In Isale Eko, a place known for being the earliest settlement of indigenes of Lagos, crime is a norm. There’s power in the streets, but to acquire that power is to be prepared for a game of life and death. Produced by both Kemi “Lala” Akindoju and Jadesola Osiberu, and directed by the latter, Gangs of Lagos takes us into the murky gang lifestyle and survivalist politics in the Isale Eko region of Lagos through the narrative eyes of Obalola. As much as the movie reveals the underbelly of this settlement, it also does a good job of humanizing its inhabitants. “Eleniyan” is a title and symbol of utmost power in the gang circle, and it is treated as a desirable feat the average Isale Eko youngster dreams of. In the early scenes, where the narrator reminisces on his childhood, this title is held by Alaye Bam Bam, who wields both social and local political influences. There’s also Olorogun Araba, a South-West godfather with wider political influence. The worry with such trunks of power comes every election season when Isale Eko breeds violence and bloodshed.
As we transition from past to present, a lot has happened. Alaye’s era is gone, Nino who meant well for young Obalola has been murdered, Kazeem is the new Eleniyan, and the three friends Obalola, Gift, and Ify (also known as ‘Panama’) have had their lofty dreams cut short as Kazeem uses them as political tools. Now there are two distinguishable gangs: Eleniyan Kazeem’s gang where Obalola and friends, and Terrible belong; and London’s camp whose frontmen are London, Ekun, and Kash.
With the Lagos gubernatorial elections drawing closer, it is a two-horse race between Mrs. Bamidele Olanrewaju and Olorogun Agba, and Eleniyan Kazeem is at the center of using coercive means to ensure victory for Olorogun, a man believed to have held power for too long in the state. Shortly before he is killed in a barbershop by Kazeem, London asks, “Isn’t it time Olorogun’s reign ended after over twenty years of ruling Lagos?” A quick reminder that this movie was shot two years ago, before the Nigerian general elections, yet the character of Olorogun in real Lagos politics is relatable. Any Lagosian who has stayed long enough and is aware of APC’s, or a variation of the name used in the past, monopoly of power in the state knows this.
Kazeem, unlike the late Nino, cares little about the welfare of his people while he affords a luxurious lifestyle for his daughter, Teni (Obalola’s childhood sweetheart). This irony reveals the state of Nigerian politicians exposing their loyalists to danger while their blood relations are kept safe in foreign havens. The quintessential Machiavellian he is, Kazeem uses allies for political ends and does not mind disposing of them when he suspects they pose the slightest, inconsequential threat to his ambition. Perhaps this exposé happens sooner than expected.
It is when Kazeem appoints Obalola as a personal bodyguard for Teni in her new apartment that he starts to rethink his life. A steamy romance springs up between Kazeem and Teni, but the affair is not given time to blossom beyond the moment as it is overshadowed by another tragic news, the death of Ify. This is the climax of the film, signaling the turning point and new discovery, which we may not have been really prepared for. Any viewer could have predicted bloodshed to avenge Ify’s death. Still, few probably saw it coming that Kazeem was, as a Yoruba proverb puts it, the vegetable-dwelling worm that also lived off the vegetable.
The idea of villainhood is so ubiquitous in the action-packed movie that it is sometimes difficult to pin down just one or two persons, or even just a gang. All the gangsters are morally indebted and indictable with different shades of social sins. Yet, the director gives redemptive latitude to some of them so that they don’t finally appear as the devil incarnate. An example is London who we might think is tirelessly inconsiderate until we see him try futilely to engage Kazeem for some reason. Ekun, another vindicated ringleader, lets Obalola know the cause of his gang defection and exposes Kazeem’s dubious games.
In the quest for vengeance, it is clear Kazeem and Olorogun are the arch-enemies, and Obalola will stop at nothing to give them a taste of their own medicine, not only for his friend’s death but also for the murders of former street kingpins who were fathers to both Ify and Obalola. When nemesis eventually befalls Kazeem, it is probably to the unanimous expectation of viewers. Superstition and spirituality have always been part of our cosmos as Nigerians, and this is sampled towards the end of the film as Obalola lives up to his name and becomes a street king. Early into the film, we are told incisions were made on his body to save him from the prophecy of premature death. Could the incisions have really helped fine-tune his destiny?
Nowadays, New Nollywood’s attention to crime thrillers with the use of stunts is symbolic of the shifting conversation on what is admissible as a reflection of the country’s worldview. It is as if to say that with evolving times and the growing popularity of martial arts in the world as both a sporting event and a means of self-defense, the domestic industry cannot skip such features in their movies to seriously appeal to a global audience. This conversation is probably best traceable to 2018 with Toka McBaror-directed Merry Men, but it became a serious matter when Kemi Adetiba delved into her King of Boys franchise. Jadesola Osiberu also made her mark in 2019 with the writing of Sugar Rush before bringing more finesse to Brotherhood directed by Ugandan filmmaker Loukman Ali. The most recent action-packed movie, before the current project, is Dimeji Ajibola’s Shanty Town. All these movies predominantly portray Lagos as a place of either blissful or flawed existence, or even both.
The problem, however, with this Lagos, such as we see in Gangs of Lagos, is that as much as it caters to our eclectic taste, the action sometimes seems grossly exaggerated. Most Lagos cult fights we know involve guns, machetes, knives, and bottles, which we see in Osiberu’s film, while weaponless combats aren’t as common. Compared to Ify, the characters of Obalola and Gift are endowed with martial skills, whereas no scene shows them undergoing training, nor is there a backstory to how they became such great fighters.
There are technical and plot glitches in Gangs of Lagos, too. In a scene of aerial shot, while the drone camera beholds party guests running helter-skelter and Kazeem falls in a heap and lands on a car, the cinematographer on the ground with his device is briefly seen. Another glitch is the character of Terrible, played by Black Camaru, who does not seem to have aged even after sixteen years. Also, when Oba suddenly phones his mother, it is difficult to imagine anyone would have his biological mother’s contact number for that long, while supposedly sharing the same neighborhood, without keeping in touch. Perhaps there could be such vagrant sons, but do Nigerian mothers easily give up on their children, as Oba’s mother does while he is only a teenager?
However, despite the movie’s flaws and doubts, some acting credits must go to Olarotimi Fakunle for the character of Kazeem and Black Camaru for his energetic, sometimes hilarious, embodiment of Terrible. These, for me, seem to be the standout actors. Moving forward, it’s high time New Nollywood provided us with epic stories from other parts of the country. Places such as Warri, Benin, Onitsha, Aba, etc. have not been as marketed in recent times, and filmmakers bold enough to explore the modern histories of those regions will get their deserved flowers. Until then, let’s relish everything Lagos this film has offered us, from the allure of communal life and the grandiose procession of Eyo masquerade to how obsessed with power indigenes and pseudo-indigenes of the state can be.
