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Of MOPICON and Moping Cons: Nigerian Film, Theatre and the Ignorance of Fundamentals

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I came to know about MOPICON and its bill a couple days ago when I stumbled across this article on True Nollywood Story. I read the bill itself and my first reaction was a chuckle. Having grown bored, many years back, with the inanity of some of Nigeria’s so-called associations and their vehement dedication to purposelessness, my automated response was to chuckle and move on.

However, as controversy surrounding the bill continued to build on social media, I found myself, like many others, offended by the brazenness of some individuals to just poof and seek to become law over private enterprise – especially one the government hasn’t made any vital contribution to since Lord Lugard used Top Bond to glue us together.

I wasn’t going to blog about the MOPICON fiasco until I came across this Facebook post by verteran Nollywood producer and director Greg Odutayo in which he implies that young Nigerian filmmakers are “afraid of regulation”. Afraid! That word did my head in.

Okay then! Let’s examine this fear. Let’s actually assess this issue at its core. I will offer a retort to Mr Odutayo’s implied slight but first let’s deal with the fundamentals of this issue. For, indeed, that is what this is all about – fundamentals and the surprising ignorance about them.

For long I had intended to write an article about creative entrepreneurship in Nigerian theatre and luckily for me that topic aligns perfectly with the current controversy rippling through Nollywood; so luckily for you, you get two for the price of one.

So, Capua, shall we begin? First of all …

What the Hell is a MOPICON?

The Motion Picture Council of Nigeria, now more popularly known by its petrol-station-mimicking acronym MOPICON, is an association which seeks to position itself as a regulatory body, BACKED BY LAW, that will preside over Nigeria’s film industry – oh and television too – with the badass virtuosity of Judge Dredd. A bill which was drafted by the association about ten years ago has been puked forth for “review” and redrafting.

Essentially MOPICON claims its mission is to set standards which will drive practitioners in Nigeria’s film industry towards the achievement of excellence. What is quite different from global practice is that MOPICON seeks to do this by leeching on to the Ministry of Information/Culture and make itself the all-powerful law.

However this post isn’t about the problems with the MOPICON bill, no. For that you can read the in depth analyses done by Feyi Fawehinmi and Rotimi Fawole. What I am focused on here is a more foundational problem, one that stretches beyond MOPICON into the entire set up and operation of Nigerian film and theatre.

Potential is Overrated

As a kid I often heard about Nigeria’s film and theatre as industries having the potential to be great. Growing up I heard, over and over, how Nigeria’s film and theatre industries have potential to be great.  I went to University, ate a lot of kosh and dosh, graduated, spent one year in the shackles that are NYSC, started working in Nigerian film and theatre and here I am still hearing about Nigeria’s film and theatre industries having the potential to be great.

At some point common sense demands we stop and ask ourselves: of what use is the potential to be great? Usain Bolt isn’t great because he has the potential to run a hundred metres in 9.58 seconds; he is great because he runs a hundred metres in 9.58 seconds.

Potential (energy) is pointless if it never converts to actual (energy). The question before us is obvious: what is hindering Nigerian film and theatre from converting the potential to be great industries into actual greatness? The answer, which also posits problems of utmost pertinence, is equally obvious: there are no film and theatre INDUSTRIES in Nigeria.

Film and theatre in Nigeria aren’t actually industries. We just refer to them as industries because … well, how the hell else are we going to refer to them.

Industry, Fundamentals and Non-existence

Here’s the thing, just because a group of people produce and sell a product does not mean an industry exists. That may seem tricky and contradictory but think about it. Maybe the non-existence of industry is harder to grasp in the creative industries since they aren’t purely manufacture-based, but to practitioners in film and theatre – to professionals! – it should be obvious.

But why? Why despite well over a thousand films produced annually and various theatrical performances put up yearly and numerous people and companies engaged in the commercial enterprise of show business should anyone say that Nigeria has no film and theatre industries? This is where fundamentals come in.

All industries are built on four fundamental pillars:

  1. Infrastructure
  2. Equipment
  3. Labour
  4. Industrial framework

Fundamental pillars. Should one of these be absent or ruined industry collapses. What use is infrastructure without equipment or labour? What is the point of equipment without infrastructure to contain or labour capable of utilising them? What’s the point of labour when infrastructure and equipment are not available? And if infrastructure, equipment and labour exist, but they are not structured by a cohesive industrial framework, can the resulting ramshackle of businesses REALLY be called an INDUSTRY?

Fundamentals. When we come to film and theatre, we must play substitution to understand what these four fundamentals are in the performing arts industries:

INDUSTRIAL FUNDAMENTAL FILM THEATRE
Infrastructure Production studios, sound recording studios etc. Theatre houses, artist hostels etc.
Equipment Cameras, lights, cranes etc. Lights, set design tools, make up tools etc.
Labour Actors, directors, producers, camera operators etc. Playwrights, directors, actors, choreographers etc.
Industrial framework Operational model (i.e structure) for distribution and sales based on platform created by above 3. Operational model (i.e structure) for distribution and sales based on platform created by above 3.

Studios and theatre houses, warehouses and hostels are the “factories” of film and theatre. These are the infrastructures which bring labour and equipment together; without these, equipment and labour cannot operate even near optimum hence industrial framework can never manifest because there is no platform upon which to form a structure. (See Alaba for further reference.)

Let He Who is Without Huzzle Cast the First Stone

In the absence of industry what we have are businesses subsisting on the sheer resilience and/or ingenuity of entrepreneurship, and/or on the exploitation of disorder. In other words, without these fundamentals in Nigerian film and theatre, what we have are HUSTLES not industries. (See Alaba for further reference.)

So ask yourself: how many state of the art production studios are there in Nigeria? How many theatre houses are there (NOT event centres and multipurpose halls!)? How many Dolby-Digital-standard sound studios are there? How many artist hostels/residencies are there, so that producers don’t have to spend hundreds of thousands to millions of Naira on hotel bills?

Ask yourself: how can theatre practitioners successfully make theatre with no theatres? How can filmmakers successfully make films with no film studios? How can doctors be doctors with no hospitals? How can you have a football league with no stadiums? How bankers bank with no banks? How can surgeons perform surgery with no operating rooms?

And even after Nigerian film and theatre practitioners surmount enormous challenges and somehow squeeze milk out of stone (See Alaba for further reference) how can this chaos be ORGANISED into industry without first establishing the platforms necessary for an intricate nationwide system to function?

And then MOPICON

It is in this environment that MOPICON (this really is a great name for a petrol station) rears its head and decides that the best way to rein disorder is by lording itself over the chaos. Never mind trying to understand how to actually solve the fundamental problems as unique to Nigeria’s socio-economic conditions, just make us the kings and queens of calamity and we will set firm rules – and, ehem!, membership fees – that will magically make our industries world class. Sorry? What do you mean that is pointless without infrastructure and framework? Gerrarahia men!

