I’ve decided to stop watching film trailers. Why? Expectations. They ruin everything. They either give too much away or set you up for disappointment. Entering Blackout with no prior knowledge, no logline, no setup, just the film itself was the best decision. And what a shock that was. The kind of shock that reminds you why cinema exists. The experience was raw, gripping, and, most importantly, unpredictable.

A Film That Knows What It’s Doing

From the very first frame, Blackout does something rare, one thing so evident: this film understands atmosphere. But what kind? A thriller? A psychological drama? There was no clear answer, just a feeling.

The opening scene follows a well-worn Nollywood trope: in medias res—plunging right into the middle of the action. Usually, it’s a gimmick, a forced attempt at suspense, or sometimes simply a plot device. But here, it serves a real purpose. It’s not just about hooking the audience; it’s a cue, a demand to be present, to actively engage with every frame, every decision.

And that’s the difference. Every choice in Blackout is deliberate.

More Than Just a Missing Memory

The plot of Blackout is deceptively simple: Judith (Padita Agu) wakes up to a life she doesn’t recognise—a husband, Dan (Gideon Okeke), two kids… Who are they? The film begins in the middle of this confusion, peeling back layers of past and present to reveal how she got here.

But the story? That’s something else entirely.

Blackout explores the transient nature of relationships. It questions how time moves forward, whether one is ready for it or not. How people move on, even when emotions, love, and pain are still unresolved. How one person’s choices can destroy another’s life, leaving behind trauma and uncertainty.

That is the power of Blackout. It doesn’t just tell a story—it challenges perception. That is the power of cinema. Not just to tell a story, but to make you feel it so deeply that you can’t leave it behind, even as you walk out of the theatre.

But it doesn’t stop there. As Judith begins to put the pieces together, she discovers something even more sinister… Blackout merges psychological thriller elements with something deeper, something existential.

What do we truly own? Our bodies? Our memories? And what happens when even those are taken away?

The Devil Is in the Details

Blackout shows how visual details carry weight beyond the obvious. Take Kenneth moving a chess piece in an early scene for example. And, the missing posters that seemed just part of the background, at first, until they weren’t. Foreshadowing? Perhaps.

And the score? Subtle at times, drastic at others— but always leaving a trace of unease. Blackout understands that sound is more than accompaniment; it’s manipulation. The music, composed with a restraint that amplifies dread, works in tandem with silence—because silence, when used well, is just as deafening. It’s a film that breathes in quiet tension, forcing you to fill in the gaps with your own fear.

By the time the film settled into its rhythm, it wasn’t just a thriller anymore. It had become a reckoning of human nature.

Gideon Okeke delivers an outstanding performance. His presence is undeniable, the kind that makes previous roles feel like warm-ups for this moment. His portrayal of Dan is disturbing, shifting between charm and menace with unsettling ease.

Padita Agu, as Judith, carries the emotional weight of the film with precision. The cinematography lingers on her, forcing the audience into her world, making her isolation almost suffocating. Makeup and costume choices enhance this transformation. Initially, she appears too mature for an NYSC member, but subtle makeup adjustments make her believably younger. When her life spirals, the makeup is stripped away, revealing a face marked by time and suffering. The progression feels natural, earned.

Cinematographer Okechukwu Oku employs a muted colour palette, reinforcing the film’s sombre tone and mirroring Judith’s fragmented state of mind. Colour grading plays a significant role, particularly in marking shifts between past and present. Blurred, dreamlike hues signal flashbacks, subtly reinforcing the film’s title.

Pacing is another triumph. The film knows when to hold back and when to accelerate. The decision to wrap up at 1 hour and 29 minutes was perfect. No unnecessary drag, no excessive indulgence—just a lean, effective narrative.

However, there were some choices that made one question:

A character wearing heels to go buy earphones? Odd.

Johnson Peterside at one point introduces Judith to different stores at the initial part of the film, yet at one point after this he says, “I have a place,” as if it was new information. Why? We’d already seen him introduce her to these places. Why is he saying it like it’s something new? Was this a mistake—misdirection? A continuity slip? A wrong reading of the line? Or simply one of those gaps that emerge between script and screen?

These moments raise questions. Not enough to derail the experience, but enough to spark curiosity. Had the film been too meticulous up until that point? Were these subtle cracks in an otherwise tightly woven experience, or were they intentional?

Because ultimately, films like this do not exist just to be watched. They exist to be felt.

Final Thoughts – The Impact That Lingers

Not many films manage to stay with you after the credits roll. Blackout does. It sits with you, plays on your mind, and demands reflection. It doesn’t just rely on a compelling narrative; it leaves an imprint.

Beyond its psychological layers, Blackout is a social mirror. It’s a film about agency, about the ways power is exercised in personal relationships. It taps into the psychology of manipulation—not in broad strokes, but in the small, insidious details. The carefully chosen words. The subtle shifts in power. The way control is exerted not with force, but with suggestion. It’s a film that understands human behaviour so well that, by the time it reaches its climax, you’re questioning not just the characters’ choices, but your own.

From its very first frame to its haunting final moment, Blackout refuses to let you sit back passively. As the protagonist breaks the fourth wall in the final scene, asking: What next?

And then, the filmmakers leave us with a striking quote that lingers. The credits roll, the soundtracks Spiritual by Zuro.o and Reaper by David Onka swelling in the background.

Verdict

Blackout owns its space.

This is not just a film to watch. It is a film to experience. And it belongs on the big screen, best seen in a cinema where its power is undeniable. And then, perhaps, revisited again. Because some films deserve to be seen more than once.

Rating: 4.2/5