𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐅𝐢𝐥𝐦𝐬 𝐃𝐨 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐄𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐑𝐨𝐥𝐥

𝐵𝑦: ‘𝑑𝑎𝑦𝑜 𝐴𝑑𝑒𝑑𝑎𝑦𝑜

In this life, there are certain films you watch once, and they never truly leave you. Long after the screen goes dark, they remain alive somewhere in your memory, quietly shaping how you feel, how you remember, and sometimes, how you see the world. They stay with you for life.

I have been watching films since the late 1970s, and fate was kind to me. Our family house in Lagos stood directly opposite 𝐑𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐰 𝐂𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐚, Idi-Oro, Mushin, Lagos State.

Life, in its quiet generosity, made the cinema manager a tenant in our house. And so, once in a while, free tickets would find their way into our hands,.passports into worlds far bigger than our own.

Down the road was 𝐉𝐞𝐛𝐚𝐤𝐨 𝐂𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐚 at Idi-Oro bus stop, another sanctuary of imagination. This was an era before cable television, before endless channels and streaming platforms.

We lived in a time when Nigeria had between one and four television stations. Broadcasts began at 4 p.m. and ended unceremoniously after the 9 p.m. NTA Network News. When the national anthem played and the screen went blank, the day was truly over.

And so, cinema mattered.

The Indian films of that era did not merely entertain us; they raised us emotionally.

I watched 𝑀𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝐼𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑎, a film that taught endurance, sacrifice, and the quiet dignity of womanhood. It was not just a story, it was a moral compass. The film portrayed poverty, motherhood, and justice with such emotional honesty that generations across continents felt personally addressed.

𝑆ℎ𝑜𝑙𝑎𝑦 followed, a masterpiece of friendship, loyalty, vengeance, and loss. Its characters were larger than life, yet painfully human. Even today, the film remains one of the most emotionally layered narratives ever produced in popular cinema.

𝐴𝑚𝑎𝑟 𝐴𝑘𝑏𝑎𝑟 𝐴𝑛𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑛𝑦 celebrated unity in diversity long before it became a fashionable slogan. Through humour, music, and drama, it explored identity, faith, separation, and reunion, making audiences laugh, cry, and reflect all at once.

These films succeeded because they understood something timeless: emotion is universal, and sincerity travels farther than spectacle.

At the same time, our own stories were being told, raw, powerful, and unmistakably Nigerian.

The works of 𝐇𝐮𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐭 𝐎𝐠𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞 such as 𝐴𝑦𝑒, 𝐽𝑎𝑖𝑦𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑚𝑖, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐴𝑦𝑎𝑛𝑚𝑜 were not just films; they were philosophical inquiries into destiny, morality, power, and consequence.

𝐎𝐥𝐚 𝐁𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐧’s 𝐴𝑗𝑎𝑛𝑖 𝑂𝑔𝑢𝑛 blended folklore with modern anxieties, reminding us that tradition and progress must always negotiate with each other.

𝐀𝐝𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐦𝐢 𝐀𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐚𝐧 (𝐀𝐝𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞) gave us films like 𝐾𝑎𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑎, 𝐼𝑗𝑎 𝑂𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑖𝑟𝑎, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑇𝑎𝑥𝑖 𝐷𝑟𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑟, stories that confronted injustice, fate, oppression, and survival in a society struggling to define itself.

These films were deeply emotional because they were honest. They spoke in familiar languages, reflected familiar struggles, and carried the weight of lived experience.

Watching them at 𝐑𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐰 and 𝐉𝐞𝐛𝐚𝐤𝐨 𝐂𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐬 in Idi-Oro, my teenage years became a shared cultural memory, one I can still relate to my children and contemporaries today.

Nothing prepared me for 𝐅𝐮𝐧𝐤𝐞 𝐀𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐞’s 𝐵𝑒ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑆𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑠. Beyond action, comedy, thriller, or suspense, this film feels like a mirror held up to our society, clear, fearless, and unflinching. It is the kind of work that should not belong only to its creator, but to the Federal Government of Nigeria, to institutions, to schools, and most importantly, to Nigerians themselves.

The Yoruba say: “Ká sùn, ká ṣe bí ẹní kú, ká wo ẹni tó fẹ́ràn ẹni.” (Sleep, pretend you are dead, and observe those who truly love you.)

This film lives inside that proverb. It exposes the depth of human relationships, the hypocrisy we tolerate, the pain we hide, and the quiet battles people fight behind smiles and success. It captures, without exaggeration, what is happening in our society today.

No matter how emotionally hardened you think you are, there will be a moment when your eyes betray you. A tear will escape. And just when you sink too deeply into thought, a well-timed joke pulls you back, reminding you that life itself is a constant dance between pain and laughter.

That balance is not accidental, it is mastery.
Nollywood Has Come of Age. This is no longer a prophecy; it is a fact. There is a reason foreign films are disappearing from our cinema screens. Nigerian filmmakers now tell stories that are technically sound, emotionally complex, culturally rooted, and globally relevant.

Funke Akindele has done more than make a film, she has documented a national wound with empathy and courage. For this work, she deserves a national honour, and beyond recognition, a significant financial reward from the Federal Government of Nigeria. Films like Behind the Scenes do what policies often fail to do: they start conversations, awaken conscience, and humanise statistics.

And these are the kinds of films, like those of my childhood, that do not end when the credits roll. They follow you home. They sit quietly in your heart. And they stay with you for life.