Regulate – Warren G ft. MOPICON

Facetiousness aside, regulation is ridiculous. You can’t focus on interior decoration when there are no walls. This is not to say that everything must come to a halt and the fundamentals required by Nollywood must first be put in lace before anything else can happen, no.

Priorities, however, must be set. We need to identify the essentials and prioritise them. This can be done WHILE Nollywood continues to do its Nollywood thing. We can pick the furniture, plan and conceptualize how to design the house, and work on the floors while the walls and roof (The roof! Can’t have a roof if there are no walls!) are being built. But the walls must be prioritised as primary because without them there is no “room”.

What the pro-MOPICON crowd don’t seem to get is that film practitioners aren’t protesting against the bill. There are two key problems with the MOPICON situation.

First is the fact that an association has the chutzpah to attempt to make itself LAW over PRIVATE ENTERPRISE. That pro-MOPICON people don’t understand why this is troubling, or do and don’t care, in my opinion, tells us all we need to know about them. I’m yet to find a pro-MOPICON person who can put forward a cogent argument as to why the association has to become the law. Even if MOPICON’s intentions were for the benefit of all, this does not justify their intent to become law.

The second problem is the attempt by the pro-MOPICON crowd to synonymise “regulation” with “setting standards”. Apart from being an insult to the basic education of the average Nigerian filmmaker, it is worrying that such a basic difference has to be explained to practitioners, in some cases, long serving practitioners.

Regulation of private enterprise infers that a system has been under exploitation and/or abuse hence government needs to take executive action so as to return it to decorous and optimal function. Hence, for one to say he/she/it/they want to regulate the Nigerian film industry is to infer that disorder has overtaken the industry.

However, this ignores a fundamental fact: there isn’t disorder because practitioners don’t want a system; there is disorder because there is no platform/structure/framework for a system to operate through. Regulation, then, which is a control mechanism has nothing to offer an industry where the necessities for practitioners to impose control upon themselves DO NOT EXIST. You no fit tell khaki make e turn leather, you no fit tell hustle make e move like industry. (See any failed attempts at organising touts for further reference.)

We should be thinking of how to achieve nationwide access to films so that filmmakers and audiences have a platform upon which to interact. Not regulation. We should be thinking of how to establish a chain of cinemas nationwide or provide top quality broadband which would enable mass streaming of content. Not regulation. Without either or both of these a film industry can’t operate like a film industry. Where’s the sense in restraining an already handicapped situation?

Theatrical Carts Before Tragicomic Horses

The same applies to theatre. Nigerian theatre needs a feasible plan which builds from the ground up; an operational model which is founded on the fundamentals required for the industry to function as unique to Nigeria’s social and economic environment.

All the workshops and entrepreneurship training and associations upon associations and paper presentations upon paper presentations will not make this appear from thin air. Neither will one-off shows – theatre performances which run for a couple days then close – lead to the manifestation of industry. The, frankly very strange, belief that one or a string of shows can be so good they will kickstart the theatre industry is a myth I have discussed in the past.

One-offs aren’t bad, I’m certainly not implying they should be stopped – heck, I’m currently working on a one-off theatre show myself. However to expect them to lead to industry is ludicrous.

It’s like constructing a storey building starting from the first floor and believing that the sticks in place as makeshift pillars will hold the floor up, therefore a foundation is unnecessary. And sure, the sticks do hold the first floor up, for some time, but eventually the building collapses. Then once again we raise the stick-pillars and start building from the first floor again. And once again the first floor is held up just long enough for us to throw a pretty cool party before it inevitably comes crashing down again. Some people escape, some get caught in the rubble. Then once again we raise the stick-pillars and … and so the cycle continues.

At some point one just has to ask oneself, why don’t we just build the damn foundation and start from there?

The Curious Case of Nigerian Music and Nigerian Stand-up Comedy

A common excuse as to why we shouldn’t bother with fundamentals is that there is no chance of the creative industries working successfully in Nigeria. No research or study is proffered as proof when this is stated, it’s simply stated and validated by Nigerianisations like “you know say Nigerians no get time for that kain thing”. This is very often averred by people who don’t work in film and theatre or people who – pardon my crassness but the truth is oft a hurtful bizatch! – have no business working in film and theatre.

We don’t need to state how insanely difficult it is to do business in the “giant of Africa”, not to mention show business! But the point isn’t to achieve flawless operation of film or theatre, rather it’s to figure out how to make them work within Nigeria’s unique circumstances.

About thirteen years ago the music industry in Nigeria was a wasteland inhabited only by vagabonds. Choosing a career in music was to crown oneself an outcast. Today? Well, I don’t need to tell you, despite whatever reservations you may have about creativity of content, how the music industry is and has been doing for more than a decade.

Here’s the question: what did they get right that film and theatre haven’t? Contrast that with Nigerian stand up comedy. An art form which rose, greatly due to the resilient entrepreneurship and creative genius of the Night of a Thousand Laughs team, alongside music. Both saw the rise of the telecommunications giants and expansion of corporate Nigeria at the turn of the 21st century. Here’s the question: why is the one doing better as an industry while the other is on a downslide? What did the one get right for itself that the other didn’t?

Disclaimer: I’m not saying the music industry is perfectville, of course it has its problems, but it certainly has left hustle territory and is operating in the land of industry.

Side note: With a potential to be a thriving industry, for the same reasons as music in the early 2000s, it’s quite sad that no one has figured out how to unleash the Kraken that is Nigeria’s entertainment television industry. We saw a demonstration of the power of this beast with the phenomenon that was When You Are Mine aka Paloma. By 8pm every Thursday, for the best part of a year, AIT owned Nigeria. It’s always impossible until someone else does it then it becomes standard and we forget it was once impossible. (See Telemundo for further reference.)

Moping Cons

“Regulating” Nigerian film and theatre “industries” is essentially a scam, a racket. Even if the initiators mean well, so long as their priorities are focused on regulating phantom industries, they will ultimately operate like a racket, wasting a lot of time and resources in the process.

They will receive funding which cannot be utilised to any concrete developmental ends because the platform for development does not exist. To continue the storey building metaphor, they will receive funding to build third, fourth and tenth floors but since the foundation doesn’t exist everything eventually comes crashing down.

And so the funding will only end up being partially used for the conveniently broad purposes of “regulation”, “development” and “setting of standards” – a seminar here, a workshop there, a training program here and there – which meet the vague mandates of the organisation while allowing them “save” most of their funding. And, well, you know, if we’ve met our mandates yet money is still lying around … well, you know …

It used to boggle me how organisations could do little to nothing and have long term plans to keep doing little to nothing, comfortably so, from big offices in nice and pricey parts of town. It used to boggle me. See, that’s the thing, our poverty – of the pocket and mind – has been efficiently financed by a buoyant oil-driven economy.

