ADIFF ’16: 93 Days

According to the World Health Organization (WHO), Nigeria is now Ebola-free, but don’t take their word for it. A Nollywood crew filmed the story of the 2014 outbreak on location in the very same hospital and isolation wards involved—and lived to tell the tale on the festival circuit. The ripped-from-the-headlines story of the dedicated medical team that contained the Ebola threat is dramatized in Steve Gukas’s English language 93 Days (trailer here), which screens as part of the Spotlight on Nigeria at the 2016 African Diaspora International Film Festival in New York.

In August of 2014, Nigeria was still untouched by Ebola, but the virus was very definitely present in West Africa—particularly Liberia, where an estimated fifty (five-zero) doctors cared for a population of over four million. That is where grumpy business traveler Patrick Sawyer flew in from. He looked a bit peaked on the flight and practically imploded once he reached the hospital, but he refused to cooperate with efforts to diagnose his malady. Recognizing the tell-tale signs, Dr. Ameyo Adadevoh imposes quarantine protocols, at least as best she can in the woefully under-prepared First Consultants. Honestly, the up-scale hospital would be a perfectly fine place to get treatment for a broken leg, but they just didn’t have the infectious disease facilities.

Of course, the tests eventually confirm the Ebola diagnosis, but by that time, several doctors and RNs are already symptomatic. They will be whisked away to a makeshift isolation ward in Yaba, where they will be treated by Dr. David Brett-Major, an American WHO specialist. Eventually, Dr. Adadevoh will also check herself into Yaba, after a short period of denial.

Unlike most outbreak thrillers, 93 Days is more about responsibility than panic and terror. Essentially, it portrays a group of doctors who get a dose of their own medicine and in some cases, heal themselves. However, it is a bit controversial in Liberia, with most of the criticism focused on the casting of a Nigerian actor as the Liberian Sawyer, but one cannot help suspecting the film stirs deeper national resentments.

The portrayal of the doctors’ professionalism and heroism is refreshing, but Gukas and editor Antonio Rui Ribeiro could have easily pruned some of the talky slack. Still, the polish of Gukas’s production stands head-and-shoulders above what many viewers might expect from Nollywood. This looks like a real movie with a respectable budget. It even features two legit Hollywood actors.

Tim Reid essentially phones in his brief appearance as a DC health official, who duly explains why a raging outbreak in Lagos would be less than optimal. On the other hand, Danny Glover is in it for the long haul as the sage-like hospital director, Dr. Benjamin Ohiaeri. There are probably more Evangelical Christian prayers in 93 Days than all of Glover’s previous films combined, but he still does his thing, radiating grizzled greybeard dignity.

Somkele Idhalama is also quite forceful as Dr. Ada Igonoh, the sequestered infected staffer who would probably be voted most likely to survive. Yet, probably the biggest surprise is the charismatic and humane performance of British Alastair Mackenzie as the American Dr. Brett-Major.

In a way, 93 Days represents the sort of earnest but unsensationalized medical drama we could have seen back in the days of Playhouse 90. It is the sort of film that honors sacrifice and suggests prayer has value during a time of crisis, even if it never directly changes anything. It really could find an audience in Red State markets if marketed correctly. Recommended for fans of Nollywood and fact-based docu-dramas, 93 Days screens tomorrow (12/3), Sunday (12/4), and Wednesday (12/7), during this year’s ADIFF.

New Voices in Black Cinema ’15: Ojuju

There is no greater public health crisis than a zombie apocalypse. In this case, it is directly linked to a contaminated water supply, but high population density, unprotected sex, and some wicked strong weed are also contributing factors. Once infection takes hold, it runs like wildfire through a Lagos slum in C.J. “Fiery” Obasi’s Ojuju (trailer here), which screens during the 2015 New Voices in Black Cinema at the BAM Rose Cinemas.

People think Romero (hat tip intentional) is a little strange, because the slacker actually seems to be serious about fulfilling his obligations to his highly pregnant girlfriend, Alero. Nobody is more confused by this then his former hook-up Aisha, but his buddies Emmy and Peju also have a hard time adjusting to his domestic bliss. Alas, it is not to last.

The first victim we see fall prey to the shufflers will be Fela, the local drug dealer, who has been selling some particularly potent product lately. He also samples the wares more than he should, so the strange figure staggering towards him just doesn’t set off the alarm bells it should. Inevitably infected, he and his crony begin the feverish process of transformation, despite the local prostitute’s efforts to care for his mystery illness. Soon, nearly the entire neighborhood except Romero, Emmy, and Peju are part of the shuffling horde. Unfortunately, there are limited egress points for the largely self-contained slum, so getting out of Dodge will be a tricky proposition.

