An Honest Review of Kemi Adetiba's Netflix's Cyber-Noir Thriller

Having observed the trajectory of Nigerian film for thirty years, from the low budget, low quality VHS tapes of the first Nollywood era, when Kenneth Nnebue’s “Living in Bondage” was released on television screens in 1992, to the current era where Nollywood productions are competitive on the world stage, I have seen many changes that would have been hard to predict in those early days. From low-budget, soap opera-style films made in living rooms and village greens to the technical artistry of recent films such as The Wedding Party and King of Boys, Nigerian cinema has come a long way artistically and commercially. In this evolution, some filmmakers have become carriers of the torch of quality and innovation, helping to push the envelope while still being authentic Nigerian filmmakers. Kemi Adetiba is one of the filmmakers who has most consistently tried to transition the medium to a higher art form, moving from music video director to feature film auteur.

I want to be the first to declare that Adetiba’s latest work, “To Kill a Monkey,” is the crescendo of her work and an audacious new space for Nigerian stories within the world. This eight-part Netflix series comes at a critical moment of global attention for African content, but does not compromise local authenticity to cater to global audiences. Rather, Adetiba has written a film that, to use the words of his protagonist, is “Nigerian to the core” in its sensibilities, even though it engages with global themes of moral compromise and economic desperation. The series is evidence of how far we have come from the time when Nigerian productions were aberrations, or mere curiosities, to today, when they are sophisticated explorations of the realities of life in Africa that deserve legitimate critical analysis comparable to the best television drama in the world.

 

The Descent Begins

Upon first encountering Efemini, the film’s lead character, played by William Benson, we are immediately immersed in an environment of economic despair that millions of Nigerians exist within. In what she has referred to as her “bravest” career decision, Adetiba does not waste time in introducing the moral quagmire that will engulf our lead character. The first few episodes show a man at rock bottom; financially and emotionally broken, spiritually abandoned and abandoned by a society that has moved on without him.

Adetiba’s most discerning choice, to me, is that she doesn’t romanticize or overdetermine Efemini’s decisions. This isn’t the sanitized poverty of much earlier Nollywood films in which struggle is always noble and redemption assured. Desperation here is ugly, inescapable, and painfully authentic in its existence. By removing the “gloss”, as the director describes it, she forces an intimacy between character and viewer that most other Nigerian films do not dare to achieve.

 

A Cast of Moral Complexity

Special mention should be made of Bucci Franklin’s performance as the old friend who introduces Efemini to cybercrime. Franklin is both menacing and vulnerable, a predator and victim of the same systemic failures that have ground Efemini to dust. This gives their relationship a wonderful, charged atmosphere, the tension of a common past combined with different decisions, producing some of the best parts of the series.

Stella Damasus, meanwhile, lends her considerable experience in what looks to be a supporting but critical role. After decades of watching her work, I’m amazed that she still seems to dig deeper with each performance, as she does here, adding layers of complexity to a thankless role. She brings a sense of weight to the collective and also acts as a bridge between an older and younger generation within Nollywood itself.

Bimbo Akintola, also an experienced performer, shows us why she is one of Nigeria’s most dependable actresses. She is adept at communicating a great deal without dialogue – an excellent fit for the subtle tone of the series. Chidi Mokeme and Lilian Afegbai also fill out an ensemble cast that feels organic and real, as opposed to something assembled for the sake of drama.

 

The Sound of Moral Decay

Oscar Heman-Ackah’s music, though it is not to be confused with “background” music to the film, deserves a mention of its own. The score, composed by Adetiba’s husband, is designed to go hand-in-hand with the lead’s psychological disintegration. The music does not declare itself with a bombastic crescendo, but instead seeps into the mind in much the same way as doubt, gradually exuding tension through hints of dissonance and through electronic textures that are both contemporary and ominous.

The blending of traditional Nigerian instruments with more modern electronic sounds in the score points to a series of concerns regarding old values colliding with new realities. The soundtrack in particular excels in these moments, becoming nearly tangible as it represents the burden of compromised moral principles weighing down upon Efemini.

 

Visual Language of Desperation

Cinematically, “To Kill a Monkey” has the advantage of Adetiba’s visual sensibility, developed over years of shooting music videos and feature films. This series features a muted color palette that grows darker as Efemini descends deeper into the criminal world. Lagos is not the lively, energetic metropolis we see in much of Nollywood, but rather a place of shadows and half-lit spaces where moral lines are smudged.

The production design gets across just how small Efemini’s world is. Small and impersonal spaces – specifically, tiny apartments, packed internet cafes, and faceless hotel rooms – function as extensions of the characters’ bodies and represent the novel’s protagonist as his world grows smaller. This abundance of close-up and tight framing lends an almost docu-realist immediacy to the feeling that every moral compromise is an intensely personal one. 

