Lawrence Heights to an affluent Toronto neighborhood. She leaves behind her cramped apartment—one she shares with her teenage kids, Tamika (Zahra Bentham) and Tristin (Micah Mensah-Jatoe), and her free-spirited mother (Maxine Simpson)—to clean homes and care for strangers. It’s a routine, a means to an end. She tells herself it’s only temporary, that soon she’ll have enough saved to move her family somewhere better. But that dream keeps slipping further out of reach. The weight of survival presses down harder each day, and no matter how much she scrubs, some stains don’t wash away.
Director Karen Chapman, known for her documentary work on grief and violence in Black communities, makes her feature debut with “Village Keeper,” expanding on themes she first explored in her 2019 short film “Measure.” From that acclaimed short film, “Village Keeper” feels like a natural evolution of Chapman’s storytelling—one that refuses to offer easy answers. Instead, it focuses on what happens when survival mode becomes a way of life. Jean isn’t just trying to keep a roof over her children’s heads—she’s trying to shield them from the violence outside their door and the ghosts of her own past. She’s so consumed with protecting them that she doesn’t notice she’s holding on too tightly, suffocating them in the process.
A Mother Who Takes Care of Others, but Not Herself
Jean has spent her life cleaning up after others—literally and figuratively. So when she finds blood in her building’s elevator after a violent attack and no one comes to clean it, she does it herself. It’s not just about tidiness; it’s about dignity, about control. It’s about erasing the reminders of a world she doesn’t want her kids to inherit.
But trauma doesn’t work that way. You can scrub away the evidence, but the fear lingers.
Adeliyi delivers an outstanding performance here, bringing Jean’s contradictions to life with a quiet intensity. She’s strong-willed but brittle, protective but distant. She loves her kids but doesn’t know how to reach them. There’s a heartbreaking moment when Tamika, trying to connect, says her mother used to love music. Jean barely reacts.
Later, when she finally lets herself dance, we see a glimpse of the woman she used to be—the one buried under years of grief, responsibility, and fear. It’s one of the film’s most powerful moments, not just because of the joy in it, but because it reminds us of everything Jean has been holding back.
The Weight of Being a ‘Village Keeper’
The title itself is a perfect summation of Jean’s role. Forced to move back into her mother’s cramped Lawrence Heights apartment with her children, Jean sees herself as their protector. She works tirelessly, juggling two jobs to save enough money for a fresh start.
But in doing so, she assumes the role of a “village keeper” not just for her family, but for a community drowning in violence and neglect. Her cleaning is not just an act of labor—it is an act of defiance, a desperate attempt to restore dignity in a place where even landlords refuse to wash away the bloodstains of a stabbing.
Yet, for all her strength, Jean is blind to the damage she is inflicting on herself and her children. At home, she’s hyper-vigilant, enforcing curfews and rules meant to protect her children, but she doesn’t see how much they’re struggling in their own way. Tamika experiences panic attacks. Tristin is quiet, but there’s anger simmering beneath the surface. They’re trying to process their reality, but Jean is too preoccupied with shielding them to notice.
Like many parents who have suffered, Jean believes that shielding them from pain is the answer—never realizing that unspoken trauma festers, repeating itself in an endless cycle. She’s convinced that if she stays strong enough, if she controls everything, she can keep them safe. But as she herself admits,
“The truth is, I was drowning for years…
I was the only one who couldn’t see it.”
Breaking the Cycle—If That’s Even Possible
One of the most striking themes in “Village Keeper” is how trauma moves through generations, passed down not just through experiences but through habits, silence, and unspoken fears. Jean’s mother has learned to live with the weight of her past, but Jean is still carrying hers like a fresh wound. Without realizing it, she’s handing it off to her children.
When she finally visits a therapist—insisting that it’s only for the kids—she’s hit with a simple but devastating question: How will you help your children without having helped yourself first? It’s a moment that forces Jean to face something she’s been avoiding: healing isn’t just for them—it has to be for her too.
Even so, “Village Keeper” doesn’t offer an easy, neatly tied-up resolution. It acknowledges that trauma isn’t something you fix overnight. Jean takes steps forward, but she also stumbles. She tries to change, then reverts to old habits. And that’s the reality of it. Change is hard, and sometimes it takes a lifetime.
‘Village Keeper’: A Film That Feels Lived-In
What makes Village Keeper stand out is its refusal to turn Black suffering into spectacle. The film doesn’t shy away from the realities of poverty or violence, but it also doesn’t dwell in misery for the sake of it. Instead, Chapman fills the screen with moments of warmth—shared meals, Tamika doing hair for neighborhood clients, the simple but significant ways people take care of each other. These moments matter just as much as the ones filled with tension because they remind us that survival isn’t just about endurance—it’s about finding joy wherever you can.
Visually, the film is striking. Cinematographer Jordan Oram captures the world of Lawrence Heights with a mix of intimacy and unease. Tight framing mirrors Jean’s claustrophobic reality, while wide shots remind us how small she feels in a city that doesn’t make space for people like her. The score, composed by Dalton Tennant, vacillates between subtle and melodramatic in D-flat major, but nonetheless effectively wraps the film in a sense of quiet urgency.
Not Perfect, But It Sticks with You
If I could niggle about one thing, it’s that some moments of exposition spell things out a little too clearly when the film is already doing the work visually. At times, the storytelling feels a little rushed—especially given the film’s lean 80-minute runtime. Certain character moments, particularly Jean’s journey toward self-acceptance, could have been given more space to breathe. The film also flirts with melodrama in a few places, but Chapman’s direction and Adeliyi’s grounded performance thankfully keep it from going too far.
Even with these minor quibbles, “Village Keeper” is a film that lingers. It’s intimate, raw, and deeply human, a story about survival, motherhood, and the quiet battles people fight every day. Jean wants something better for her kids, but before she can give them a future, she has to believe she’s worthy of one herself.
And more often than not, that’s the hardest part.
“Village Keeper” will have its U.S. premiere at this year’s Santa Barbara International Film Festival, which runs from February 4 to 15, 2025. Follow us for more coverage.
