What “Children of Blood and Bone” Reveals About Nollywood’s Deeper Struggles

The Nigerian literary and film community on X (formerly Twitter) erupted yesterday. It wasn’t over political or music debates but in response to the casting announcement for the adaptation of Tomi Adeyemi’s Children of Blood and Bone. What was meant to celebrate African storytelling instead ignited debates about Hollywood’s disregard for Nollywood talent, accusations of cultural interloping, and the perceived insensitivity of Western production teams. 

A casting call went out last year, seeking young actors in Africa to embody the characters of Children of Blood and Bone. The novel, rich with Yoruba names, mythical gods, and cultural references, was acquired by Paramount Studios after a fierce bidding war. At the helm of the adaptation lies Gina Prince-Bythewood, the acclaimed director of The Woman King, whose previous work had already sparked conversations about African representation in Hollywood. Yesterday, the main cast was announced: South African Thuso Mbedu (The Woman King), American actor Amandla Stenberg (The Hate U Give), and British-Nigerian talents Damson Idris (Snowfall) and Tosin Cole (Supacell).

Despite the earlier promise of including local talent, the lead roles ultimately went to actors with diverse African backgrounds, rather than those fully representing Nigerian heritage. This raised the question: Why issue a call for Nigerian talent if the intention was never to prioritize them?

The answer is simple: star power is pivotal to cinematic success. In Hollywood, certain actors possess an almost alchemic ability to elevate even mediocre productions. Performers like Idris Elba, Will Smith, Zendaya, and Tom Holland have demonstrated that star power can salvage—and sometimes entirely carry—a film’s commercial prospects. Nigeria’s film industry slightly mirrors this with veterans like Sola Sobowale, Shaffy Bello, Richard Mofe Damijo, and Funke Akindele, who command local respect. However, when considering global cinema, do these Nigerian talents have the required international star power to anchor a major Hollywood production? While the veterans listed here may have better luck, the younger generation has yet to establish that global presence. 

Hollywood’s challenges with black representation further complicate the landscape. The preferences of a predominantly white audience often dictate casting and narrative choices. For risk-averse producers and executives, the safest path frequently means selecting talents with proven, marketable track records.

As Anita Eboigbe, co-founder of IN Nollywood, a Nigerian film trade publication, says, “Already, there’s the nuance of black films being looked down on in Hollywood. People have fought in Hollywood to have stories like this greenlit. This means they have to have guarantees on some levels when you’re producing it. What Nigerian actor can give that?”

More uncomfortable questions must be asked: Can Nigerian actors currently deliver performances that meet Hollywood’s rigorous standards? Have we cultivated a distinctive cinematic value that compels global attention? A film, after all, is a business, not a cultural charity. The more significant issue isn’t Hollywood’s casting decisions but Nollywood’s inability to craft narratives that resonate globally. Despite being one of the world’s most prolific film industries, we remain voiceless internationally. This is not a fault of Hollywood—it is ours.

On X, Tomi Adeyemi has assured fans that more Nigerian casting is forthcoming, but skepticism lingers. The book’s relationship with Nigerian culture itself invites scrutiny. Children of Blood and Bone drapes itself in Yoruba mythologies, gods, and settings, yet it remains a product crafted for Western consumption. Names like Zelie (one of the main characters) are unlikely to be found in a traditional Yoruba household revealing its market-driven approach to cultural elements. The story uses Nigerian motifs as an aesthetic veneer rather than a deep-rooted celebration of the culture. 

It’s worth noting that these outrage cycles are not new. From The Woman King to Chinua Achebe’s Things Fall Apart adaptation, we often grapple with the same frustrations. Blaming individual artists like Tomi Adeyemi or Amandla Stenberg only distracts from the real challenge: building a cinematic ecosystem that tells authentic Nigerian stories with global resonance.

Eboigbe emphasizes this noting that “we don’t have a blatant, non-negotiable value that we are telling the world to come and buy or take notice of. And this is something we need to address collectively.”

Until Nollywood reimagines its storytelling paradigm, these complacent debates will continue, cycling predictably between outrage and resignation. The resolution lies not in passively anticipating Hollywood’s recognition, but in creating excellent films that compel acknowledgment. Just as commercial transactions hinge more on a seller’s credibility than the immediate product, the film industry operates on a similar level of trust. The global stage will not be given—it must be claimed, inch by meticulous inch, through the sheer force of our artistic integrity.