Genevieve Nnaji’s Lionheart movie is replete with reflective subjects and a case for attention-to-detail storytelling
Rather than being a classic movie review, this writing aims to highlight a few themes touched by Genevieve Nnaji’s Lionheart — the first Nigerian Netflix original film — and how these resonate with me as well as certain parts I think the producers could have paid particular attention to.
Lionheart is not intrigue-filled, action-packed, fast-paced, and the like. If that is the kind of movie you are fond of, then you might classify the Netflix movie as below par. However, Lionheart is in a category that is fast becoming a modern family-friendly rarity — devoid of nudity, sex, violence and profanity.
Lionheart raised various themes — subtly for the most part
African parents’ view of a career in the arts.
419 scam.
Everything is within your reach if you pay the price.
The all-round championing matriarch.
The inherence of thuggery in our neighbourhoods.
Feelings about returnee schooled-abroad kids of the wealthy.
The picturesqueness of the Nigerian landscape.
The employer imposition of interfaith activity in the workplace.
The pride in African indigenous languages and rich proverbs.
The godlike company founder and CEO who makes important decisions without informing those who have a right to know and who never apologises for that.
African hospitality: ‘You cannot leave my place without having tasted anything’ (Arinze to Adaeze). ‘We cannot let you lodge in a hotel when we have a private guesthouse’ (the Maikanos to the Obiagus).
Cross-cultural acceptance and love. The movie skilfully delves into the there-is-beauty-in-every-culture principle. The knowledge that the other person is cognizant of even just one cherished aspect of one’s culture can break barriers and melt resistance. Language often used as a divisive weapon can be a powerful cross-ethnic unifier. The naturally developing love-at-first-sight between a Northern Muslim boy and an Eastern Christian girl in a country that is becoming more and more polarised along these lines was an enchantingly anticipated denouement. Even the parents wouldn’t be surprised.
Sexism or rather perception of sexism. Early in the movie Adaeze (Genevieve Nnaji) accuses her father of sexism — not to his face. But as the movie unfolds, it becomes evident that her father’s decision which earned him that accusation is not as ill-willed as thought at first. How far could she have managed alone in a male-dominated industry? Navigated through the rejection meetings from one loan manager to another — all male? Dealt with solicitation for transactional intimate liaison? Extricated herself from police custody — though theirs (Adaeze & uncle) was brought about by her uncle? Convinced her father to agree to a merger or even dealt with her father’s irk when he would learn that a meeting to discuss such partnership was held without his consent? Sought to persuade a hard-to-please Alhaji CEO? With the benefit of hindsight, she is forced to acknowledge the indispensability of that “sexist decision” in her learning curve as later, she unashamedly seeks the help of the “sexism beneficiary” on two key occasions: to accompany her to the crucial talk with the Alhaji and to get the meeting between her father and the Alhaji going.
This is the most defining theme in the movie for me, especially because of the times we now live in — times of unabated headlines of tense relationship between the sexes. I couldn’t help wondering: If the alleged sexist were not her father, would Adaeze have supported his decision notwithstanding her perceived injustice? Would she have given him the benefit of the doubt in spite of her incomprehension? Or would she have embarked on an immediate social media exposé?
Could it be that some men (women too) today with similar allegations against them could do with an Adaezelike attitude?
Areas I wish Lionheart producers had managed better
The riotous scene at the beginning could have been acted more convincingly. The worst dialogue is unfortunately at the beginning too. That conversation between Adaeze and the head thug should have been wholly in Igbo. It is off-putting to watch how she is insultingly treated as a returnee Americana out of tune with actual reality buttressed by the ruffian speaking in the indigenous language and her attempt to prove him wrong and show that she is as much streetwise as him is uttering just one sentence in that language and the rest in English while her interlocutor persists in the use of their shared local language. This is the scene that should have been entirely in Igbo and not that family breakfast one.
The sheer number of lucky accidents favouring the Obiagus is eyebrow-raising. The uncle is at the right place at the right time to foil an attempted scam on the right person. The uncle and niece are at the right place at the right time to meet the right individual to introduce them to the right businessman. Adaeze is at the right place at the right time to overhear the right conversation that will lead to the right executive decision.
That scene with the auditors is cringeworthy. There should have been a way to show them playing out as real auditors and adding comical effects to it than making auditors act like clowns.
And what about the hotel episode? It is the most disappointing. Adaeze is convinced a friend her uncle has never met will definitely help alleviate their financial woes and gets her uncle to tag along, only to separate from him as soon as they arrived at the friend’s hotel. She goes on to have a talk by herself with the friend who indeed promises to offer 500 million — more than half of the funds the company needs. But nowhere does she inform the uncle of this good news nor does he request feedback on the outcome of her conversation with said friend. Nowhere is she seen following-up to get the promised funds nor is she ever portrayed as no longer interested in his money.
When Adaeze leaves her uncle by the pool, he is lured inside the hotel by a feminine figure. But as soon as he enters, we are left in the lurch as to the pursuit of his lust. We rather see him descending into what appears to be a basement where a business meeting supposed to be sold as legitimate to an out-of-town investor is being held. His position while eavesdropping into their conversation is too conspicuous to not have been noticed by any of the men.
It would have been more believable if Adaeze were shown searching around for her uncle whom she left outside before finally opening the right door to where he was and ultimately saving him from harm. And why does she express no surprise at finding him in a room when he agreed to wait for her at their point of separation?
When the two Obiagus are taken into custody, I expect a reason to be given as to why Adaeze too is detained when her uncle is the sole culprit or see her threaten to press charges for her unjust incarceration. Even weirder is the fact that each is the only one in their respective gender-segregated cells. In a city where a woman can be easily arrested for a minor offence committed by her associate, one would think to find the police cells jam-packed with criminals of both sexes.
Since the use of the English language is so important to Lionheart makers, they should have reshot scenes where the language was blundered. It isn’t asking too much to require of Nollywood more attention to grammar as it strives to become a global soft power.
Liz Nnyigide is an English/French language coach, writer, storyteller and translator. Connect with her via chiliz722@yahoo.ca; Liz Nnyigide
