Movies, everyday, are made all around us. From the glitzy streets of reserved Asokoro where life-defining decisions are made over champagne bottles, to the forgotten recesses of the waterways of Olokpobiri, glides and stunts worthy of cinematographic excellences are pulled. And the casts? Terrific! I had it that my mum had zero humor in her until she told me she believed in me. What? Me? It was the same day my girlfriend- I call her Chocolate (’cause literally she lives on that brown, viscous stuff)- prepared rice that wasn’t burnt. How was that even possible?
Lagos reeks of crazy stunts. And just when you’re to count your blessings at the privilege of such scenic eyeful (you know like Peter Jackson counts his bills after grossing so much from The Hobbit), you find yourself in Allen. It’s dark. Against the epigraph on the wall of The Baptist Church which reads “Only Jesus Saves” is this dude, leaning, eyes closed, face squeezed. A near-naked chic is bending over him. What’s he getting? A vicious bj, 500 buck worth. You say ‘Amen’ and stroll off.
It’s crazy the amount of comedies that reel off the spools of the streets, so much so as to leave Mr. Ibu worried over his income. From the mediocrity of ‘Oga at the top’ to Femi Fani Kayode brazenly naming all the Ibo women he bunked(?) just to pronounce his innocence of tribalism, and Yerima’s kindergarten appetite, you’d surely get stunned. No cinema charges!
And someone somewhere contrived to be awed by how huge Nollywood has become. Misdirected awe! Me, my awe is of how little Nollywood does. There is yet no film house as big as Universal Studios here, no Film Village, no green screen studio of note, and an attempted stunt in a movie would appall a toddler. This is my awe!
Well, now I’m here. Let’s look to stir this ship rightly. And respect, surely, would be accorded every genuine Nollyfolk out there who toils for the class art.
Thanks for holding the line.