by Hudson Moura
It Comes In Waves, written and directed by Fitch Jean, is a film that approaches trauma not as a single event locked in the past, but as an experience that persists, returns, and overwhelms in recurring emotional surges. Its opening title card states this clearly: “Trauma is like the ocean; it comes in waves ebbing and lowing. Sometimes the water is calm, and sometimes it is overwhelming. All we can do is learn to swim.” This metaphor gives the film its conceptual frame and shapes the way it moves between memory and present life, between survival and the impossibility of full escape.
The film begins with a flashback to Kigali in June 1994. A radio announcer orders those who are not from Rwanda to leave the country or face persecution, while a child runs in fear amid chaos and violence. From there, the narrative cuts to the present in Canada, where Akai, a 17-year-old young man played by Adrian Walters, wakes from a nightmare in his home. He is a speed runner, and the trophies visible in his bedroom suggest discipline, ambition, and an effort to build a future. Yet the film makes it clear that this present is haunted by what came before. Akai is likely one of the children from the opening sequence, and his life in Canada unfolds under the continuing pressure of inherited and lived trauma.
The family dimension is central to the film’s emotional world. Akai’s mother struggles with health issues and addiction, and one of the film’s most powerful moments comes when she harshly refuses an invitation to a commemoration of the genocide against the Tutsi. Her words to her son are devastating: “You do not know what I’ve seen. I wish my mind could forget what my eyes have seen!” This line condenses the film’s entire logic. Trauma here is not treated as memory alone, but as something physically and psychologically invasive, something that cannot easily be spoken, ritualized, or contained.
Formally, the film is effective in building a charged and oppressive atmosphere. The music, flashbacks, and darkly contrasted cinematography work together to create a sense of anguish and entrapment. Much of the visual language depends on closed spaces and extreme close-ups, intensifying the impression that the characters are cornered by emotions and histories they cannot fully master. The film is deeply anxiety-inducing, and this oppressive tone becomes its weakness. Rather than offering distance or relief, Fitch Jean insists on the claustrophobic persistence of traumatic experience.
Adrian Walters is convincing in the lead role and carries much of the film’s emotional burden with seriousness and restraint. At the same time, his performance can feel somewhat limited in range. His tone of voice does not vary greatly, and although some facial expressions and moments of screaming reveal stronger emotional breaks, the characterization often remains somewhat one-dimensional. He is believable, but not always fully compelling on a deeper level. The film asks a great deal of him, and while he sustains its weight, he does not always bring the charisma or complexity that might have made Akai even more affecting.
A similar limitation appears in the relationship between Akai and his younger sister Zera, played by Nendia Lewars. He wants to protect her and keep her close, and this bond should provide one of the film’s emotional anchors. Yet it never develops with the force or tenderness it seems to promise. There is something underwritten in their dynamic, as though the script does not fully know how to render their sibling intimacy in an engaging way. The result is that this relationship, though important in principle, remains less moving than it could have been.
The film closes with another title card, citing the World Health Organization: “one in five people in post-conflict settings suffer from depression, anxiety or post-traumatic stress disorder.” This final gesture makes explicit what the film has already dramatized: trauma is not exceptional residue, but an ongoing social and psychological reality for many survivors and their families. The dedication that follows broadens the film’s scope beyond its immediate story, framing it as an act of recognition toward all those who continue to endure and heal.
It Comes In Waves is a sincere and often powerful film about the afterlife of genocide, displacement, and familial trauma. Its atmosphere is intensely oppressive, its thematic focus urgent, and its formal choices are effective in conveying anguish and entrapment. At times, however, this intensity becomes excessive, making parts of the film feel almost tiring over the course of more than an hour. If some performances and relationships lack the depth needed to fully realize the emotional complexity of the material, the film nevertheless remains a serious and affecting attempt to give form to the ongoing reverberations of historical violence.
The film was part of the 2026 Canadian Film Fest in Toronto.
Rating: 3/5