Last month, December 2024, Nollywood Twitter lit up with fiery debates, starting with Jade Osiberu’s Christmas in Lagos. Critics labeled it predictable and uninspired, but the uproar wasn’t really about the film, it was about Nollywood’s fragile relationship with criticism.

“How dare you criticize films you can’t even make yourself?”
“₦100 million at the box office—what more do you want?”
“Critics just don’t understand the struggle of filmmaking in Nigeria!”

I watched the drama unfold online, shaking my head and chuckling at the chaos. But beneath the noise, a question lingered: Why does every critique in Nollywood feel like walking on hot coals?

For an industry producing over 2,500 films annually and contributing ₦239 billion (roughly $660 million) to Nigeria’s GDP, why does it feel like every critique is a matchstick that could burn the whole house down?

An Unsolicited Love-story

Let me confess: my love for Nollywood was born out of rebellion. Growing up, I was told Nigerian films were “trash” and could “degrade your brain by minus 1000.” My budding love for cinema, ignited by foreign films, only deepened that prejudice. I devoured Hollywood blockbusters and art-house classics, barely sparing a glance at homegrown stories.

Even while those prejudices persisted, I remembered one of my father’s favorite classics. The only Nollywood film that he would always boast about –and here I am, doing the same. Watching Saworoide as a preteen, even though I didn’t understand the deeper layers of the narrative. I didn’t know it at the time, but Tunde Kelani’s film planted a seed in me. It wasn’t just “a movie”, it was a mirror, reflecting Nigeria’s struggle with corruption in ways my Government class teacher could never. Years later, I realized how deeply it had shaped my understanding of our history.

The same goes for Kunle Afolayan’s October 1, a film that proved Nollywood could marry storytelling with technical brilliance. Films like these reminded me that Nollywood had something special. But more often than not, that potential feels buried under rushed plots and uninspired narratives.

This love-hate relationship is why I dove into Nollywood—not just as a viewer, but as someone who wanted to understand and, if possible, contribute to change.

A Historical Context: Criticism in Nollywood

When Nollywood began in the 1990s with Living in Bondage, it was hailed by Nigerian audiences as revolutionary. Yet, international critics dismissed it as mere “image-making” rather than true cinema. According to Floribert Patrick Endong, this criticism stemmed from Nollywood’s non-conformist style: rushed productions, weak technical standards, and a reliance on straight-to-video formats. Festivals like FESPACO and Cannes showed little interest in Nollywood, sidelining its films for decades.

But while critics shunned it, audiences embraced it. Nollywood became a cultural phenomenon, connecting Africans and the diaspora to their roots. By the 2010s, New Nollywood emerged with films like The Wedding Party and Lionheart, signaling a shift towards higher budgets and better quality. However, as Endong notes, the industry still struggles with balancing quality and quantity, leaving much of its output vulnerable to the same old critiques.

Fast forward to today, and the debate has moved online. Social media platforms like X amplify the tension between critics, filmmakers, and audiences. Chief Daddy 2 became a turning point in 2022 when audiences collectively slammed it, leading to a flood of memes and debates. While this marked a shift in the power of the audience as critics, it also highlighted how divisive opinions can become.

Critics and Filmmakers: A Dance of Tension

Majority often perceive critics, professional or otherwise, as adversaries who undermine their hard work. This hostility plays out in Twitter threads and online harassment campaigns, with critics facing abuse for daring to share dissenting views.

Interestingly, Nollywood is not alone in this battle. Bollywood and Hollywood have faced similar issues, where criticism sometimes sparks outrage. However, both industries have established a culture where criticism—though not always welcome—is part of the growth process. Hollywood, for example, has embraced the role of film festivals and awards in shaping industry standards. Bollywood, despite its own struggles, has seen a rise in platforms like that bridge the gap between audience expectations and creative critique.

Nollywood, by comparison, still struggles to reconcile its identity as a commercially driven industry with the need for critical appraisal.

Criticism, for me, is an act of love. It’s how we dissect, appreciate, and challenge art to grow. But in Nollywood, criticism is often seen as an unwelcome guest at the party, who shows up uninvited and points out the cracks in the wall.

I get it. Filmmaking in Nigeria is like trying to build a mansion with sticks and glue. When you’ve poured your heart into a project, having it picked apart must sting. But criticism isn’t a hammer meant to smash your work—it’s a chisel, refining what’s already there.

That said, not everyone who offers an opinion is a critic. Dismissive remarks like “this movie is mid” or “this film is trash” add nothing to the conversation. Real criticism requires empathy and effort. It’s not just about pointing out what’s wrong—it’s about asking why and understanding the inner working and the overall layers that make the film the way it is.

Take Water and Gari, a film that came out in April 2024. The backlash was loud, with people calling it “baseless” and “unnecessary.” But I saw it differently. The film wasn’t trying to tell a cohesive story—it was an aesthetic experience, more like a feature length music video than a traditional narrative. If the filmmakers had marketed it that way, maybe people would have judged it on its own terms.

On the other hand, I was one of the voices criticizing Christmas in Lagos. I watched it on Christmas Eve, hoping for something light and festive. Instead, the film felt like a broken promise. It wasn’t “Christmas in Lagos”; it was more like “No Love in Lagos.” If I were to critique it formally, I’d say the film failed to deliver on its premise.

Social Media: The Double-Edged Sword

Social media has turned everyone into a critic—and that’s both a blessing and a curse. Platforms like X (formerly Twitter) amplify voices, giving audiences the power to shape conversations about Nollywood. When Chief Daddy 2 dropped, it wasn’t just critics who slammed it; audiences led the charge, tearing it apart with memes and threads.

But social media also amplifies negativity. It’s easy to jump on the bandwagon of hate, even when it’s not justified. At its worst, social media feels like a megaphone in a crowded room—everyone shouting, no one listening.

Nollywood’s Growth and Its Challenges

Nollywood is growing—there’s no denying that. Storytelling has improved, and visual quality is leagues ahead of what it was a decade ago. But the industry still struggles with coherence and substance. Too often, films prioritize profits over artistry, leaning on star power to mask weak scripts.

Still, there are filmmakers pushing the boundaries. Directors like Tunde Kelani, Kunle Afolayan,  C.J Obasi, and many others, have proven that Nigerian stories can resonate globally without losing their essence. Their work reminds us that Nollywood’s future is as bright as we dare to imagine.

A Call for Balance

If Nollywood is going to thrive, we need more honest conversations. Critics need to approach their work with empathy and precision, offering feedback that’s constructive, not destructive. Filmmakers need to see criticism as part of the creative process, not an attack on their efforts. And audiences need to be more discerning, demanding better stories while remaining open to different perspectives.

Critics and filmmakers are two sides of the same coin. One sparks innovation; the other drives it forward. And maybe one day, we’ll see a critic collaborate on a Nollywood film, who knows what magic could come from that?

Can Nollywood Take the Heat?

The big question is: Is Nollywood open to criticism?

The truth is, it’s complicated. Criticism is often treated like an unexpected storm, something to be weathered rather than embraced. But for Nollywood to reach its full potential, it needs to stop seeing criticism as a fire to be extinguished and start seeing it as the forge that strengthens steel.

Because at the end of the day, it’s not just about making movies that make money. It’s about making movies that matter; films that resonate, challenge, and endure. And the heat of criticism, uncomfortable as it may be, is what forges greatness.