In 2015, Olamide Àdìó and Victor Daniel met, virtually, on Wallflowers, a Facebook writers’ group for young creatives with literary aspirations. Then, they were both trying to be serious writers and were educating themselves privately by reading and writing. As Àdìó recalled, at the time, their relationship was peripheral and one of mutual respect at […]
3 weeks ago
In 2015, Olamide Àdìó and Victor Daniel met, virtually, on Wallflowers, a Facebook writers’ group for young creatives with literary aspirations. Then, they were both trying to be serious writers and were educating themselves privately by reading and writing. As Àdìó recalled, at the time, their relationship was peripheral and one of mutual respect at work. Daniel recalled Àdìó joining the group a few months after Wallflowers was created, and it became clear that he was “more talented” than others in the group. It wasn’t long before the members outgrew the group and left. After this period, Daniel developed a stronger interest in filmmaking, finished law school, and was working in corporate Nigeria. Àdìó, on the other hand, had graduated from university and was working within the creative side of corporate Nigeria. Their paths crossed again in 2022. Daniel had a hard drive of classic African films he had gotten from a friend. This piqued Àdìó’s interest and prompted him to invite Daniel to his apartment in Ibadan. The duo recalls discussing film-and-industry-related topics ranging from form, storytelling to Nollywood. As Àdìó reminisces and is acknowledged by Daniel, that meeting sowed the seeds of their partnership. “We realized how similar our sensibilities were and decided we could do something together. We began developing ideas, and it felt natural to form a partnership,” Daniel recounts.
In the Nigerian film landscape, Àdìó and Daniel’s creative partnership reminds one of Isaac Ayodeji and Taiwo Egunjobi, even if Isaac doesn’t direct. And, more recently, the one between Wale and Akinola Davies with their history-making film, My Father Shadow. These creative partnerships are springing up across the industry. Martini Akande and Jade Osiberu, Oge and C.J “Fiery” Obasi, Kayode Kasum and Dare Olaitan, Nosazemen Agbontaen and Rete Poki, and others have recurring working relationships that have shaped the films they made. Although Àdìó considers Egunjobi and Ayodeji as models, especially because they are—like him—storytellers working out of Ibadan, he considers the Chuko and Arie Esiri (the Esiri brothers) a more direct model. Their creative achievement with Eyimofe is groundbreaking in its clarity and restraint.
Daniel and Àdìó share similar storytelling sensibilities. But, while Daniel prefers linear drama, Àdìó leans towards scale and non-linear forms like magical realism in the tradition of Ben Okri, Mia Couto, and Garcia Marquez. As Daniel told Culture Custodian, if they weren’t working together, they would probably be making very different kinds of films with a similar core. But what the duo has found is that when they blend their varying elements, the work becomes stronger. As a duo, when one of them brings a premise, it’s collaboratively tested against each through long conversations before writing a treatment. Ideation, drafting to a narrative structure, is collaborative. “We both trust the process enough to let our different instincts sharpen each other rather than cancel each other out,”
What’s Left of Us? is the duo’s first publicly released project. The film was made under Big Cabal Media’s Zikoko Life short film anthology, featuring two additional titles, Uzoamaka Power’s My Body, God’s Temple, and Dika Ofoma’s Something Sweet. Their film is marked by its minimalist tendency and nuanced handling of topics around masculinity, female body autonomy and agency, marital responsibilities, and religion. Mother, their latest film, which will start its festival circuit run at the 2025 Annual Film Mischief, has those distinct minimalist and bold instincts towards addressing an incestuous relationship between a grieving father and daughter. These topics are taboo topics within the confines of a Nigerian and African society. But, their films have owned it as the thematic and narrative focus. The filmmakers don’t share in the sentiment that these minimalist and bold tendencies are their signature style but storytelling sensibility. For Àdìó, minimalism comes partly from the available resources available to us and conviction. “When you strip a story down to its barest elements, what remains are characters, choices, and consequences. That gives the work a bold edge, because without the spectacle, human conflicts stand in sharper relief.” Daniel expands this by saying the concern isn’t about style for its own sake and more about focus. As a duo, they’re heavily drawn to intimacy and how quiet and quotidian choices between people can carry enormous emotional and social weight. Echoing Àdìó, stripping things down allows the boldness of the subject matter to stand out more clearly. “If the work feels minimalist, it’s because we want to strip away everything unnecessary so that what remains is raw, intimate, and impossible to ignore,” Daniel concludes.
Thematically, the duo tell challenging stories but also feel there is enormous room to say complex things with humour. Nigerians are some of the funniest people in the world, yet most of what we produce in films is farce or slapstick. Satire is almost nonexistent in our industry, even though Nigeria is such fertile ground for it. In their private conversations, they have talked about this a lot. When Àdìó saw Wisdom Folutile’s short film, Able Leader, last year, the filmmaker was captivated by it. The film took on heavy themes without losing its wits, and for Àdìó, that’s maybe the larger point. “What matters is not whether a film openly challenges norms, but whether it is honest and well-made. The commentary tends to take care of itself if that’s done.” Nigerian society is full of contradictions—between tradition and modernity, faith and desire, silence and expression—and those contradictions are where Nigerian and African stories reside. To Daniel, when these social, cultural, and economic complexities and contradictions are honestly depicted, storytellers and filmmakers inevitably end up questioning the social and moral norms people often take for granted. “For us, cinema is a mirror. If audiences see themselves, their families, or their communities in our films and walk away unsettled, challenged, or simply asking questions they wouldn’t have asked before, then we feel we’ve done our work.”