Noise

Veteran producer and director Greg Odutayo asked: why are the young [Nigerian] filmmakers afraid of regulation? Then he went on to describe said young generation as “social media noise”. Noise.

The implications of such questions and statements suggest why there is such a chasm between young Nigerian practitioners in film and theatre and the older generation, one that only further complicates already contorted state of affairs.

The non-existence of film and theatre as industries really is basic economics of show business, so it is troubling – I find myself reiterating – that this has to be stated in near-rudimentary terms to some who have been working in the industries for many years. It is scary.  These are the people still primarily in the positions of influence and if they don’t get the basic arithmetic at play here then … well …

In his Facebook post Mr. Odutayo speaks of “a conducive environment for creativity” and I find myself wondering how an environment which doesn’t even exist in the first place can be made conducive. Theatre departments across the country, for example, churn out thousands of graduates every year, how can we make the environment conducive for them when there is no directly related industry for them to progress into? This being just one layer of one example.

And no – hell no! – young Nigerian filmmakers are not afraid. To label a generation which has clawed and scratched to create some form of barely barest minimum cohesion in an environment where most of the predecessors left no legacy that can be built upon as “afraid” and “noise” is a disappointing choice of words.

We are not afraid, good sir, we are fed up! We are fed up with the Federal Gerontocratic Republic of Patriarchial Nigeria. We are not noise, good sir, we are voice! We are voice bellowing, in the immortal words of Paddy Chayefsky’s Howard Beale, that we are mad as hell and we are not going to take it anymore.

ABOUT THE WRITER

Africa Ukoh is a creative director, playwright, screenwriter and arts administrator. His works have been the recipients of the BBC African Performance prize and the Stratford East/30 Nigeria House award, as well as being published and performed on various platforms.

He is currently working on a theatrical performance of his award winning play 54 Silhouettes and if you’d love to work with him, he’d love to work with you.

africaukoh@gmail.com

@Pensage

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Power, Art and Estrangement: The Mystique of Television and the Soul of Nigeria’s 80s Generation

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Lurking Fury

Back when I was in university our third year project for playwriting class was to write a play on the theme “the days of old”. We were to reflect Nigeria’s decline from its golden age into a 21st century cesspit. This was what the lecturer expected, it was not what he got.

The climax of my play had two young adults abandon their backward parents and move on to a new today, condemning the parents to lonely deaths. I reveled in the expectation of offending my lecturer who, under those circumstances, symbolized the older generation. I thought the play politically incorrect to the point of disturbance, that was until I read what my classmates had written.

We were about twenty taking the course and excited to see what sentiments my classmates expressed I skimmed through most of the other plays. Discovery gripped me. Almost every single person reflected the exact sentiments as I did, with even more shocking and offensive conclusions.

One had a son shoot his father point-blank in the head and suffer no repercussions. A daughter reversed a trend, this time she was the one who disowned her parents, forever severing them from their grandchildren. A son achieved financial success and abandoned his parents to a life of squalor, just as they had done to him in childhood.

We weren’t aggrieved sons and daughters spitting fictional dissent at our parents. We were a young, frustrated generation screaming under the scourge of oppressive gerontocracy.

A History of Estrangement

This experience echoed tensions prevalent in the larger society, tensions which I first observed in senior secondary school days, tensions which now define the gulf of estrangement between two generations – children of the 80s and the generation of their parents.

Of course at the interpersonal/familial level the relationship between these two generations varied, from the very good to the horrible, to the myriads between. However on the public scale the relationship between them was a definite unquestionable mess. Signs of dissonance first appeared – or became obvious to one’s perception – in our teenage years, the senior secondary years. To the older generation we suddenly became vagabonds and dissidents destined for failure and certain to be the ones under whose reign Nigeria will crumble like six-day-old agege bread left too long under the scorching sun.

The dividing line between discipline and abuse cracked, and from schools to homes to the streets, the younger generation was constantly under attack. Teachers ensured to include time in their lesson programs to remind us how useless we were and how our level of education was incomparable to theirs. Strangers and neighbours never missed an opportunity to ridicule us, ever equipped with anecdotes illustrating how much better they were at our age. Dinner in front of the TV was seasoned with chatter of how pathetic social circumstances surrounding us were, and how they were certain to get worse because we were certain to get worse. Though we were kids, we had already failed at being adults.

These psychological abuses scarred our growth into young adulthood, and with those wounds estrangement between the two generations widened. As we moved from childhood to teenhood, developing new social norms, the older generation realized we were nothing like they expected us to be. We had emerged from the nest with corrupted wings. Many attributes of olden youth which were the pride of then Nigerian society had been relinquished in favour of Western ways. We walked different (“See how they are bouncing.”), talked different (“Yo man, what’s up?”), and dressed different (FUBU jerseys over baggy jeans were the shit!). Having wasted so much time in front of the television, we had been irredeemably ruined.

What the older generation did not realize was that it was in front of those televisions the battle for the younger generation’s soul was fought – a battle which the older generation lost.

Power Plays

Growing up, TV wasn’t just a machine. It was a friend, teacher, seducer. A place where unhinged imaginations exploded into existence. It played important social roles – families structured activities around it, parents used it as a tool in child-raising. It was a status symbol and making the revered transition from black-and-white to colour TV was a statement of power (Nigga, we made it!).

This power is most evident in how televisions dominate our living space. Every physical object’s power is determined by its spatial value i.e its level of influence over us based on the physical-cum-psychological space it occupies in our lives. Spatial value is determined by factors such as size, function, social perception and durability. A television is considerably sizable and takes a central position in our living rooms, commanding attention. Even if it’s small and placed in a corner, the room’s arrangement is focused towards the television – still a position of power. It serves vital entertainment, informative and communicative functions. It is perceived as both a household standard and an item of luxury. Though considerably durable it can easily be damaged, thus it must be treated with love and care. All these conspire to give the television amazing power over us.

So when the battle for the soul of Nigeria’s 80s generation began the older generation did not realize its main rival was one it had willingly brought into its homes – the television.

(Note: while I use the broad term “television industry” focus is on the entertainment division of the television industry. Also, given that generational divisions have converging points, “the 80s generation” can be stretched to include children of the early 90s.)

Battle Grounds

If a society is restricted from interactions with other societies, cultural preservation is considerably easy. Since external influences upon young generations are limited there is little resistance against traditions. However the more exposed a society is to the wider world, the more it begins to compare ways of life. The more it compares, the more it ask questions about its way of life. In time, resistance against some aspects of one’s traditions must arise.

