“To Kill a Monkey” Shines on the Surface, Stumbles in the Script

Nigerians are united in their exhibitionist and exaggerative tendencies. The cultural and social conditioning of the Nigerian society makes living a solitary and modest lifestyle impossible. Parties, even intimate ones, must be exaggerated, music must be chaotically high, clothes must carry markings of wealth even if said wearer isn’t wealthy. Thus, public display is celebrated and privacy is considered deviant. Kemi Adetiba’s To Kill a Monkey, her recent direct-to-streaming series on Netflix, is a reflection of this Nigerian cultural ethos. Laden with indulgent writing, exaggerated scenes, excessive dialogues, and unnecessary characters, the series mirrors the Nigerian tendency to excessively show and show.

From the opening scenes, Efemini (William Benson), a hard-working, educated, and suffering tech nerd, is subjected to unrelenting levels of hardship.  The first episode is saturated with scenes that aim to announce Efe’s suffering and misfortune. The overbearing supervisor (Emeka Okoye), scheming restaurant boss, Madam Adunni (Constance Owoyomi), and his unsympathetic mother-in-law (Thessy Osikominu) are written and positioned to show the audience how down on luck this hardworking first-class graduate is. This outpouring of suffering, which persists in multiples throughout the show until Efe’s circumstances change, ironically makes it difficult to emotionally connect with his character despite Benson’s immersive and convincing performance. The writing appears distrustful of the audience’s perception and capacity to infer the character’s financial situation without showing it as much as possible. For the seasoned Nollywood audience, it’s evident that Adetiba is operating within the decades-long filmmaking tradition and language of the Nigerian film industry.

Efe’s grim financial situation will change upon a chance encounter with Obozz-Da-Bozz (played with disarming charisma by Bucci Franklin), a former cultist turned cybercriminal with a retinue of loyalists. Years of misfortune, including sexual abuse at the hands of  Madam Adunni, disrespect from co-workers, relatives, and his mother-in-la,w will suddenly vanish after this encounter. Operating within the criminal territory, Efe amasses wealth and the trajectory of his life changes, including cracks in his loving relationship with Nosa (Stella Damasus), his wife. Meanwhile, in another unfolding narrative, Inspector Mo Ogunlese (Bimbo Akintola), an officer at the Nigerian Cybercrime Commission, throws herself obsessively into work, haunted by the loss of her family and years of fractured sanity.

At eight episodes, Adetiba’s To Kill a Monkey is stretched beyond justification. But, its lead’s performance makes it occasionally bearable. Awash with meandering dialogue, untethered scenes, and lengthy exposition, finishing the show feels like an act of creative endurance. However, the show boasts of two outstanding Nollywood performances. It has been asked what makes a Nollywood performance great within the context of the fast-paced, no-rehearsal Nigerian film industry. Watching Benson and Franklin’s performance, one will find answers. Franklin’s swagger, precise mannerisms, and a voice cadence befitting of each scene fully embody Obozz-Da-Bozz and anchor the show even as the writing drifts into unknown territories.

Spectacle often dominates the mainstream Nollywood aesthetic. In Tchidi Chikere’s Dumebi the Dirty Girl (2012), the titular character’s absurd quirks, including her constant sleepiness and her illiteracy, are constantly reiterated for no narrative value. This compulsive reiteration also appears in Muyideen S. Ayinde’s Alakada and Jenifa. These two films, beloved household names, dedicate disproportionate screentime to reinforcing Yetunde’s fake lifestyle (Alakada), and Jenifa’s unwavering authenticity despite societal pressure (Jenifa). The same pattern persists with portrayals of different Nollywood characters: wicked (Patience Ozokwor and Chiwetalu Agu), wise (Pete Edochie), foolish and mischievous (Mr. Ibu, Aki and Pawpaw, and Broda Shaggi), all exaggerated to the point where it seems like a fetish. Where there is a wealthy Nollywood character, as you will find in the Lekki-inspired Nollywood films and series, their affluence becomes the focal point of the film. The mainstream Nollywood filmmakers seem only interested in convincing viewers of the characters’ traits, not taking them on a journey. Filmmakers like Adetiba are not trusting of the audience’s intellectual capacity to understand characterization without falling prey to overt telling.

To Kill a Monkey suffers from a writing problem. But this barely scratches the surface of the inherent problem in Adetiba’s work and, by extension, other films and series with laborious writing. While Nigerian filmmakers are making films that encapsulate Nigerian mannerisms and realities, this manifests in superficial characters, unearned plot turns, and unnecessary filler scenes. As Nollywood continues its global ascent, they are charged with the responsibility of showing varied Nigerian realities. Nigerian filmmakers must embrace a deeper sense of self-awareness in writing Nigerian characters.  Authentic characters demand more than surface traits; they also require nuance, introspection, and a commitment to storytelling that reflects their complexity