In the current wave of African filmmaking, the word “genre” has taken centre stage in development labs, co-production markets, and producer panels. Many African producers and filmmakers are now fully invested in this idea that genre cinema is the answer to elevating the continent’s film industry. It is touted as a ticket to international markets, global streaming platforms, and festival acclaim. But as this trend grows louder, I find myself increasingly concerned—not because genre cinema is inherently bad, but because of the way it is being positioned as the only way forward.
When I say “genre cinema”, I’m referring to its conventional meaning in filmmaking circles: films that follow specific narrative conventions tied to established categories—horror, thriller, sci-fi, fantasy, action, crime, and others. These films are often shaped around familiar tropes and story structures, and are designed to meet audience expectations and perform well in the commercial marketplace. At its best, genre cinema is a playground for imagination and style. At its worst, it becomes formulaic and soulless.
The excitement around genre films in Africa often comes from a well-intentioned place: the desire for African stories to be seen and consumed globally, not just in niche “world cinema” corners. And yes, visibility matters. Revenue matters. Representation matters. But my question is—at what cost?
At a pitching forum during the Durban FilmMart in South Africa last year, I presented my feature project Sacha’s Journey (formerly titled Ibihozo) at the inaugural Africa Lab Showcase. The project was selected from the Yaoundé Film Lab and is a character-driven narrative rooted in Rwandan identity. After my pitch, I had a one-on-one with a respected producer who gave me honest feedback. “We need to be making genre films now—like Squid Game,” he said. “That’s what buyers are looking for. That’s where the money is.”
It was said with conviction and I left with a no-deal. I respected his frankness and still do. But it left me with a concerning unease because the truth is Squid Game was rejected for over a decade before it found a home at Netflix. Its success wasn’t just about genre; it was about a unique vision meeting a moment in time. It was Korean in essence, brutal in honesty, and reflective of it originating society’s inequalities.
African producers and investors should know that there is no magic formula for replicating a cultural moment. Everyone wanted to make their Parasite after Bong Joon Ho’s film success and Oscar triumph. But I do not think that Parasite was made with this intention. It was a sharp, original satire born from years of craft and a deep understanding of Korean society. What made it resonate universally was how particular it was. Its strength lay not in chasing genre, but in its culturally authentic storytelling.
Trying to get African filmmakers to replicate the success of Parasite and Squid Game is a mistake. First of all, Africa is not a country with a single cultural identity. It’s a continent of 54 countries, with each country having its own cultural identity and its own way of telling stories. To take one example, Augure (Omen), the acclaimed debut feature film by DR Congo’s rapper-cum-filmmaker Baloji is a magical realist portrait of Congolese society. It’s pure Congolese drama at its core because that’s the reality of the society portrayed in the film.
There are other examples. Indeed, a large percentage of the most internationally acclaimed African films of the last two decades were not genre-driven spectacles. They were powerful dramas and documentaries rooted in cultural authenticity and a personal vision. They include the Oscar-nominated Four Daughters by Tunisia’s Kaouther Ben Hania; Night of the Kings by Ivorian director Philippe Lacôte; Timbuktu, Bamako, and Heremakono by Mauritania’s Abderrahmane Sissako; Félicité and Tey by Senegal’s Alain Gomis; Atlantics and Dahomey by Mati Diop; Goodbye Julia by Sudan’s Mohamed Kordofani; Rafiki by Kenya’s Wanuri Kahiu; and The Gravedigger’s Wife by Somalia’s Khadar Ayderus Ahmed.
These films didn’t chase trends. They didn’t try to be Africa’s version of Black Panther or Squid Game. They stayed true to their contexts and told human stories with poetic precision and emotional depth. And they reached the world because they were specific. Contrast that with the idea of chasing global genre trends—trying to make the next Squid Game or Stranger Things with African actors and settings.
What happens when a dozen African filmmakers all try to tell the same kind of story? We lose our individuality. We flatten our voices. We create films that may look polished, but feel hollow.
I’m not rejecting genre cinema; it can be powerful. African horror, Afrofuturism, sci-fi rooted in folklore—these are rich, untapped territories. But genre should be a tool, not a direction. A filmmaker should use genre when it serves the story—not because a market trend demands it.
In my humble opinion, we need filmmakers who are fearless in vision, unapologetic in culture, and authentic in storytelling. We need comedies, romances, mysteries, action thrillers—but also silent meditations, slow burns, kitchen-table dramas, experimental hybrids, and everything in between. African cinema needs a film culture where diversity is not just demographic, but aesthetic.
Let us stop trying to convince the world that we can do what Hollywood or South Korea already does well. Let’s show the world what only we can do. Let’s build industries where no filmmaker has to abandon their voice just to fit a mould. African cinemas can do more. I need to see more African films winning the Palme d’Or, getting the Golden Lion, and earning nominations at the Oscars and winning. But I’m convinced that chasing this hare called genre cinema won’t bring these accolades to the continent.
Mutiganda Wa Nkunda is a Rwandan director. In 2021, his debut feature, Nameless, won the screenwriting award at FESPACO.
