Nollywood has seen remarkable growth in recent years, rising from an insignificant corner of the global film industry to becoming the largest producer of titles worldwide by volume. After decades of low-budget, low-quality productions, the industry is beginning to take a new shape, with serious investment going into improving the quality of its films. Yet for most Nigerians, the feeling persists that the way we tell our stories hasn’t gotten better. This has pushed many of us toward the conclusion that we need to adopt Western stories to tell great ones, and that thinking is wrong.
Nollywood has great stories. Stories that are universally relatable and genuinely captivating. The problem is not what we are saying. It is our ability to convert those stories into the high-quality screen experiences that great cinema demands.
There is a popular saying in filmmaking: you cannot make a good movie from a bad script. The screenplay is the foundation everything else rests on. A screenplay is a technical document, a blueprint, that contains everything to be seen and heard on screen in a film, series, or television show. It is different from the story itself. A story might explore a young man who, despite his optimism, fails to achieve his dreams because of the socioeconomic realities of his country, with themes of agony, Afro-optimism, love, and hustle running through it. The screenwriter is the person who takes that concept and builds a screen experience out of it, the scenes, the dialogue, the sequences, giving the story a body the camera can follow.
It is only when the screenplay is strong that a director can bring his unique vision and style in to multiply its effect into something extraordinary on screen. But when the foundation is broken, nothing good comes out of it, no matter how gifted the director or how committed the actors.
In Nollywood, the stories we are trying to tell are often right there, vivid and urgent. But the screenplay consistently fails them, stripping the soul out of what the film could have become. Behind the Scenes by Funke Akindele is one clear example. Widely celebrated as a Nollywood blockbuster, backed by a massive production and marketing budget, praised for its performances, and a huge commercial success, its screenplay was still a significant disappointment. The film follows a woman crushed under the weight of family and professional obligations who fakes her own death to reveal who truly cares for her. The themes are rich: family, relationships, black tax, betrayal. But the screenplay undermines all of it by telling the audience what to expect from the very beginning, without earning the emotional payoff through proper character development. Too many scenes were inert, contributing nothing to the story or its themes. Other films that fall into this same category include Gingerrr, The Farmer’s Bride, and nearly the entire catalogue of our YouTube films.
That said, there are exceptions. I have watched Nigerian films with genuinely strong screenplays, like BB Sasore’s Breath of Life, Kemi Adetiba’s To Kill a Monkey, and Far from Home, and these films have earned recognition both locally and internationally, and for good reason.
For Nollywood to truly go global and reach its full potential, we have to move beyond making films with bad scripts and great marketing. The industry’s next step is great scripts and great marketing, because no amount of production value or promotional spend can give you what a strong screenplay gives you for free: a story that actually lands.
Every year, the African Magic Viewers’ Choice Awards (AMVCA) arrive with glamour, fashion, celebrity appearances, and viral red carpet moments. But underneath all the lights, luxury, and social media conversations, the AMVCA is an important institution in African entertainment.
To understand why the AMVCA carries so much weight today, it helps to go back to its beginning.
The African Magic Viewers’ Choice Awards was launched in 2013 by MultiChoice under Africa Magic as a platform created specifically to celebrate excellence in African film and television. At that time, Nollywood was already producing films at an incredible rate, making it one of the largest film industries in the world by volume. But despite its size, the industry still lacked something crucial: institutional recognition.
Hollywood had the Oscars, television had the Emmys, British cinema had the BAFTAs, but African filmmakers did not have a major continental platform dedicated to celebrating their work on a global scale.
That was the gap the AMVCA stepped in to fill.
One of the biggest impacts of the AMVCA is how it helped change Nollywood’s standards internally.
In the early years of Nollywood, films were often criticized for poor sound, depthless storytelling, inconsistent acting, and weak production quality. The industry was productive but not always critically respected. The AMVCA helped push that narrative forward by rewarding not just popularity, but craft.
With categories like Best Cinematography, Best Director, Best Editing, Best Writing, Best Costume Design, and Best Sound Design aimed at carrying prestige. Filmmakers were no longer just trying to make successful movies; they wanted recognition for technical excellence too.
That ambition changed the industry.
The AMVCA red carpet, Met Gala Paradox, and the role of fashion at award shows.