Honestly depicting Nigerian life means brushing against social and moral issues. The Nigerian society is heavily policed by ideas of morality, religion, and reputation, which makes stating the obvious and mundane on screen is interpreted as defiance. Daniel expanded to say that many of their stories, the ones already out and those still in development, tend to view the world through a woman’s perspective. In Daniel’s words, crazy and incredible things happen when you look at life that way. Shame, anger, trauma, power—these themes become more layered and compelling when experienced through the female gaze. “We don’t shy away from complexity; in fact, it excites us. So yes, you can expect that to remain a defining marker of our work.”
Watching the duo’s dignifying portrayal of characters despite the volatile and toxic (as in Aliyu in What’s Left of Us?) taboo and incestuous (with Omowunmi and her father in Mother), it’s reminiscent of Sean Baker and Hirokazu Kore-eda‘s dignifying portrayal of their films’ characters. Baker’s characters and films (Anora, Red Pocket, Florida Project, Tangerine, and others) are tied to the daily realities of sex workers, and Kore-eda’s Like Father, Like Son, Shoplifters, Monsters, Brokers, and other titles revolve around an unconventional family doing unconventional and illegal activities. Despite the social stigma society attached to their films’ subjects, the directors don’t adopt their framing. There is a preference for a more raw, intimate, and nuanced portrayal and conversation about the characters’ reality. In Àdìó and Daniel’s case, the Esiri brothers’ Eyimofe, which recalls the 80s Taiwanese New Wave of the 80s, films like Hou Hsiao-Hsien’s Dust in the Wind or Edward Yang’s Taipei Story are their references. The films reflect the quality of human life almost verbatim. And, it’s that rough and ordinary texture captured in these films that the duo wants to replicate in their films. “We aim to reflect real life as closely as possible, so that when you watch Mother, it feels like this could happen on your street to Sarah or Sikirat. That life-like quality is what we’re constantly pursuing in most of our films.” Dignity is central to their storytelling, and even when the subject is unsettling, the duo deliberately avoids sensationalism because it strips characters of their humanity. In their thinking, they would rather the audience see real people than objects of shock or pity. “By choosing restraint, we hope to create space for empathy. Life isn’t simple, and neither are people. Unsensational storytelling allows that complexity to shine through,” Daniel concludes.
Mother, their more controversial film, will have its first public screening at TAFM. Àdìó said it would be naive not to expect strong responses. But real life is stranger than fiction. The film was inspired by true events, and from Àdìó’s perspective, when a story like Mother provokes strong reactions, it’s usually because something in the storytelling was handled with care. As storytellers, they don’t feel a necessity to do anything beyond telling a good story and filming it well. That, for them, is the real work. Daniel said that though Mother is about a taboo subject, they wouldn’t walk away from a story simply because it brushes against taboo. “Taboos exist in our world, and real people live through them. Mother was inspired by a true-life story. We know Mother will provoke strong reactions, but we trust sincerity and empathy to help audiences see the humanity in the work—even if they don’t fully agree with us.”
Until he stopped writing for WhatKeptMeUp, Àdìó was one of the notorious Nollywood film critics known for his scathing and biting words. The critic-turned-filmmaker grew up watching films, and at age 16, he was already reading Hollywood scripts. But it wasn’t until he had to explain why a film worked or didn’t that he truly began to understand storytelling. He describes his time as a critic at WhatKeptMeUp as an apprenticeship that made it possible for him to recognise structure, texture, and the nerve of Nollywood from the inside. Eyimofe struck him during his critiquing stint because of the deft hand that quietened the city’s chaos, so that the human stories could come into sharp focus. “I don’t think I’d have grasped that level of craft if I hadn’t spent those years critiquing films.” For Daniel, the habit of close watching, shaped by our years critiquing films, naturally feeds into their current practice. Their constant attention to the craft they glimpsed at watching other filmmakers made it important to hold themself to the same standard they once held others to. “In many ways, critiquing films shaped our taste and gave us the vocabulary to build our own work.”
Àdìó and Daniel are building a distinct filmmaking relationship. As their film gears up for its public release, they want a large audience to watch it. Daniel’s biggest hope is that Mother isn’t misprofiled. It’s the kind of film that can be read in many directions. It can be interpreted as a love story or one of power or abuse. While the duo is aware of what the film is and the few people who have seen it understood its intentions, there’s still a lingering concern that some audiences might misinterpret the intentions. That would be unfortunate, because so much of the film’s weight rests in its nuance. Is there a future where they do solo production? The duo has built a rhythm of thinking, writing, and arguing through stories together, and that won’t be abandoned. There are already three to four projects lined up ahead. “Sure, someday we’ll do our solo projects. But for now, we are just going to grow together,” Daniel concludes.
