The relationship between film critics and filmmakers is symbiotic. Artists may find it thrilling to be worthy of discourse. Influential critics gifted with both insight and followership often receive perks—advance screenings, industry invitations, exclusive insights. Positive reviews become blurbs and pull quotes, solidifying a film’s artistic merit. (A negative review might provoke a counter-reaction.)
Within Nollywood, the “New Yoruba Epic” (NYE) is a genre that embodies this complex relationship. Sparked by the success of King of Thieves in 2022, directed by Adebayo Tijani and Tope Adebayo Salami, and continued recently by Lisabi 2: A Legend Is Born from Niyi Akinmolayan, the NYE has become a defining genre of contemporary Nigerian cinema. Behind them are a number of outfits, notably Akinmolayan’s Anthill Studios and Femi Adebayo’s Euphoria 360.
The movement, so to speak, is situated in the New Nollywood epoch, which has seen some convergence between Nigerian filmmaking and global standards. As a result, there’s a rise in genre experimentation, deals with international platforms like Netflix and Prime Video, as well as a push for the Oscars. It is within this particular context, that the problems of the New Yoruba Epic are obvious.
Visually, NYE films reflect New Nollywood’s polish. Cinematographers and production designers, like the late Pat Nebo, have elevated Nigerian cinema, creating richer and more immersive visuals. And yet, the New Yoruba Epic is often a fount of embarrassments.
In Orisa, for instance, a King goes insane, and the film goes on and on against common sense, before anyone summons a Babalawo. Also, the actions he carries out as symptoms of his malady are no different from his actions in the past, back when he was supposedly lucid. Much is made of the King’s crimes of murder and rape, but when the source of his problem is revealed, it is dull and disappointing rather than poignant.
Problems of this sort trail the other movies. In Jagun Jagun, the narrative stalls for over forty minutes, leaving the audience waiting for a story to emerge, and presents a protagonist who is genocidal one moment and a wailing messiah the next. Subplots meander across Afolayan’s Anikulapo projects and disappear. And Lisabi foregoes the build-up of characters, assuming foreknowledge of its audience, and then injects supernatural elements into its final scenes without adequate setup. These problems grate on the mind, considering that, regardless of costume changes, the majority of films in the NYE corpus are the same: a raving overlord gets toppled, sycophants fire gunshots in the air.
Valid criticism of Yoruba epics
However, the critical reception of the NYE genre has introduced a new dimension to Nollywood discourse. Some argue that critics must be Yoruba, or deeply versed in Yoruba culture, to assess these films accurately—a stance that tethers the success or failure of art to identity. In a country where inter-ethnic tensions already simmer, this perspective complicates the role of criticism, as it risks insulating the work from external standards. Yet, the New Yoruba Epic’s themes of tyranny, rebellion, and heroism are universal. By embracing conventions well-worn by world cinema, these films invite a global audience and open themselves to universal critique.
“There’s indeed a place for the regular conventions you refer to, but you’ll be doing the critical institution a disservice if your frame of interpreting every story is limited to those conventions and not within the cultural world of the film,” a filmmaker said to me after reading my review of the Lisabi: The Uprising.
This would be quite the retort if NYE films evinced elements so wholly Yoruba as to warrant specialised interrogation. They do not. Often, what is presented contains nothing so unique as to stump a non-Yoruba viewer.
And yet, there is actual nuance to the point raised by the filmmaker who reached out. It recognises that Nigerian narratives often blend historical and fantastical elements, erasing Western distinctions between history and fantasy. Supernatural elements are, put simply, part of “valid reality” in the Nigerian cinematic landscape.
While this is true, introducing these elements late in a narrative without setup risks incongruity. Its source is more likely bad screenwriting not innovation—the same kind of bad screenwriting that manifests in other kinds of cinematic entries from Nollywood.
This dialogue between art and critique is vital because it refines. Film criticism has long been an engine of change, as seen with the French New Wave, whose rebellious ethos emerged from the work of film critics like Alexandre Astruc and François Truffaut. By challenging conventional storytelling, they redefined cinema.
Without critique, Nollywood might never have risen above its sole allure of “our-own-ness”. The innovations that now draw audiences back to Nigerian films are often direct responses to critical feedback. Nollywood’s evolution is a testament to its ability to adapt. Its technical achievements in cinematography and production design have brought it some acclaim.
Nigerian films are increasingly gaining recognition at international festivals. But as Nollywood continues to grow, the balance between praise and honest critique remains crucial. While talented filmmakers may initially bristle at negative reviews, many will take the lessons to heart, returning to the drawing board, fueled by a determination to excel.
Although artists may offer valid culturally nuanced perspectives, it is the mediocre creator who deflects from critique.