The AMVCA’s red carpet is arguably one of the most talked about aspects of the award show, thanks to its theme every year that presents the majority of Nigerian designers and stylists to go all out with their interpretation, earning it the title of the “Nigerian MET Gala”.
However, the comparison between the Africa Magic Viewers’ Choice Awards and the Met Gala needs to be dissected properly. Firstly, the Met Gala is a fundraising event aimed at supporting the arts; at its latest edition, it raised over $42 million, marking the highest total in the gala’s history. The AMVCA, on the other hand, is an award show specifically used to acknowledge achievement in film and television across Africa.
The Met Gala is also more than a fundraiser; it is backed up by the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s Costume Institute, a cultural institution that preserves costumes and accessories, acting as a study of resources.
While fashion is an integral part of both events, the AMVCA has arguably been reduced to a mere fashion spectacle, stripping it of its main essence, which is to honour the excellence of cinema in the global south.
Historically, the red carpet’s function is not limited to creative expression and viral moments. One of its foremost roles broadens into the trickle-down effect – a theory that examines how trends circulate in fashion. Here, the red carpet is the highest hierarchy; it is where trends move into mainstream to the mass market, think local tailors, online fashion vendors, and even independent creators.
In the Nigerian context, a red carpet like the AMVCA is an avenue to go all out, blend heritage with cultural pride and expression, as seen at the award’s cultural Night.
However the red carpet at the main event sort of falls flat; and it raises questions about what the trickle-down effect could look like- one word “repetitious”, take the corset for example, a trend we continue to witness on the red carpet, defined by an hourglass-like structure, it is arguably the most dominant aesthetic that arrives on red-carpet and travels beyond into the mainstream every year, it has pretty much influenced the way women dress, reducing mass- market fashion into a sort of monolithic trend cycle.
The AMVCA main red carpet also highlighted several problems around ethical issues, plagiarism (there’s an urgent need for IP education), and cultural insensitivity hidden behind the back of conceptual masterpieces, which, in reality, is not only impractical but also unsustainable, given that the Nigerian fashion industry suffers severe infrastructural problems, a proper system, and policy support.
How the Red Carpet Fashion at the AMVCA Can Co-Exist Seamlessly with the Award Show
For the red carpet fashion at the AMVCA to co-exist seamlessly with the award show, firstly, the AMVCA must be acknowledged for what it truly is- first and foremost, it is a media institute that honours cinematic creativity and should be treated and positioned as such.
Every year, the event comes with a theme, which allows guests to go in and all out; however, a balance needs to be struck. Perhaps its organizers might have to implement a stricter dress code: this could allow designers to create from a place of intentionality and sustainability in mind, thereby maintaining a symbiotic relationship that doesn’t overlap the fashion and the award show.
These are not just mere suggestions, but a necessary structure needed for an ever-evolving industry willing to last.
A Drum, a Crown, and the Consequences of Bad Leadership.
As a child I grew up in a house like most kids my age watching the weekly episodes of This Life, Fuji House of Commotion, Papa Ajasco, Super Story and the rest of them. But the adults around me were movie lovers and a classic now and then was normal in our house. Sunday rice for me and pounded yam for them, all of us gathered around the same television.
Although I was too young to comprehend the plots of those films at the time fully, one image became deeply ingrained in my head: a military man trying to force a crown onto his head and dying in the process. That image stayed with me for so long that the first time I heard the Abacha story, before I even knew what Abacha looked like, my brain associated the actor who played that role with him. I genuinely thought that man was Abacha.
Then there was this song by one of the characters that went like this
“Yó ma lè yín, yó ma lè yín, oro yì yó ma lè yín…”
This situation will lead to negative consequences.
From the movie, my uncle would sing it for my siblings and me anytime we were playing too rough, using style to let us know that if we did not stop playing, one of us would cry or all of us would cry. The movie became a part of my life without me knowing the plot until I got to university and decided to rewatch it, and my God, dare I say it is one of the best classics to come out of Nigeria.
Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls of the Federal Republic, the movie I am talking about is none other than Saworoide by Tunde Kelani
The 1999 film follows the story of the fictional Yoruba kingdom of Jogbo. The movie starts with a parable of a drum played on a saworoide, a large talking drum with brass bells around it. Tunde Kelani tells us with text that it is the story of a pact between an ancient community and the kings that rule over it. Think of it like a modern-day treaty. He shows us how the treaty was done and how the special talking drum was built.