Those who might be expecting the weird Evangelical perspective often reflected in Nollywood films can just forget it. Ojuju will not begrudge its socially disadvantaged characters a little sin while the sinning is good. Everyone tokes up a little to get by, even the incredibly foul-mouthed adolescent known simply as “the Kid.” What really makes the zombie (or ojuju) outbreak so devastating are the hard facts of life in a Nigerian slum. Obasi gives us a vivid sense of what they are like, including the bottleneck exit and the razor wire encircling it.

While Ojuju was obviously shot on a micro-budget, the gritty, low-fi aesthetic nicely suits the zombie genre. Obasi delivers enough gore to mollify genre fans, but the sweaty, claustrophobic vibe is what really generates the mounting dread. He also tacks on a long, almost entirely unrelated coda, but it largely works as a short film in its own right, so just consider it a bonus.

Perhaps Ojuju’s nicest surprise is the ensemble’s professionalism. Ranging from solidly presentable to legitimately polished, they are consistent in a good way, with Gabriel Afolayan and Chidozie Nzeribe particularly intense standouts as Romero and Fela, respectively. Making a virtue of its rough edges, Obasi exceeds expectations for his scrappy upstart zombie film. Recommended for undead fans, Ojuju screens this Friday (3/27) at BAM, as part of this year’s New Voices in Black Cinema.

Black November: The People of the Niger Delta Deserve a Better Movie

It’s the spigot theory that says a developing nation is better off without the discovery of a precious natural resource like oil, because it allows a corrupt central government (is there any other kind?) to control all economic activity at the source. That is sort of what Jeta Amata’s newly revised agit-prop film argues, but it is more interested in assigning blame. Yes, the multinational oil companies are at fault and so is our government and the Nigerian government, as well as the former regime it replaced. However, you are most to blame as an American consumer guzzling Nigerian oil, so go hang your head in shame—and don’t even bother with Amata’s Black November (known in a previous incarnation as Black Gold, trailer here), because it is not worth your guilt-tripping time when it opens tomorrow in New York.

Oil executive Tom Hudson must be an evil, because he is played by Mickey Rourke. However, the tables have just been turned on him when a group of one-man’s-terrorists take him hostage, demanding he use his influence to save their spiritual leader Ebiere Perema from the noose. If you are expecting a tense kidnapping film, then just move along, because November is really just one interminably long flashback, allowing the men with guns to explain how special Perema is, starting with her birth, of course. Mercifully, Amata spares us the Michenerian prologue explaining how geological processes formed the oil deposits in the river delta. Still, at least that would have been educational.

It is possible for nakedly didactic films to engage the audience on a cinematic level. Iciar Bollain’s Even the Rain is not exactly subtle, but it is still a distinctive work. On the other hand, you can safely say Black November is no Battleship Potemkin. Frankly, it is simply not professional grade. Amata may have come out of the Nollywood scene, but the handful of Nollywood films covered here all feature sharper character development and more polished scripts than November, and there is little difference in the quality of performances.

Embarrassingly, that includes a number of formerly big-name Hollywood actors turning up in small marginal roles, presumably so they could participate in a few press conferences to show they care. Nevertheless, November is notable for reuniting 9½ Weeks co-stars Rourke and Kim Basinger (playing “Kristy,” the journalist unwittingly filming Hudson’s kidnapping). One can imagine their on-set reminisces: “So, remember those ice cubes? Good times.”

According to the poster, Anne Heche is also in this movie. This is a pure guess, but maybe she plays one of the federal agents, as does Viveca Fox who briefly appears as “Angela,” the scoldy anti-terror agent constantly passing judgment on her superiors’ crassly Machiavellian ways.

November is counting on viewers cutting it a lot of slack, because of its supposed good intentions, but when you are sitting through it, there is no getting around its low level of competency. It even fails on the fundamental level of propaganda. Perhaps out of some odd notion of narrative balance, Perema and her allies are constantly making inexplicably dubious decisions, but their cumulative effect is downright exasperating.

By the time it wraps up, the only lasting take-away from the film is the fact the hostage takers smuggled themselves and their guns up from Mexico, so it would seem the film is really advocating for increased border security. Black November is not recommended. It is not even presentable to a ticket-buying public, but it opens tomorrow (1/9) nonetheless at the Quad Cinema.

ADFF Summer Series ’10: Arugba

A Nigerian clinic has just lost its fiftieth patient to AIDS. A world heath NGO has earmarked millions to shore up such provincial health centers, but do not expect it to trickle too far down. Indeed, graft is an every day fact of life in Tunde Kelani’s Yoruban drama Arugba (trailer here), which screens during the African Diaspora Film Festival’s 2010 Summer Series.

