“Ordinary People” : Moses Inwang Believes in Dumbing Things Down

Zap through Nigerian Netflix originals and a pattern quickly emerges. Characters describe what they are doing or feeling. They keep reminding you of what happened moments earlier. They spell out their goals and motivations, just in case you missed anything the first—or second—time around. Not leaving things to chance, these filmmakers, as frustratingly shown in Ordinary People, use filmmaking devices and elements to make everything easier. They are aware the films and series compete with numerous things and activities. Thus, they opt for exaggerated and explanatory dialogues and in Inwang’s case, he opts for explanatory voice overs delivered by Dare Laguda (Shawn Faqua), to make things simpler.  

After watching Moses Inwang’s eight-episode series, Ordinary People, the simple conclusion is this: Moses Inwang, creator, writer, director, and producer of Ordinary People, believes you, his viewers, might be dumb. From episode one to eight, the characters’ dialogues and introductions, jarring AI usage, and almost-inconsequential action sequences show a director who seems convinced that viewers cannot understand unfolding actions and dialogue. It’s a violent distrust of viewers’ intuition  that filmmakers decide to simplify characters, dialogues, and motivations. They care about the eroding attention span but by opting for simplifying things they contribute towards the erosion. And, Inwang isn’t alone as there’s a growing horde of contemporary Nigerian filmmakers who believe it’s impossible for the audiences to grasp the smallest details. 

When the series starts, Dare informs us that his Lagos house hunting ordeal has ended. Now he’s a resident of Mirage Estate, one of those overpriced estates spread across Lagos Island. A young, successful, and single techie, he draws suspicious and flirtatious glances from his neighbours. The series follows the many lives of its ordinary characters. A successful Nollywood actress Emilia (Sharon Ooja) battles mental health issues while her loving husband, Osaro (Eddy Watson), dotes on her. MC Pere (Lasisi Elenu) doesn’t get tired of abusing his wife Audrey (Uche Montana), he constantly slaps and hits her at home while maintaining a loving facade outside. Doctor Adebayo (Gbenga Titiloye), the estate chairman, hides a body. Ditto the Ghanaian couple: Tony (Adjetey Anang) and Mercy (Jackie Appiah), running from a criminal court case in Ghana. Importantly, there’s Tolu (Chidi Mokeme) and Margaret (Michelle Dede), an undercover intelligence couple whose seemingly conventional marriage is part of a years-long investigation. We learn the couple are investigating another couple: Jonas and Lukas Sommers, whom they believe are Tonardo (Ramsey Nouah) and Chinelo (Adunni Ade), the well-to-do Niger Delta crime lord. 

These are the multiple stories in Inwang’s Ordinary People. The stories aside, the series is committed to passing a central lesson: you don’t know what your smiling neighbours do in the comfort of their rooms. Dare, who “hacks everything and everyone,” takes an omniscient posture in the unfolding narrative. By hacking his neighbours’ devices, he captures muddy, character-defining details and secrets his neighbours are tugging away from public view and scrutiny. The messaging is simple and straightforward. But the messaging is the least frustrating part of Ordinary People. It’s the relentless handholding  of viewers and a general  distrust of their ability to infer details unless it is drummed into their consciousness. In all eight episodes, Dare, courtesy of the lifeless writing, obsessively communicates what we have already seen. He tells us: “I hack everything and everyone. I breach the fortresses of cyber security for fun” as we watch him hack. The message is clear: the writing believes audiences can’t understand a scene unless they are spoon fed. Thus, pivotal details must be emphasized and reemphasized. 

Watching films and series requires sustained attention. But in a casual-viewing world, film audiences often have multiple things competing for their attention. Nigerians watch Netflix from home, at the barber and hairstylist shops, inside Lagos’ unforgiving traffic, while cooking spicy Jollof, and on toilet seats. Thus, to keep viewers “engaged,” filmmakers like Inwang make the logical but infuriating choice of creating a false sense of audience engagement. In their created world, sustained attention is not needed, centered, or glorified. Arguably, filmmakers and streamers seem to care less if  you watch their films and series or not with entrapped attention. In fact, as had been argued, they seem to care less whether you watch at the fastest speed or skim through the film and series like an unimpressed tourist. The filmmakers and streamers give the impression that they just care that you click play and the film and series unfold without your attention. Thus, you can be doomscrolling on social media, arguing with a bus driver, listening to a sermon, cooking, and doing everything and anything while the series and film unfold. The explanatory dialogues ensure you miss nothing. And this is a tragedy. 

This isn’t unique to Inwang or Nollywood. In Will Talvin’s Casual Viewing, the writer highlighted Netflix’s role in destroying cable television. After launching its service, it paid lip-serviced attention to commissioning and curating auteur-driven films for its subscribers. But after a few years, it revealed its capitalist motive: “Netflix’s concern was scale, rather than the cinema it was scaling.” Movies were merely a means to an end: acquiring subscribers who paid monthly for access to Netflix’s entire library. Thus, to do this, the company turned to a safer, more uniform product that could be made in-house, and replicated and tailored to the diverse tastes of their enormous subscriber bases to a general audience. 

As it tracks consumers’ habits, the company allegedly encourages filmmakers to fill films and series with overexplanation, clichés, and scene-explaining dialogues. Nothing is left to the imagination and inference. “The phenomenon is known as “second-screen” viewing, and Netflix’ algorithms—capable of tracking, down to the second, when viewers tune out or drop off—have drawn a blunt conclusion: their audience is distracted, and the content should accommodate that distraction. Shows are written to survive being watched while shopping online, scrolling TikTok, or half-listening from another room.” 

This filmmaking horror persistently chokes life out of the already lifeless writing and performance in Ordinary People. Dare routinely informs and explains his and his neighbors’ activities to the point of boredom. Rather than occasionally stopping, the writing keeps these inconsequential details and explanations that irritate rather than enlighten. After the series ends, you wonder if you have eyes, ears, and a functional brain. Maybe that’s Inwang’s intent: to make us question the functionality of our brains.