The point of the treaty was to make sure that whoever is king answers to the people. So when someone wears the crown, and they beat the drum called saworoide, and the people are not happy about him being king, the person dies. The pact forces every incoming king to submit to a ritual linking his body, conscience and reign to the drum.
In one of the first scenes, a chief goes to meet an old wise man to ask if his friend could be king, and the wise man says I already told you he who loves a good life must not aspire to be king, the king serves the people, not the other way around, and their king cannot be rich like other kings. The chief tells the old wise man that he wants his friend to become king so they can spend money, and the wise man says he could become king, but he should make sure he refuses the incisions and taking the oath because this is what connects the kings to the drum and the crown.
Lapite becomes king, refusing the coronation pact, choosing power without accountability, without thinking of the consequences. Yes, there were consequences. Any king who avoids the incisions risks sharing his crown with someone. Second, if you wear the crown and they beat saworoide he will die of a splitting headache.
Lapite’s solution was to kill the Ayàn family, the drummers and his political opponents and steal what he thought was saworoide so none of them would ever play the drum.
Not long after King Lapite took over the throne, the citizens became very unhappy. King Lapite and his chiefs did not care about Jogbo; they cared about making money for themselves. Tunde Kelani shows us this by King Lapite and the chiefs buying the latest cars with money he got from foreigners who were taking resources from the land of Jogbo, and the press asking them where they got the money. There was hunger in the land and protests by the youth.
Lapite ruled for almost twenty years, and for the citizens, it was hell. The youth took matters into their own hands, and when Lapite could no longer control the situation, he sought help from foreigners who were exploiting the land for its resources, and they supplied him with heavy ammunition and military support.
The military colonel they brought, named Lagata, saw how much money the king and the chiefs were making and decided to form a coup against King Lapite. He killed King Lapite, made himself king and ruled like a totalitarian seeking total intrusive control over every aspect of public and private life. Tunde Kelani shows us this with silent scenes of military men arresting the press, various stop and search and soldiers collecting taxes from hawkers.
To cut a long story short, the youth were able to find the surviving member of the Ayàn family to beat the saworoide on the day of Colonel Lagata’s coronation, causing him to die of a splitting headache, and the people getting their land back from corrupt leaders.
The movie ends with the wise old man telling the audience that the young and the old should all unite in building a better society.
THE CAST.
The movie is a little over twenty six years old, so the cast includes OG Nigerian actors and actresses. Some of them, like Kunle Afolayan, who plays Aresejabata, Khabirat Kafidipe, who plays Araparegangan, and the beautiful Bukky Wright, were probably at the beginning of their careers when the movie dropped. Watching them now feels like watching history in motion, seeing stars before they became the names we know today.
The older OG stars are just as powerful. Kunle Bamtefa, who many of us know as Chief from Fuji House of Commotion, plays Ogagun Lagata with chilling authority. The film is filled with a long list of Nollywood actors whose faces shaped Nigerian television and cinema for decades, giving the story a grounded, familiar weight.
The cinematography was nothing fancy, and that is understandable. This was the cassette era. But the story more than made up for it. It was not just a story. Tunde Kelani implored us, as citizens of the world, to participate in the rule of law in whatever way we can, so power does not remain in the hands of a limited few. His filmmaking is deliberate and patient. He trusts the audience to think, to listen, and to remember.
The story was relevant back in 1999 and is even more important now. I have only seen a handful of Tunde Kelani’s films, but every time, his stories make me sit still and think. That is exactly what Saworoide did to me.
The political references do not just point to Nigeria. They remind me of many countries around the world that pretend to practice democracy while power quietly shifts into the hands of a few. And that is what makes Saworoide timeless. It does not age. It waits.
POLITICAL REFERENCES.
There is an adage from the movie that I cannot stop thinking about, one that reminds me deeply of Africa. The wise man says it to one of the chiefs when the foreigners arrive with a so-called solution to help the king deal with the uprising of the youths. It was said in Yoruba. My Yoruba writing skills are not great, but you know what was great? The subtitles of this movie.
The adage goes something like this: a burglar offers to fix your doors and you are not vigilant. That line alone carries the entire weight of Africa’s relationship with the West.
