“A Lagos Love Story”: Chinaza Onuzo’s Romcom Deserves Commendation

The Nigerian film industry has been rightly exposed to constant critical reviews and essays from critics and unfiltered criticism from the audience. Unmindful of these words and essays, the average mainstream Nollywood filmmaker is unfazed. Strangely confident, filmmakers make films, and begrudgingly, critics and audiences alike watch these films and TV series. With this committed zest, it’s important to acknowledge the patriotic Nollywood filmmakers who keep making desolate films and TV series. It takes a heightened level of skills and expertise to create a vapid film that’s stuffed with numerous scenes that exist merely as fillers. This deep need to commend the makers of A Lagos Love Story inspired this review. 

Chinaza Onuzo’s A Lagos Love Story, jointly written by him and Ozzy Etomi, follows the indescribable King Kator (Mike Afolarin), a musical act whose path keeps frustratingly colliding with Promise Quest (Jemima Osunde), another indescribable character. Both have internal conflicts propelling their movements. King Kator, as the crowd that greets his daily appearance shows, is a popular musical act. Supposedly, his music and face cause uproar within the streets of Lagos. But, with King Kator’s minimal interaction with Fadekemi (Linda Ejiofor) and Achike (IK Osakioduwa), his management has a propensity for trouble. Promise Quest, on the other hand, has her eyes set on preserving a vague memory and legacy of her mother while juggling that with caring for her ailing father (Kalu Ikeagwu) and sister, Favour (Susan Pwajok.) 

The film revels in ambiguity, not in the logical and intellectually stimulating way you find in a David Lynch film. It’s the aimless ambiguity that’s dominant in a script and film lacking in care and patience in its writing and making. Characters are so flaccid that it takes a heightened sense of justification, on viewers’ part, to discern who characters are supposed to be. This puzzle-solving gymnastics  that viewers continuously engage in, detracts from the film’s entertainment value. 

Mainstream Nollywood films have repeatedly attempted to show the economic divide between the ruling and working class Nigerians. Rarely will you watch a mainstream Nollywood film and not find these social issues tucked into it. Onuzo’s A Lagos Love Story also fits this narrative as one of its subplots. Manning this concern are Adanna (Uche Montanna) and Nunu (Victoria Adeyele.) The story secures in them the judgmental, calculated, and deceptively generous look of the rich in their social interaction with Favour, a struggling lady. However, this divide, beyond the surface level and cliche difference, doesn’t feel earned. Thinking back to contemporary mainstream Nollywood history, the most insightful commentary the industry has presented on these issues can be located in Bolanle Austen-Peters’ Collision Course. In an unusual and out-of-the-box manner, Hannah (played by Oluwabamike Olawunmi-Adenibuyan) gave a metaphorical interpretation of the famous Third Mainland Bridge when she said, “The Third Mainland Bridge is more than just a link bridge between the mainland and island. It’s a submerged metaphor for social stratification. On one side, you have the Mecca for the bourgeoisie, and on the other side, you find the poor.” 

Lagos is an extremely noisy and colourful place. The film’s art and music, and sound departments attempt to capture this visual and sonic aspect of Lagos in this film. Thus, each scene and moment has a sound and song slapped upon it. If these sounds and music progressively push the narrative forward, isn’t the immediate concern of the filmmakers? The only consideration, as I presume, must be primary during the post-production conversation is the urgent need to fill the script and scenes’ void with more and more songs. This is such a fitting link with Lagos’s party scenes that it is mostly filled with songs that inspired loose-jointed movements, but falls short of simulating your mind. Unsurprisingly, Nigerians just want to dance, not philosophize. If the music industry has been able to get away with this, the same grace can be extended to mainstream Nigerian filmmakers.  

It must be emphasized that A Lagos Love Story’s problem isn’t an isolated one. It’s an industry problem. The film industry is still struggling with learning to learn the recipe of storytelling. Take the film’s numerous party scenes, for instance. Lagosians, both the rich and poor, love endless parties. For those deeply intimated in these ritual-like parties, the parties are an indication of the communal spirit and, in, negative light, the vanity of community. These parties show how far Lagosians, even when hungry, will go to buy clothes and jewelry just to belong. 

Jade Osiberu’s Christmas in Lagos, lined with party scenes,  is another serious offender. Similar to A Lagos Love Story, the film is stacked with vapid party scenes upon each other. These scenes just point to the production team’s access to an unlimited budget. But, how they add to the narrative is lacking. In skilled hands, these party scenes that litter the films could have been moments of social examination of these aspects of Lagosians’ cultural lives. But, as the scenes reveal, the film isn’t concerned with that. Interest is rather placed on glossily capturing this faux sense of community, and importantly, populating the films with vain scenes.