A young boy stands frozen on an unfamiliar street in the middle of the night, clutching a bundle tightly to his chest. Weakly illuminated by streetlights, it is barely recognisable as a baby. The silhouettes of adults are framed in the doorway of a house ahead, their hushed conversation floating in and out of earshot as they gently beckon him inside.
This is how we are forced to piece together much of the story of 10-year-old Leon’s turbulent life. Told through the eyes of a child, My Name is Leon sees the titular character navigating the confusing world of foster care: through snatches of overheard conversation, whispers in hallways and sympathetic glances.