Therefore it was only inevitable that effects of globalization combined with the socio-psychological impacts of colonization would see Nigeria’s 80s babies comparing its society to another which it was most exposed to – the West. And what medium made this exposure possible? The television.

Our very homes became battle grounds. Television was the nuclear bomb of cultural transference and the older generation did not arm itself well enough to face this Fukushima. Rather, a disastrous decision was made: the older generation assumed it did not have to fight for the soul of the younger generation. This seemingly stemmed from the expectation that the younger generation was obligated to revere and adhere to Nigerian culture. In the globalized world this presumption is wrong.

Cultural preservation is not an obligation. It does not occur automatically. Culture must be consciously and actively preserved. The generation in seats of social and political power must consciously and actively pass on a society’s culture to the younger generations. This cyclical act is one of the many key functions of the creative industries. Unfortunately Nigeria is yet to evolve a social and political elite who understand, before even valuing, the pertinence of the creative industries.

In a globalized world, transference of culture becomes not only inter-generational but international. Depending on your stance, or on intricacies at play, this transference of culture from one nation to another may be an intrusion.

There are many reasons why a nation would want its culture to gain relevance in other countries, chief among them are political and economic benefits. The West understood that the young generation was the prime candidate to be seduced, so while Nigeria waxed hypocritical about “catching them young”, the West actually caught them young.

Battle Strategies

Make no mistake, what was sought was authority over our beliefs and dreams, our likes and dislikes, our loyalty, our future buying power, our soul. Both parties at war shared this one desire, what differed were the strategies of choice. Our older generation’s strategy was defined by power, apathy and drudgery; the West’s strategy was defined by art, artifice and creativity. While the West involved itself in our childhood/teenhood, our older generation pushed itself away from it.

In television these differing strategies manifested in the form of content created. You see, if television was a nuclear bomb, TV shows were the enriched uranium that made it go KABLAM! (Nickelodeon pun intended.) The West came to the party with an abundance of youth-attractive content, most of which were excellent. Our older generation came with very little youth-attractive content, most of which were mediocre.

From our infancy to puberty there just was not enough Nigerian television content for young people to find appealing. The psychological abuse from society around us further worsened an already delicate situation. So, Western content became our custodian, our haven. Television, our third parent, was our escape from a society constantly berating us. Television didn’t oppress us (at least not directly), it embraced us.

Childhood

As a child Sesame Street made learning absolute fun. It hypnotized me with that infectious theme song – “On our way to Sesame streeeeet!”. The Muppet Show, Looney Toons, Tom and Jerry were outlets for my insanity. The Great Space Coaster was a thrill ride (Gary Gnu!). Towser and King Rollo tutored me in rascality. I didn’t know it then but Fraggle Rock aptly captured the estrangement, survival and rebellion of my generation. Super Ted was just a boss! I wish I owned Sport Billy’s bag of everything.

Knight Rider defined what it meant to be cool. Dr Neinstein from Terrahawks taught me it was cool to be smart. Alf, V for Visitors and Small Wonder made me marvel over the possibilities of extra-human existence. Telematch (the greatest game show ever!) made me a lover of contraptions. I gorged myself on the mischief of Rentaghost, the space adventures of Galaxy Rangers and Silver Hawks, the heroics of Father Unwin and shrinkable Mathew from The Secret Service. I laughed endlessly at the clueless bravery of Dynomutt, Dog Wonder. Freakazoid was my hero, my junior secondary school moniker. Don’t even get me started on Pinky and the Brain – zort! And has there ever been a duck cooler than Ovid?

Some shows left remarkable imprints on my life. The Littlest Hobo mirrored my desire to help people yet be left alone to my whims – to this day the theme song remains the anthem to my loner life. Good Times and Mixed Blessings brought racial issues to my awareness with the warm severity of humour (Good Times especially taught me that a social group must question itself as much as it does others if it seeks genuine growth). Magnus Pyke in Don’t Ask Me answered questions I hadn’t even thought about asking. Big Blue Marble taught me this world and its people are beautiful. Keeping up Appearances remains a vital guardian against self-induced hypocrisy. In The Wonder Years I confronted, sometimes fearfully, a silent and indescribable sadness that seemed to me a natural part of childhood and growing up; from it I learned about family and friendship, and was warned about the trap of tortured love – a warning I still haven’t heeded.

Others taught me things about writing long before I knew I wanted to be a writer, planting invaluable lessons in my subconscious. I didn’t know it at the time but We’ll Tell You A Story played a major part in me becoming a storyteller – I sat before Christopher Lillicrap with bedazzled eyes, listened to him, with that big book in his hand and that guitar slung across body, and just wanted to weave fiction that took people to the places he took my imagination.

Voltron (the most awesome cartoon ever – Power Rangers can kiss my ass) taught me how a powerful idea can become a template, defining standards for an entire genre. In G-Force I learned how to give such a template unique twists. In MacGyver and Captain Planet I learned how formula imposes itself on art, and come to strangulate it. From Thundersub I learned serious content, handled aptly, can engage minds of young people. From Tales of the Unexpected I learned the value of a plot twist and the impact of suspense – and it probably has something to do with my love for the macabre. Samurai X (not a show from the West but we got the English dub version, so on a technicality …) burst into our lives with never before seen pizazz, instantly winning the affection of an entire generation of teenagers. For me this would later expand into an adoration of anime/manga and the storytelling styles of the orient.

Yet as I watched these shows a dissatisfaction in me kept on asking “Where is the Nigerian content? Where are we? Why are we as a people not on this magical platform?” Sure there were great shows: Tales by Moonlight, Third Eye, Village Headmaster, Cockcrow at Dawn, Icheokwu (one of the best shows in the history of Nigerian television), but they were so few and scarcely lasted on our screens. How could television – Western television – not win?

Victory, Defeat, Constant Wars

Victory was not total, television alone, regardless of its might, cannot wipeout an indigenous culture. Today, the 80s generation stands in a peculiar position. Unavoidable environmental influences plus the realizations that come with adulthood have thrust us into a re-evaluation of our past as we seek to build a future upon it – perhaps also against it.

One man may be able to refuse the blood birthed into his veins and become the adopted child to another land, but a generation cannot. Neither can we deny that influences which shaped our childhood, though external to our culture, are inseparable from who we are today. A part of the older generation has accepted this, another has not, and perhaps never will.

Adaptation presents itself as our wisest option, especially in the face of wider scale globalization spearheaded by the immensity of the internet. A people-defining ideology is the starting point of adaptation and all present and future journeys. A people-defining ideology would be a nucleus, balancing the plethora of external influences constantly flowing into our social consciousness with indigenous needs. This ideology does not exist. As such we can only manage haphazard attempts at adaptation, executed blindly, accidentally, randomly, instead of through conscious control.