It immediately reminds me of how Western countries often come in the name of “help.” Aid. Support. Development. What we now understand as saviour complex. They build infrastructure that later becomes a form of neo-colonialism. Loans that never truly end. Systems designed to keep countries dependent rather than independent.
Instead of King Lapite being diplomatic with the youths, instead of listening or addressing their grievances, what does he do? He arrests them. He kills them.
Does this sound familiar?
Yes, it does. Because End SARS read like a page torn straight out of King Lapite’s rulebook.
Another political significance that stood out to me was how the foreigners began playing both sides. At some point, they were sponsoring the youths by supplying them with ammunition, while also sponsoring the king and the police. Chaos became profitable. Instability became a business model. The longer the crisis lasted, the more leverage they had.
There is a scene where the foreigners are having a private meeting, and one of them says it is because Lapite is stupid that they are making so much money. He says they never make money this easily in other nations. Another one goes even further and says something chilling: it pays them more to have a corrupt ruler on the throne than a just ruler.
That line alone explains decades of African leadership failure backed quietly by foreign interests.
Another detail Tunde Kelani adds, subtly but deliberately, is that the king and the chiefs always keep their money in offshore accounts so as not to arouse suspicion. They steal from their own people, but they trust foreign banks more than their own land. That too feels painfully familiar. Nigeria is rich, yet the wealth of the nation sleeps abroad while its people struggle at home.
One scene I will never forget, because it reminds me so heavily of Nigeria, is when the colonel (Ogagun Lagata) brought in by the foreigners to help the corrupt King Lapite asks one of his soldiers, who is a citizen of Jogbo, what he thinks of the land. The soldier responds by saying they are suffering in the midst of plenty. He says it more powerfully in Yoruba, in a way I wish I could translate directly, but the part I understood clearly translates to: we have mats, but we sleep on the floor.
It reminds me of how many resources Nigeria has, oil, gas, land, people, creativity, intelligence, yet the majority of citizens suffer daily because of bad leadership and poor management. We have the mats. We simply are not allowed to sleep on them.
What makes Saworoide so unsettling is that it does not feel like history. It feels like now. The suppression of youths. The criminalisation of protest. Foreign interests protecting corrupt leadership. The military stepping in under the guise of restoring order. The media being silenced. The people paying the price.
Tunde Kelani is not just telling a story. He was issuing a warning. He was showing us what happens when citizens disengage, when culture is abandoned, and when accountability is traded for convenience. Jogbo could be Nigeria. It could be Sudan. It could be Congo. It could be Haiti. It could be anywhere pretending to practice democracy while power quietly concentrates in the hands of a few.
We may not have a saworoide drum today, but we have rights. And like the drum, those rights only work when the people are willing to use them.
That, to me, is why Saworoide still hurts.
And why it still matters.
I say all this to say that political participation is not for a select few. And I know it is very discouraging when you keep trying and you do not get heard. Whether it is picking a party you believe will represent your political ideology, joining conversations, holding leaders accountable, or simply going out to vote, it can feel pointless, especially when the system seems designed to ignore you.
But the truth is this: nobody is coming to save us.
That is the lesson Saworoide keeps repeating. Waiting for a perfect leader, a benevolent foreign power, or a miracle solution only leaves room for people like Lapite and Lagata to rise. Power does not disappear when citizens step back. It only moves into fewer and more dangerous hands.
Political participation does not always look grand. Sometimes it looks like asking questions. Sometimes it looks like refusing to be silent. Sometimes it looks like remembering history so it does not repeat itself. In Jogbo, the people lost their voice because they stopped guarding the pact. In real life, societies collapse when citizens are convinced that their voices do not matter.
We may not have a saworoide drum to call leaders to order, but we have laws, rights, protests, votes, conversations, and collective memory. These things only work if we use them. Democracy is not a gift. It is a responsibility that must be exercised again and again, even when it is exhausting.
So let us put the matter in our own hands. Not violently. Not carelessly. But consciously. Because the cost of disengagement is always higher than the cost of participation. And if Saworoide teaches us anything, it is that when people finally wake up, it is often after too much damage has already been done.
The choice is always the same: participate, or be ruled.
P.S. This message is not directed at Nigerians alone. If you live in a country that does not reflect your political ideology, do something about it. Silence only sustains systems that do not serve the people.