The royal Kabiyesi is a model of corruption in both his public and private lives. However, the people are growing increasingly impatient with his ineffectual economic reforms. Yet he spends more time worrying about his adoptive niece Adetutu’s fitness to serve as the Arugba or votary virgin during the town’s Osun Osogbo festival, than creating new jobs. He has his reasons, which will be revealed as the film unfolds.

Adetutu knows her pseudo-uncle is bad news, but she has yet to make up her mind about Makinwa, musician-choreographer who wants to perform with her, on-stage for starters. A case of Nollywood cribbing a page from Bollywood, Arugba includes several fully produced musical interludes featuring the not-yet couple.

Though Arugba had a particularly long gestation period by Nollywood standards, it is still fairly representative of the Nigerian film industry, albeit on the high end. Shot at warp speed on a shoe string budget, Nollywood films are often distinguished by their refreshingly odd plot turns. Evidently filmmakers who know they will crank out a dozen or so films in a year do not have much incentive to play it safe.

Arugba follows in that tradition, mixing satire and mysticism to tell an offbeat morality tale recognizably inspired by the former Preident Olusegun Obasanjo. In truth, the film’s attitudes are perfectly crystallized in an early scene featuring a deranged Christian street preacher railing against official corruption. Two matronly vendors basically admit he might be crazy, but he is not far wrong.

Neophyte Bukola Awoyemi has an appealing earthiness as Adetutu, making her a model of African female empowerment (despite the cheesy fight choreography she was stuck with). A veteran actor in international demand, Peter Badejo projects the right sinister gravitas as the corrupt sovereign. However, Segun Adefila is bit dull as a leading man, but his hip-hop influenced choreography is pretty cool.

Arugba is one of a number of strange-in-a-good-way films to have come out of Nigeria in recent years. The ADFF seems to have a knack for skimming the cream of Nollywood’s bounteous crop, like the curious evangelical fantasy Changing Faces. While it requires certain aesthetic allowances, Arugba is an intriguing film on several levels (despite several Obama references that already feel dated). It screens next Sunday (8/29) as part of the ADFF Summer Series now underway at the Riverside Theater.

Access Nollywood

Nigeria has a vibrant pop music scene. It is also a country where many share both an Evangelical Christian faith and a lingering fear of witchcraft. If you think such an environment could produce fascinating cinema you would be correct. Nigerian can boast of some dynamic films and filmmakers, which sometimes shines through in Ben Addelman and Samir Mallal’s documentary Nollywood Babylon (trailer here), now playing at the Museum of Modern Art.

The Nigerian movie business, affectionately known as Nollywood, currently ranks third in global film production right behind Hollywood and Bollywood—and its growing rapidly. Yet hardly any of its films ever screen in proper movie theaters. Their distribution is dominated by the Lagos street markets, where fans eagerly purchase new DVDs for home viewing. Operating within this milieu, Lancelot Oduwa Imasuen emerges as Babylon’s likable protagonist and guide to the world of hyper-kinetic Nollywood filmmaking.

Part auteur and part entrepreneur, Imasuen is a charismatic representative of Nollywood. He is also a practicing Christian, who we see leading his cast and crew through the opening prayer on the set of his 157th film during Babylon’s early scenes. As long as Addelman and Mallal have their camera pointed at him, the film is on solid ground. Unfortunately, when their focus strays to other aspects of the Nollywood scene, Babylon often seems to invite viewers to laugh at, rather than with, its subjects. Many clips seem to be cherry-picked for their ultra-cheesy effects, particularly those produced by "born-again" Christian filmmakers, who have captured significant market-share in Nollywood.

The problem with Babylon is it is unclear whether the documentarians are celebrating the resourcefulness of Nollywood filmmakers, or mocking them for either their Christianity or traditional superstitions (as when one filmmaker explains how witchcraft shut-down his location shoot in an area associated with the supernatural). At least they gave Babylon a high-energy soundtrack, featuring some cool contemporary Nigerian afro-pop that nicely compliments the “sharp-sharp let’s go-let’s go” Nollywood aesthetic.

Based on the high-end Nollywood films which have reached the American festival circuit, it seems like they are producing highly watchable pictures, particularly because of their unusual blend of Christian and supernatural elements. Filmmakers like Imasuen deserve a lot of credit for developing an audience and making money with their films, which is more than most documentarians can say. Babylon is at its best when it takes the audience into the intriguing world of Nollywood, but their impulse to emphasize the cruder aspects of films typically produced for less than $10,000 ultimately does not serve the documentary well. It runs through Thursday (7/9) at MoMA.