This ideology does not exist simply because we have been unable to answer the question: What is the Nigerian experience? We have failed to answer this question because we are still unable to balance ethnic and tribal loyalties with a national vision and loyalty. Without answering this question the creative industries will struggle, if not fail entirely to attain certain national and international heights, while other sectors like the tourism may never come to concrete and/or reasonable existence.

One need only look at today’s Nigerian television content to see the manifestations of this. While the volume of content has seen appreciable growth, indigenous content specifically created for children is still largely lacking. The little which does exist is so distorted by Western influence that it appears as a half-assed imitation of the real thing. And who wants to watch Avengers-Lite when they can watch THE Avengers?

This forces Nigerian children and teens seeking to engage with content that captures the Nigerian experience to turn to entertainment designed for the adult mentality. Yet again, given that a key percentage of the creators of such content are children born in the 80s, hence adults who grew up on Western entertainment, the Western imitation factor comes into play and ruins the indigenous potential, if there was any in the first place.

In the absence of a compass providing aesthetic, stylistic and technique/technical guides to indigenous entertainment of the past, a generation which grew up on Western entertainment, in the process of trying to create content for itself, turns to that which is in the archive of its (sub)conscious. Perhaps a neo-classical approach would help – a return to the classical, and supposedly untainted, African expressions from pre-colonial times. The (obvious) challenges in that approach are a discussion for another day and another blog post.

Adaptation, I reiterate, is our wisest option. We must filter influence from imitation. Personally I consider it pointless to reject Western influence because of a colonial past. Perhaps, however, having only a second or third-hand understanding of colonization makes this easier. But then, regardless of how it comes, isn’t external influence imminent and paramount to the introspection that leads a society to grow in consciousness?

The problem with adaptation is that for it to be successful it requires a fixed point to anchor the intricacies of balancing multitudinous influences – indigenous and external. This fixed point, like the beam used by a tight rope walker, is the people-defining ideology. The idea of what we are and what we aspire to be which we use to balance the blowing winds of influences from within and without. But in the absence of this people-defining ideology we are looped in a cyclical trap. Can you see it?

The Grand Nollywood Plan … Or Lack Thereof

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Where is the Nigerian film industry headed? When does it aim to get there? What is its vision? What are its goals? Are there any targeted milestones? Does a plan exist to lead the industry to some El Dorado or is Nollywood content to go wherever the wind blows?

Nollywood Nigerian film industry

First Encounters of the Twitter Kind

Sometime in July when the film adaptation of Half of A Yellow Sun was in the news for being banned by the Nigerian Censors Board, a lady I follow Twitter posted a comment about a conversation she had with a Nollywood director. He had told her that the ban on HOAYS would discourage Nigerian filmmakers from tackling serious and controversial, perhaps politically risqué, topics. I found this odd.

Nollywood isn’t exactly renowned for producing movies which shake the Machiavellian foundations of the Nigerian polity. I replied the tweet with a question that zapped into my mind: can an industry be banned from doing what it wasn’t doing in the first place? If Nollywood filmmakers weren’t making controversial content, can a ban, unjust though it may be, really be considered a hindrance?

Her response was that the few who do make controversial content must be protected from bans which poach on an endangered species. Though I agree with this, I expressed a countering conviction – a story will always find a way to tell itself. To this she replied that while that may be true, the realities of Nollywood, a world where things must happen sharp-sharp-sharp, does not accommodate the adventures that come with a story finding a way to tell itself. Adventures after all are expensive, a luxury that tight budgets and tighter production schedules cannot afford.

What I found most intriguing about this opinion was its accordance with a belief in the Nigerian film industry which has always discomforted me: the well-widespread belief that Nigeria’s socio-economic stumbling blocks, so huge they dwarf the Great Wall of China, prevent Nollywood from growth such that the industry can only produce mediocre content, with the occasional exceptional work; but these average works should be lauded as excellent, they are testaments to Nigerian ingenuity. In my frank and ebonics-flavoured opinion, that’s some ol’ bullshit.

But why, pray tell, do I consider that belief equal to the faeces of Bos primigenius? Well, because it erroneously concludes that extensive and innovative planning CANNOT provide solutions to the industry’s problems. Granted the sharp-sharp-sharp world of Nollywood is often like a rampaging bull at a rodeo, yet to tame the beast must the cowboy not plan and be well prepared?

Second Encounters of the Critical Kind

A few weeks later I came across an article, Nollywood Nightmare At Durban Int Film Festival by film critic Oris Aigbokhaevbolo – a really interesting read. As can be surmised from the title he details how “Nollywood films took a beating at the Durban film festival due to the quality of our films”, with noted inferiority next to Ethopian, Kenyan and South African movies.

So what about this article caught my attention? The writer looks at two different receptions to a “much-hyped” South African film, Cold Harbour. One critic Kavish Chetty had positive reactions “hinging his praise on two politically charged scenes” while filmmaker Jozua Malherbe was “unimpressed” as the film “gave the impression … that it was a thriller but it failed to be a good example of one”. Then the writer expresses an opinion which reeled me back to my previous encounter on Twitter.

Reacting to Malherbe’s criticism of Cold Habour, the Nigerian critic finds himself thinking, “here is a man spoilt by a national cinema producing excellent films regularly. Nigerian cinemagoers don’t have that luxury. A film half as well made as Cold Harbour will meet with deserved acclaim. Expression of chagrin at the little letdowns of a film with such production values as Cold Harbour is a privilege exclusive to customers of better fare“.

Malherbe’s dissatisfaction is apparently justified since as filmmaker and cinemagoer he feeds on a regular diet of quality productions. But more importantly because socio-economic circumstances permit him to feed on such a diet. Were it about a Nollywood film such criticism would apparently be unjust because of the harsher realities faced in producing a Nigerian film. While it is true production realities are tremendously challenging, a poisonous seed lurks in the subtext – mediocrity is excusable.

Common Threads

I find both encounters lined with a common thread of thought: due to the challenges of filmmaking in Nigeria, to survive the industry must sacrifice quality. Hype becomes a vital weapon, as well as a blind support for “our own thing” regardless of its quality – a long-running campaign in the industry. Early in the 21st century, the branding-boom and growth of digital filmmaking technology added two crucial instruments to the Nollywood survival kit; with them the outer shell of Nigerian films could now be made more attractive though the meat within was still uncooked.

Counter Hem

While believing in the sacrifice of quality has aided Nollywood’s continuity it is a double-edged sword leaving more than its fair share of wounds. As already stated, it is an easy access-road to mediocrity. Indeed one can link the pervasion of this notion to old Nollywood (i.e the pre-digital era 1992 – 2006) and its band of unskilled filmmakers who needed a justification for their less-than-mediocre home videos, knowing that they couldn’t do any better. (It’s a deviously ingenious marketing scheme, to be honest! Exploiting our sense of indigenous pride and search for a common identity.)