The Risk That Pays Off

Adetiba’s comments about this project being a “crazy risk” are telling. Despite the popularity in Nollywood of morally black and white films, “To Kill a Monkey” moves into a morally gray space that creates complicity in Efemini’s decision-making. We are horrified by his actions, but understand his desperation. This depth of psychological complexity is indicative of a developmental progression in Nigerian film – one that allows for Nigerian film to be situated within a broader discourse of world cinema.

The series grapples with cybercrime’s effect on victims and doesn’t shy away from ugly realities, but refuses to dismiss its roots in socioeconomic drivers for perpetrators. But this balance, revealing cause but not pardoning effect, requires sophisticated comprehension of character and society, and Adetiba manages this throughout.

 

Technical Mastery in Service of Story

These technical elements, as seen in the first episode, function together to immerse the viewer in a distinct Nigerian, yet simultaneously familiar, world. The editing is glacial, in the best sense; character beats have air, but tension is inevitable. Sound design locates us within the urban din of Lagos, from the ubiquitous buzz of generators to the overlapping dialogue in packed spaces.

What’s especially admirable is the series’ handling of the cybercrime aspects without succumbing to tech drudgery or Hollywood hacker film tropes. The emphasis is still on human psychology rather than the mechanics of the digital world, and so the story requires no specific technological literacy in order to be understood.

 

A Mirror for Modern Nigeria

Part of the reason why “To Kill a Monkey” works is that it is willing to hold Nigerian society up to a very taut and honest mirror. It explores the clash of old vs. new, of society vs. self. The show raises uncomfortable questions around complicity, individual and collective, in systems that engender desperation that leads to people compromising their values.

The title itself makes increasing sense as the series unfolds. The “monkey” symbolizes not only the victim of a con game but perhaps us all, the players, who are stuck in systems that make us prey on each other to live. Adetiba’s genius is to have us ask precisely who the monkey is in this situation.

 

A Calculated Choice or a Missed Opportunity for Visual Realism?

As a visual effects aficionado, I particularly felt that the explosion shot in Kemi Adetiba’s To Kill a Monkey felt flat because of its lack of verisimilitude and dynamic realism. Given that some technical limitations are to be expected in Nollywood productions, the explosion could have simply used a more thorough execution. The physics of a car explosion is quite technical, involving shockwaves, shrapnel, projectile motion, effects on surrounding structures and living organisms, etc. They also were not present, and this scene felt even more disconnected and void of emotional impact.

A second weakness was the lack of interaction with the environment. When there is an explosion, it should be believable; windows in the vicinity should be blown out, nearby cars should vibrate, and the characters should notice the shockwave. The scene was sanitized and did not quite capture the visceral reality of the explosion without the direct impact on the space surrounding the explosion itself. The CGI was so shiny and devoid of dimensionality that the explosion seemed less like something happening in the world and more like a digital element superimposed upon it.

Even though Nollywood works with limited budgets, convincing visual effects can be accomplished through meticulous planning and combining practical effects with digital VFX. Even if one is low on money, the “punch” of a scene can be enhanced by adding things like squibs, dust bursts, and reaction shots. Kemi Adetiba’s decision in To Kill a Monkey not to show scenes of violent action but rather shots of the aftermath is a stylistic choice that compromises some of the emotional punch that more violent and more realistic-looking VFX could achieve. This restraint is effective in some instances, but in crucial scenes, such as Obusthaboss’s betrayal, a more visceral, dramatic approach would have strengthened the emotional payoff.

Global Implications, Local Truths

In this context, with Netflix continuing to fund African stories, “To Kill a Monkey” is a film that shows how these locally situated stories can thrive on a global platform without losing their specificity. There is an element of desperation and moral compromise to the various stories that is universal, yet all the series’ narratives are distinctly situated within Nigeria’s social realities.

And this is exactly what we need more have, content that doesn’t try to explain itself for international audiences and trusts in the universality of good, well-made, authentic storytelling. What Adetiba has done is create a show, which could only have been made in Nigeria, which is about Nigeria, yet speaks to anyone who has ever lived through a situation involving impossible options.

 

The Verdict

“To Kill a Monkey” is Nigerian television drama at its best. It’s a series that respects the intelligence of its viewers, does not tolerate easy answers, and generates authentic psychological tension via character development instead of melodramatic plotting. Adetiba’s film is that of a mature and sophisticated filmmaker; it brings the medium of film to a higher place, while still respecting the complexity of the society it is representing.

As someone who has witnessed the evolution of Nigerian film from a fledgling entity to an internationally known and recognized industry, I feel “To Kill a Monkey” is both here and coming. It is a testament to the fact that Nigerian narratives, told in skilful and authentic ways, can hold their own anywhere without compromising a uniquely Nigerian perspective.

It is must see cinema, not simply for African cinema, but for anyone who enjoys compelling and morally complex narrative drama. Adetiba took her “crazy risk” and made it a success story for modern African cinema.