If you’ve been even remotely active online, the words Achalugo and Odogwu have likely crossed your path, either directly or embedded in brands like Piggyvest’s marketing materials. Perhaps you’ve also encountered the lavish praise hailing Love in Every Word as one of 2025’s cinematic masterpieces, or declarations that Omoni Oboli has revolutionized NollyTube.
If we define revolution as proliferating more films centered on affluent Odogwus whose wealth derives solely from their inherited titles, then perhaps she contributed to Nollytube’s evolution. However, claiming she pioneered this movement overlooks reality. The film follows the well-worn path of man-meets-woman, the fundamental premise of every romantic comedy, yet somehow has been positioned as groundbreaking for Nigerian cinema. For a film so celebrated as the standard-bearer of the romcom genre, it invites a deeper examination of what romantic comedies could and should be in the Nigerian context.
First, we must establish the essential elements that define a romantic comedy. The term “romcom” merges “romantic” and “comedy”—two fundamental components that drive these narratives. Typically, these stories follow two individuals whose paths intersect, leading either to eternal union (as in Netflix’s To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before) or a bittersweet separation despite lingering affection (as in the acclaimed musical La La Land).
As Wesley Morris of The New York Times eloquently states, the romantic comedy stands as “the only genre committed to letting relatively ordinary people figure out how to deal meaningfully with another human being.” The genre thrives on recognizable tropes, with much of the pleasure derived from watching how writers reinvent these familiar elements. These include the Meet Cute (charming coincidental encounters ubiquitous in the genre), Enemies to Lovers (a self-explanatory progression seen in Hollywood’s The Kissing Booth), the classic love triangle (two suitors vying for one person’s affection), or The Dare (where a relationship initiated as a challenge blossoms into genuine love, as portrayed in the 2003 Hollywood film How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days). What unites these films, regardless of their approach to the formula, is how they mirror the values, expectations, and cultural standards surrounding love and romantic relationships within their respective societies.
Now that we’ve established what constitutes a romantic comedy, let’s examine what it is not, particularly within a Nigerian context. Nollywood romcoms frequently revolve around women being “rescued” by wealthy men from an implied inadequate existence. Consider Love in Every Word: Chioma is instantly captivated when Odogwu purchases her entire workplace building for the chance to speak with her. While such grand gestures might occasionally happen in real life, they hardly represent typical Nigerian romantic experiences, failing the essential romcom principle of portraying ordinary people in relatable situations.
As the narrative unfolds, we’re presented with an increasingly Westernized view of romance, distinguished only by Odogwu’s Igbo accent and occasional displays of sexism (a topic deserving its own analysis). When our romcoms aren’t subjecting women to conceited ex-partners or depicting desperate husband-hunting, they’re manufacturing humor and romantic moments using formulaic Hollywood templates.
Take Netflix’s recent release A Lagos Love Story. Anyone who has lived in Lagos knows its inhabitants navigate constant frustrations, whether it’s power outages, heavy traffic, or arbitrary road closures. How plausible is it, then, that two people colliding in a city of bustle, would experience a moment of “romantic twinkling music” rather than an irritated confrontation?
This isn’t to suggest romcoms shouldn’t indulge in fantasy, a degree of escapism is intrinsic to the genre. However, there must be a balance, or else what purpose does the story serve? Who does it represent? Where is the cultural authenticity? Superficially, a film combines narrative, visual language, audio, and editing techniques, but its soul lies in cultural authenticity, reflecting how people genuinely live and, in romcoms specifically, how they actually love.
So what accounts for the inauthenticity of these romcoms? It’s evident that Nigerian scriptwriters are heavily influenced by Hollywood conventions. A writer truly immersed in Nigerian reality would recognize that a genuine “meet cute” in our context rarely involves twinkling romantic music. The authentic Nigerian reaction would involve a healthy dose of paranoia, not desire or instant mesmerization, being the instinctive emotional response.
Furthermore, the performances rarely convince us of genuine romantic connections. What actually draws these characters together? Where are the meaningful plot points that credibly push them toward each other? Is there a shared history or childhood connection that makes their bond believable? It is not merely enough to tell these things, it should be shown. Jade Osiberu’s Christmas in Lagos suffers from similar shortcomings, featuring characters whose emotions and motivations remain largely opaque.
The irony lies in how these films proudly incorporate “Lagos” in their titles while failing to authentically represent average Lagosians, not in how they live, love, eat, argue, or survive in one of Africa’s most dynamic metropolises. Perhaps most tellingly, Nigerian romantic comedies have yet to capture what genuinely makes us humorous as a people, instead recycling tired jokes and stilted banter that reflect neither authentic Nigerian interaction nor the natural cadence of people genuinely falling in love.
We’ve barely scratched the surface regarding Hollywood’s problematic portrayal of Africa, yet we face an equally troubling issue; Nigeria’s shoddy representation of itself. How can we demonstrate authentic storytelling when our own narratives lack nuance and predominantly showcase Lagos’ most affluent enclaves? Even The Wedding Party, for all its acclaim, falls into this trap, saved only by exceptional performances and Sola Sobowale’s unforgettable dance sequences.
In contrast, the YouTube series Skinny Girl in Transit achieves what many big-budget productions fail to capture, genuine romantic development. Tiwa and Mide’s relationship unfolds with refreshing authenticity: awkward beginnings, personal insecurities, natural hesitations, and realistic setbacks. Their connection feels earned rather than manufactured. Perhaps most significantly, Tiwa’s character stands as a truly relatable protagonist, an endearingly awkward woman who expresses authentic joy in experiencing love, reflecting emotions that resonate with actual Nigerian experiences rather than imported romantic fantasies.
Real-life Nigerian love stories rarely begin with someone buying a building, or falling together romantically at a Lagos event. They spark in far humbler places. It’s in the back seat of a Danfo bus when two strangers share a laugh over the conductor’s antics. It’s in long WhatsApp threads after a random NYSC camp conversation. It’s forged through years of attending the same church, or awkward small talk at a cousin’s wedding. These aren’t grand or cinematic moments, but they are real, familiar, and Nigerian.
A transformation is needed, one that authentically showcases Nigerian cultural realities from the foundation up. Dika Ofoma’s God Wife exemplifies this approach, grounding itself in lived reality as it follows a woman navigating life after her husband’s death. While not a romantic comedy, it masterfully captures the essence of Igbo culture and demonstrates how cultural authenticity can be seamlessly translated into film.
The time has come to move beyond derivative Western tropes and exhausted formulas. Nigerian cinema must embrace narratives that genuinely reflect our unique perspectives, stories that speak truthfully to Nigerian experiences, that capture the distinctive pulse of Lagos life, and that celebrate the rich cultures that define us. Only then will our romantic comedies truly resonate as both authentic reflections and worthy contributions to global cinema.
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