The most grievous damage remains the industry’s inability to continuously evolve effective and innovative plans unique to Nigeria’s socio-economic conditions. Plans that position the industry to produce quality films, rather than deluding ourselves that that new boring movie is great and even if it isn’t so good at least they tried sha. I feel the urge to lay out various benefits of good planning but that’s too damn elementary, Watson! The essence of a plan is undeniable. Heck, every good villain, both real and fictional, knows that a plan is vital to achieving efficient destruction. How much more so when you are trying to build?

Planning isn’t merely an act; it is a philosophy, an attitude, which we as a people – not we as individuals, now – are yet to develop. As a group of people bunched together by brethren Frederick Lugard, we are way more reactive than active. Even when staring at a blatant problem we refuse to take the initiative until calamity erupts then we start scrambling for half-baked solutions. Our original sin is passivity. Probably the most common solutions to social problems are 1) Pray to God and all will be magically fixed without us having to break a sweat or 2) Just wait until some other person finds a solution then do exactly what he/she/they did even if it doesn’t entirely apply to us. Generations have used these approaches to graduate from Universities with top honours, how won’t they apply it to every aspect of life?

A Long Walk To Nearby Destinations

Maze of truth
In its quest to win international acclaim Nollywood is taking the needlessly long route to confronting a homegrown problem – the absence of a plan. It should be obvious without experiences like the one at the Durban Film Festival that ours is an industry void of an identity and starved of a common purpose. We needn’t be pissed or scared about this, we just need to sit down and fix it.

Having buried the value of excellence so deep you’d have to multiply six feet by six to locate it, the journey ahead is a long one. The allure of the global limelight – being the first Nigerian to win an Oscar and all that – would only help if tempered with patience. So far we are impatiently clawing at international success. As dust raised in hyping the ostensible Nollywood renaissance settles it is becoming more obvious that HD cameras alone do not make a good film, certainly not a good industry. Access to cinema’s international community also serves as slaps into realization. There the struggles of Nollywood, its no-be-our-fault and just-manage-am-like-that strategies, are impotent. The solution always bring us back to the same point – we need a plan, holmes!

The resistance to accept the unavoidable truth is understandable. The old mentality is too saturated into the consciousness of some; catharsis will take time. Some sense that in the sea of impending change they will drift to extinction. Perhaps what scares the industry most is the (sub)conscious awareness that, to achieve the next level of progress, the mentally pauperish pillars which have long upheld it must be destroyed. Delusions of grandeur, banal praise and subtle compulsion will repetitively lead to the same old thing – weak films which will be praised at home but lambasted in the wider world.

Reel-ality Twist

The confusion of an industry without a plan is humorously captured in the way neo-Nollywood sought to disassociate itself from old Nollywood. Back when all we had were shitty scenes poorly shot on video cameras with an Igbo woman bellowing a theme song every ten minutes, the poor quality of home videos was unquestionable. Yet the industry refused to confront this issue. It took the easy way out: screw looking for some sort of way to improve, let’s just defend these movies no matter what.

Then boom! digital filmmaking technology became accessible. A new path appeared before our Nolly-feet. And then the funniest thing happened. Actors, directors, marketers and publicists who migrated from old to neo-Nollywood, seeking to improve their brand by showing how much better the new era films are, began to criticize old Nollywood. Suddenly all the criticisms which were vehemently defended a few years back became weapons of attack – and they knew just were would hurt the most. Now that’s a priceless piece of irony and the trademark of a vicious cycle.

ABOUT THE WRITER (this is where I talk about myself in the third person)
Playwright Africa African
Africa Ukoh (@Pensage – abeg, follow me for twitter oh!) is a playwright, screenwriter, creative director, and arts administrator. And protector of the realm. He has been the recipient of awards such as the BBC African Performance competition and the Stratford East/30 Nigeria House prize. In 2014 he won the prestigious Oscar award for best actress in a supporting role … Oh, no, wait, that … that was Lupita N’yongo. His works have appeared on platforms such as the BBC World Service, Voice of Nigeria, Sentinel Nigeria Magazine, Sentinel Annual Literature Anthology, and more. If you’d like to get in touch with him you can send N1500 MTN recharge card to 08036207841 and he will call you back, sharp-sharp. Or maybe just email him: africaukoh@gmail.com.

Part 2: The 6 Biggest Myths About Nigerian Theatre

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The Nigerian theatre industry sits so close to the edge of non-existence if it snee– Wait! Hold on! I already used that line in part 1, didn’t I? Ok, quick recap! Previously we looked at the: Comic Relief, Applause Is Approval and Go Big Or Go Home myths; examining how these pervading falsities unleash wraths so horrendous upon our dearly beloved industry they’d give Hades a hard-on. So without any ado!

4. THE ‘ALL THEY DO IS BOOGIE’ MYTH

The Myth
The (mis)belief here is that the only thing there is to the art of theatre in Nigeria is dance. The true danger lurks in this myth’s harmful subtext: Nigerian theatre is a narrow practice which offers little value to society – apart from the occasional distraction of watching people twerk in ankara. Trying and failing to be concave lenses to this myopic notion is usually due to: selective blindness of the myth believer (you know that thing about illusion being tastier than the truth?), a need to deliberately deride the arts as a study/practice (a very complex issue, this), inability of the practitioner to demonstrate specialization, or just good ol’ innocent-minded ignorance. The paucity of commercial theatre shows also keeps this myth well fed.

jungle boogie

Thespian boogie! Parara-parara! Thespian boogie! Get down!

The Impact
Apart from sounding like an insult from a 1970s blacksploitation movie (“Hell, them no-good jive turkeys? Only thing them cats know howda do is boogie!) this myth leaves grievous psychological scars in its wake. Its subtextual damage occurs at the delicate level of “image and perception“.

The image of every study/profession is polarized in positive and negative terms. We associate studies/professions with: dignity, power, stability, wealth, sacrifice, sufferhead, mysticism, etc. The more positives, the more attractive the study/profession. Externally this manifests in the value placed on objects which become prideful emblems – the doctor’s angelic coat, phallus-like stethoscope; the lawyer’s/judge’s black superhero-cape and that annoying wig thing that looks like a sheep’s butt.

When negative perceptions about Nigerian theatre seep into our social consciousness the barriers raised in response hurt the industry. The would-be audience member comes to consider himself too good for Nigerian theatre, even if he has the cultural sensibility of a wet mop. The student of theatre develops an inferiority complex, and to disassociate herself from the cause becomes academically nonchalant – losing out on general benefits the academic experience offers. (This is especially stronger if the student was forced to study theatre, as, sadly, is the case with most.) Some students start out resilient but eventually cave to this myth; others spend four years in confusion, oscillating between dedication to the study and derision towards it.

