The premise of Imported Wives is as bold as its title: a Nigerian man living and working in Canada, returns to his homeland in search of a wife — specifically, a nurse. Directed by Pascal Atuma, the film enters territory that few Nollywood films dare to tread: the consequences of migration-driven marriages. Unfortunately, for all its potential, the film collapses under weak storytelling, questionable messaging, and a worrying disregard for narrative accountability.

An Empty Fixation, A Forced Story

Imported Wives opens with one goal on Jordan’s mind: marry a Nigerian nurse. That’s it. For the first 25 minutes, this singular obsession is repeated. Everyone around him knows it. We know it. Nurse, nurse, nurse. The film never stops saying it. It’s not just repetitive, it’s elementary. The scripting here (and the overall scripting/storytelling) is remarkably spoon-fed, dragging out a plot point that could’ve been communicated in a single conversation. But this isn’t just about storytelling—it’s about how the film paints a disturbingly skewed picture of marriage, migration, and power.

Even after he meets Ifeoma (Nancy Isime), a doctor, he chooses for a transactional marriage, the story crawls through a painfully slow exposition even though their relationship is the total opposite. No courting, no emotional stakes — just arrangement and migration.

What follows is a depiction of manipulation disguised as marriage. Jordan, now in Canada with Ifeoma, begins to exploit her. He wants her to work, earn, and carry the household because he “brought her abroad.” She must “obey.” Her autonomy is erased under the weight of his so-called generosity. This is not just a plot device; it’s the core of the film’s thematic engine. The problem is, the film doesn’t seem to realize its own critique and it shows in its very narrative.

This story, as shown, exposes a common practice in some diasporic communities—men returning home to “import” wives under the guise of cultural preservation. But what the film actually ends up exploring is much darker. It follows the complete emotional, mental, and physical erosion of Ifeoma, who is overworked, ignored, and she dare not attempt to reclaim even a sliver of her autonomy.

And here’s where the tension begins. Because while the film shows Jordan as manipulative and emotionally exploitative, the coverage surrounding the film suggests a completely different agenda. From the director’s own words in interviews, Imported Wives is meant to highlight the failure of Nigerian marriages abroad due to women supposedly “changing” when they encounter western freedoms. But this is not the story we’re shown.

Ifeoma doesn’t change. She stays dutiful. She never challenges the premise of their transactional marriage. She tries, with quiet desperation, to survive. Her “rebellion,” if we can even call it that (with the help of Nkechi played by Omoni Oboli), is simply fighting to breathe under a husband who treats her like a tool.

The Plot That Reveals Too Little, Too Late

The film follows three men: Jordan, Bill, and James. Jordan is the main character, the poster boy for covert entitlement. Bill is a foil of sorts, already married to a nurse, warning Jordan that things are not what they seem. James, meanwhile, is married and cheating. But for a film that wants to make a statement about marital dynamics in the diaspora, the narrative takes too long to say anything of substance. Plot progression is sluggish, characters are thinly sketched, and the big themes—love, betrayal, culture shock—are all treated with the same elementary storytelling.

The structure lacks tension. We meander through scenes where continuity is ignored, characters repeat themselves, and nothing is built with urgency or depth. We get surface-level portrayals: the women are either calm, overly saintly, or caricatured, while the men (Jordan) are rarely held to any meaningful accountability.

Where Imported Wives fails most egregiously is in its handling of narrative accountability. Following the coverages on the film before its release, the film was supposed to reinforce stereotypes about women abroad being “corrupted” by Western ideology. And persona of “corruption” is supposed to be performed by a character called Nkechi (Omoni Oboli), who represents the so-called cartel of Nigerian-Canadian women. This isn’t what plays out directly on screen.

But what about Jordan? He’s the one who coerces, manipulates, and gaslights. The film shows this, yet stops short of condemning him. In fact, by the end, it leaves the audience with an unclear message. Are we supposed to empathize with Jordan’s betrayal and downfall? Or see Ifeoma’s death as a warning? If so, to whom? The woman who did almost nothing wrong?

Instead of dismantling and addressing this issue from the extreme differences between its two characters, it speaks in the language of cautionary tale but silences the person we should be listening to: the woman. Nancy Isime’s Ifeoma is the only woman who seems to bear the full weight of the film’s message, and sadly, that weight ends in tragedy.

Ifeoma, despite agreeing to the transactional marriage, does everything right. She sacrifices, she submits, she survives. But the moment she starts reclaiming her space, she pays a great price. The ending sends a chilling and questionable message: endure your abuse, or face consequences?

Acting and Creative Gaps

Nancy Isime, despite her screen presence, delivers a performance that feels one-dimensional and flat. There’s little emotional modulation, which could be intentional to reflect Ifeoma’s repressed state, but it makes it harder for the audience to connect with her struggle. The same goes for most of the cast, lacking emotional weight. Blame the script. Dialogue is painfully expository. Scenes are extended to spell out what should be felt or understood.

The lead character, Jordan (played by director Pascal Atuma) is so cartoonishly bad and spoon-fed to us that it undercuts any sense of realism. His villainy is telegraphed without subtlety, leaving no room for complexity. If the film was trying to offer a nuanced take on cultural clashes and marital power dynamics, it misses the mark. We see Jordan’s manipulation, but instead of trusting other elements of storytelling, the film insists on telling us, repeatedly, who he is, and what he wants.

The performances are less about embodiment and more about function. Nobody evolves. Nobody grows. They just react to the plot beats they are handed.

Tone, Pacing, and Direction

Technical choices suffer too. The pacing drags. The narrative structure, although linear, lacks rhythm. And continuity errors undermine immersion. From location inconsistencies to rushed emotional transitions, the film feels sloppily assembled. Dialogue feels unnatural, and the cinematography, while clean, fails to enhance any emotional depth.

The Irony of Misalignment: Intentions vs Impact

One of the most ironic things about Imported Wives is that its public commentary contradicts the actual narrative. In interviews, director Pascal Atuma insists the story reflects a rising crisis of divorce and marital instability among Africans in the diaspora. But instead of providing insight into this phenomenon, the film becomes a caricature of the very issue it attempts to critique. The film could have been an honest critique of transactional relationships and cultural displacement. Instead, it becomes a biased parable.

This suggests one of two things: either the filmmakers are unaware of the message they’re sending, or they’ve intentionally created a cautionary tale disguised as empathy but rooted in victim-blaming. Either way, it’s deeply flawed. The final message? That a woman who dares to fight for her agency after being exploited is the one who needs warning.

This is not a cautionary tale to men who exploit women under the guise of culture or marriage. It is a warning to only women: be careful who you marry. Don’t marry for transactional reasons. Even if he seems successful. Even if he brings you abroad. A one-sided attempt to address the issue.

Final Thoughts

There is a deeply important story buried within Imported Wives, one about power, control, and migration. But that story is suffocated by a filmmaker who seems more interested in pushing moral panic than examining truth. In the end, the film undermines its female protagonist, lets its male abuser off the hook narratively, and leaves its audience with confusion instead of catharsis.

This is not just a film with a flawed story. It is a film that actively participates in the same injustice it pretends to critique.

Verdict

Imported Wives fails as both a drama and a social commentary. It tries to mirror a real issue, but the mirror is warped. Instead of offering insight, Imported Wives ends up reinforcing the very problems it should be critiquing.

Rating: 2/5