The practitioner must constantly prove the worth of his profession to the larger section of society who neglect or just don’t care about it (… yet). This makes marketing theatre, a process which is already a chore, A CHORE!!! Some will find themselves, having failed to conquer PDP-and-APC-fueled unemployment, returning to the very studies they neglected for sustenance; then years of nonchalance will return with Piranha-sharp teeth for vengeful bites.

The Reality
Do I need to say Nigerian theatre offers immense value to society? Do I really? We are talking of THE art form which gave us a Nobel Prize winner, need I remind yo’ ass! Thankfully, history suggests theatre will remain valued by the highly cultured; the true arts lover; the seeker of aesthetic joys; the traveller of imagination’s endless acres.

HOWEVER! Practitioners must take responsibility for the perpetuation of this myth. In Universities a lot of theatre arts departments place so so much emphasis on dance, inadvertently reinforcing this myth in the student-audience’s psyche – from there it’s an easy extension into the scathing subtext. Students go through four years of higher education without receiving advanced (sometimes even basic) education on other vast practices in theatre. This constricts the value they place on the study thus enabling rogue behaviour.

Practitioners must enlighten whatever segment of society is within their reach and influence. This need not be a tedious or confrontational activity. Demonstrating expertise the non-practitioner doesn’t possess sets society on a road to realization. The recognition that “this vocation requires a level of skill beyond what I (the layman) has and which only the professional can provide” gives our practice much needed respect for growth. Think of how much reverence filmmaking earns from ‘behind the scenes’ and ‘making of…’ documentaries.

5. THE ‘MESSIAH’ MYTH

The Myth
There is a tale they tell around camp fires in green rooms. Not merely a tale … a prophecy. A prophecy in the ancient book of Thespis which speaks of a great theatre show which one day shall come.

So magnificent a performance shall it be, a never-before-seen splendor in its invocation of spectacle, that it shall revive the entire Nigerian theatre industry. There shall be rejoicing as infrastructure and institutions shall appear out of the very earth and stretch far into the sky. There shall be singing of Eminado and dancing to the music of Don Jazzy again as sponsorship worth millions of naira shall flow steadily from the pockets of telecommunication companies and rich politicians like Loya milk (Looooyaaaa!).

And the people will look at it. And they will know that it is good. And no longer will there be hunger in the land. And no longer will they have to eat Fayose-and-Fayemi flavoured rice.

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And with the coming of the saviors hammering and chopping of money shall be plentiful.

Among practitioners and investors, you will find some who believe that a single show (the one they are, conveniently, currently working on) will be so successful it will revive the moribund Nigerian theatre industry. Of course it is believed that if this revival is not (conveniently) limited to the myth believers, it will be spearheaded by them. You’ll often find shows, usually large scale ones, stating as their objective: “we hope this performance can revive the theatre industry in Nigeria”. It would be all nice and cheery if this just ended as pretty talk, but yawa dey gas when people start believing it.

The Impact
The constant pursuit of instant success, a defining characteristic of the Nigerian huzzle, holds much blame here. Other times it’s just the pressure of pursuing a passion in an economy more twisted than Picasso’s Les Demoiselles d’Avignon (make I use google form effizzy, o jare!). And sometimes it’s just plain naivety. When the expectation of a meteoric rise to fame and fortune is DASHED by reality’s rocky ground, the effect can be destabilizing.

A great loss of confidence invariably follows – “e no suppose be like this, I suppose don blow by now“. The practitioner having spent the entire production process hyping himself up for the coming of the messiah is left feeling dejected. If he mistakes dejection for disillusionment, he is likely to voluntarily become a chairman of the “there is no future in Nigerian theatre” committee.

If he continues to practice, horrendous project planning haunts the rest of his career. Indeed it was this together with unrealistic expectations from having no well set production goals which screwed dude up in the first place. He throws himself into the constant chase of the messiah or half heartedly executes theatre projects when they come along. Any slim chance there was for business/artistic research and experimentation is gone with the wind (Swish!).

The impact on the investor can be summarized thus: as him money don troway, chairman pack him load run! But let’s delve a bit deeper. The defining impact on the investor who falls prey to this myth is a loss of confidence in theatre’s financial viability. Typically he bails out of the business sharp-sharp. Should he chop liver and remain, it will be marked with a discomfort towards new ideas and approaches; or worse, an inability to take calculated risks. However, henceforth, everything will be done on his terms. Of course he is too busy to go through the paces of acquiring proper knowledge on the business of theatre, so he treats it like any other business. When this equally fails, as is practically inevitable, he grows more convinced that Nigerian theatre is a waste of Naira.

The Reality
Don’t get me wrong, instant success isn’t impossible (though closer examination reveals instant isn’t always as instant as we mythologize it to be). Yes, there are those who rose to fame quicker than a plate of ijebu-garri soaked with half sachet of pure-water, but this isn’t something you plan for. If instant success comes it will be in your favour – except you aren’t prepared for it.

Get your head out of the clouds, but keep them in the sky. Translation: DREAM BIG WITH A PLAN. Short term, mid term, long term – HAVE A PLAN. A realistic plan with measurable goals. And ps: realistic does NOT mean inferior. Plans change or don’t always evolve as expected but organizational skill allows you stay flexible. Reading all the ‘how to’, self help and motivational books in the world is pointless if at the time of ACTION you can’t APPLY.

And can we agree to take a collective chill-pill on the messiah-performance neurosis? The future of Nigerian theatre does not rest on the shoulders of one, two or twenty shows. What will lead us to the gates of the promised land is efficient administration. Development and application of innovative and efficient operational frameworks, achievable in Nigeria’s socio-economic conditions, which will turn these shows we love making from short-lived independent entities into finely woven symbiotic organisms of productivity.

6. THE ‘BANKRUPTCY’ MYTH

The Myth
In the entirety of the english language there are no seven words which spear my heart deeper than these: THERE IS NO MONEY IN NIGERIAN THEATRE. Goodness gracious f@#%ing hell what da actual f@#k?!!!!! Ok … Calm down … Breathe … Breathe … This one stands in contention with the ‘Go Big or Go Home’ myth for most damaging misconception. Amongst those who propagate this myth the most pertinent are financiers.

Investing money in Nigerian theatre is considered a fool’s venture that ends in a pit of financial wastage. The ardent spokesperson for this myth is commonly an investor whose previous foray into the business of theatre ended in grave financial loss. Or he/she is considering making an investment but witnessed, or heard the gist of, some other person whose dice failed at the gamble.

The belief that the only good kind of arts business is a corporate scale business (see the ‘Go Big or Go Home’ myth), coupled with having the closest thing to a fully functioning outfit in only one out of 36 states, reinforces the faith that (must thou spear me again, ye words?) there is no money in Nigerian theatre.

atm machine

 

The Impact
Belief in this myth has strangulated the practitioner’s ability to develop a financially sustainable structure for Nigerian theatre. Hence, the industry is almost entirely (if not completely) sponsor-based. Sure, there’s nothing wrong with sponsorship, theatre needs sponsorship (subsidies don’t hurt either, so anytime you’re ready Ministry of Arts and Culture, NICO, NCAC); however no serious business can function sustainably on sponsorship ALONE – and certainly not an ENTIRE industry. But the practitioner’s brain is so hardwired to seek sponsorship he can’t think outside the box. (And believe me, for theatre to blossom we have to think outside the whole freaking box manufacturing factory.)

The sponsor-based business model has more potholes than the road from Ogba junction to retail market (na one road for Lasgidi), and in these crevices lies Nigerian theatre, clawing at sparse patches of available coal-tar. Being not only sponsor-based but corporate sponsor based means we remain snared in the ‘Go Big or Go Home’ myth. The corollary is simple: failing to turn out a large enough number of annual shows to generate broader scale business interest, the industry will struggle to see any appreciable growth, and with this the contorted conviction that “there is no money in Nigerian theatre” will persist – and that’s just a fine ass piece of irony!

More ironic is the counter-approach taken by some investors. Dedicated to the vision of reviving Nigerian theatre, mixed with an appetite for chopping big-time arts money, they come to a strange conclusion. They decide to throw an inordinate amount of money into a commercial theatre set up, doing something like building a theatre house or purchasing a large amount of equipment without any sustainable plan for profitability. The chain of thought (one I cannot wrap my head around!) seems to be: I’m not totally certain how to make money from this business, so I’m going to randomly spend an excessive amount on it and the sheer Voltron force of my money will make it work.

Panic sets in when the cash doesn’t come in as expected. The investor now employs constraints to the point of administrative asphyxiation. Again the courage needed to take calculated risks dissipates. And now he’s pissed! He’s royally pissed! Millions of naira, a fair amount of which could have been well spent on family and/or runs-girls, have gone down the ol’ drain. And what does he blame for this loss? His uninformed business decision? No, he blames it on the Nigerian theatre industry.

The Reality
Keep calm and know there IS money in the Nigerian theatre industry. We are talking of an art which has persisted, thriving sporadically, ever since the 40s – and even further back. It has survived cinema, Nollywood, and television – all of which falsely heralded its doom. Obviously there’s a resilience in there we aren’t harnessing.

Theatre makes money in its own way, this must be understood and accepted (not the same thing, mind you). Though there are similarities commercial theatre for the most part doesn’t function like concerts or galas or launches. It can’t be expected to make money in the same way. It is an art and a business in its own right. It has its constants, variables, gestation periods and birth expectancies. These, alongside much else, must be well grasped if you want to earn back your bucks and then some.

A peculiar reality that must also be confronted is that there is no actual Nigerian theatre industry. We just call it that because … well, wetin else we wan call am? The Nigerian theatre paroles? The Nigerian theatre hustle? Wouldn’t make for intelligent writing in a proposal, would it? The proper infrastructure doesn’t exist. The equipment is far from accessible. The fluidity of capital is turgid. The provided service comes so infrequently market/audience stability is a perpetual struggle. What we have is a semblance of an industry at its thinnest.

Money is almost always invested into theatre shows NOT the theatre industry. Understanding this difference can mean the difference between success and failure. I’ll give one example: money invested into a theatre show can only work for as long as the show is alive i.e its performance run. Since socio-economic factors only allow for brief performance runs, the investment has a specific gestation period (mostly days, often weeks, occasionally a month or two) within which to deliver returns. If you were investing in the theatre industry, the gestation period would be waaaay longer.

Ultimately, be honest with yourself. This is the cornerstone which not only the builder refused but breaking the stronghold of any myth relies on. Understand and accept that the business of theatre isn’t for all-comers. It requires a businessman with a particular set of sensibilities which may not be in your personality. It requires a wealth of passion and courage and not everyone is rich in every way.

There once was no money in Nigerian music and stand up comedy. Artists pursuing careers in those fields were considered fools. Any businessman sowing his money in those fields was an even bigger dodo bird. That was just a little over a decade ago. Today, they are both thriving sectors for artists and investors alike with the music industry possibly reaping more than grandpapa Nollywood. Ask yourself this, what are those industries doing right for themselves that Nigerian theatre isn’t for itself?

And there you have them! The 6 Biggest Myths About Nigerian Theatre! Did you dare brave the treacherous terrains of scrolling and megabyte consumption to read all 6? If so, you’ve just won yourself a loaf of bread to go with the toaster from part 1. Thanks for reading.

READ: The 6 Biggest Myths About Nigerian Theatre (Part 1)

ABOUT THE WRITER (this is where I talk about myself in the third person)

African Playwright Africa Ukoh

Africa Ukoh (@Pensage – abeg, follow me for twitter oh!) is a playwright, screenwriter, actor, theatre director, and arts administrator. And protector of the realm. He has been the recipient of awards such as the BBC African Performance competition and the Stratford East/30 Nigeria House prize. In 2014 he won the prestigious Oscar award for best actress in a supporting role … Oh, no, wait, that … that was Lupita N’yongo. His works have appeared on platforms such as the BBC World Service, Voice of Nigeria, Sentinel Nigeria Magazine, Sentinel Annual Literature Anthology, and more. If you’d like to get in touch with him you can send N1500 MTN recharge card to 08036207841 and he will call you back, sharp-sharp. Or maybe just email him: africaukoh@gmail.com.

“54 Silhouettes” in Pictures

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Last year ended on a theatrical high as NovemberDecember saw the premiere and 3 follow up performances of my (warning: shameless plug alert) double award winning play (BBC African Performance, 2011; and Stratford East/30 Nigeria House, 2012) 54 Silhouettes. Great fun and lots of lessons learned.

Being a theatre artist in Nigeria is like jumping out of a helicopter with no parachute over the Grand Canyon. It’s an industry that has no central financial source, hasn’t been able to build a stable audience base for decades and suffers from a paucity of creative business approaches – despite the various institutions which exist to support it.

Regardless, so strong is the love for theatre in some that we jump out of that helicopter over the Grand Canyon without parachutes because underneath our skin we feel the relentless itching of wings desiring to explode. I can’t wait to put so much of my thoughts on Nigerian (African?) theatre into writing and share with you guys. Until then, do enjoy pictures from 3 nights of performances of 54 Silhouettes. (Ps: you can listen to the BBC World Service’s abridged audio version of the play here.)
All photos are courtesy of the brilliant Timothy Aideloje (@jtimdal).

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