Author: Johnson Okùnadé

Once again, Nollywood has made a bold statement of excellence and cinematic prowess with the production of Làbákẹ́ Olódodo.

As an enthusiast of Yorùbá culture, I deeply applaud how recent Yorùbá films are reviving nearly extinct traditions and cultural practices. In Yorùbáland, there once existed a working way of life that perfectly suited its era, covering childbirth, warfare, spirituality, royalty, and the celebrated ethos of Omolúàbí, Bíbíire, Akíkanjú and Ìwàpẹ̀lẹ́. The movie, Làbákẹ́ Olódodo captures these elements vividly.

The movie tells the story of a fearless and powerful warrior woman, Làbákẹ́, played by the producer Ìyábọ̀ Òjó, who fought valiantly for Olúkòsì Kingdom and earned herself the chieftaincy title of Akọgun. But when the king, Ọba Adégbenró (played by Fẹ́mi Adébáyọ̀), asked her to fight on behalf of Olúgbọ́n Kingdom, she refused. This left the brave youths, under the leadership of the àrẹ̀mọ, Prince Adéẹ̀sọ́ (played by Olúmídé Ọ̀wọ̀rù), to take up arms and defend Olúgbọ́n. In a tragic turn of events, the àrẹ̀mọ died bravely defending his kingdom, and the news of his death killed the king, Ọba Adéníyì (played by Yínká Quadri).

In sharp contrast, the Balógun (Played by Muyiwa Adémọ́lá) cowered in fear, avoiding battle. The void of true leadership was filled by the youths, depicted with flair by popular skit makers such as Brother Shaggi, Lawyer Kunle, and Kamo, who demonstrated how progressive young people can change narratives, hold leaders accountable, and step forward as true champions of their communities.

Làbákẹ́’s right-hand man, Àdìgún (Played by Àlàbí Ọ̀nàọlápọ̀), embodied tyranny and arrogance. Yet Làbákẹ́, true to her moral compass, stood against his unethical ways by demoting him. Later, she restored him after he showed genuine remorse, an act that highlighted her leadership as both firm and compassionate.

The introduction of Western education in the movie was a refreshing blend, a quick illustration of the new and old eras and how it was received.

Jaiyéọba, (played by Táyọ̀ Fáníran) the English Teacher, despite being Yorùbá, acted in the typical uncultured Alákọ̀wé manner when he stretched out his hand to shake Làbákẹ́ Olódodo instead of bowing in respect like his colleague Àgbékẹ́ (played by Wùnmí Toríọlá). Àgbékẹ́ mistook Jaiyéọba’s lack of respect for bravery, but Àdìgún frowned at his “un-Yorùbá” behaviour.

This reflection is strikingly relevant today. In 2025, many Yorùbás still act like Jaiyéọba, downplaying their heritage and posturing as westernized. Some claim it shows education, but that is not education; it is identity crisis. It is a pitiable malady. It is mental slavery, the worst form of slavery.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q0g7c3a14kM

Romance enters the narrative as Jaiyéọba woos Làbákẹ́ with a love letter. Though unlearned, she was moved by its words, and affection blossomed. At 40, Làbákẹ́ yearned for love and family, though her grandmother disapproved.

Jaiyéọba’s love for Làbákẹ́ was soon put to the test when Làbákẹ́’s paternal grandmother (played by Màmá Àbẹ̀ní Agbọ́n, Tóyìn Ọláníran) issued a stern warning to him to desist from his romance with Làbákẹ́.

The story reached its climax with the shocking revelation that Jaiyéọba was, in fact, a spy working for his true love, Princess Adeṣẹwà (Scarlet Gomez) of Olúgbọ́n Kingdom. She uncovered the bitter truth, that it was Làbákẹ́ herself who had been orchestrating attacks against Olúgbọ́n, leading to the deaths of both the àrẹ̀mọ and the king.

Bí ikú ilé ò bá pani, ti òde ò lèè pani.

To make matters worse, Beyioku (Olarotimi Fakunle), whom audiences expected to be loyal, secretly conspired against Làbákẹ́ alongside Princess Adeṣẹwà, seeking revenge for being overlooked as her second-in-command.

Àdìgún was the one expected to betray Làbákẹ́, not Beyioku. Àṣé lóòtọ́ ni wípé, ẹni a gbójú okùn lé ò jọ ẹni agba.

Làbákẹ́, blinded by love, submitted herself to Jaiyéọba and engaged in acts that rendered her spiritual power inefficacious, making her an easy target for Princess Adeṣẹwà, who captured and chained her.

The beginning of the end of the film reveals that Làbákẹ́ and her grandmother had long harbored enmity against the royal family of Olúgbọ́n, who had seized her father’s land and killed him. This personal vendetta drove Làbákẹ́ and her warriors to disguise themselves as marauders in their quest for vengeance.

While I deeply appreciate the cultural richness of the movie, I was disappointed by certain elements. 

As we continue to advocate for the promotion of the Yorùbá language, with programs like Másòyìnbó encouraging pure and impeccable Yorùbá, I expected that in a movie like Làbákẹ́ Olódodo, the àrẹ̀mọ, Prince Adéẹ̀sọ́, and Princess Adésẹwà of Olúgbọ́n would speak flawless Yorùbá without switching to English at all.

In Yorùbáland, Olúgbọ́n, Arẹ̀ṣà, and Oníkòyí are among the most ancient vassal kings. Làbákẹ́ is eulogized as an Ìkòyí-Ẹ̀ṣọ́, a lineage befitting her personality in the movie. The use of Olúgbọ́n is good, but I have a problem with how it was applied in the film.

The use of “Olúgbọ́n” as the name of a kingdom doesn’t seem right. The etymology of the word Olúgbọ́n means Olú Igbọ́n, “the lord (king or ruler) of Igbọ́n,” the same way we have Olú of Ìlàró, Olú of Ìbàdàn (widely called Olúbàdàn), Olú of Warri, and so on.

Another misconception in the movie is the use of “Ìbà” (Lord) for Beyioku, Làbákẹ́’s right-hand man. “Ìbà” is an appellation used only by the Baṣọ̀run of Ọ̀yọ́ or the Àarẹ Ọ̀nà Kakanfò of Yorùbáland. It doesn’t fit the role of the right-hand man of an Akọgun.

What I love most about the movie is the portrayal of women’s roles in Yorùbáland. Our women were never relegated to the background; they were actively involved in governance, spirituality, warfare, and more.

What I disliked most, however, was the unnecessary display of Làbákẹ́’s breast. Whether it was Ìyábọ̀ Òjó’s real body or a prosthetic by Hakeem Effects Onilogbo, it added nothing to the story and instead became a complete turn-off.

Overall, Làbákẹ́ Olódodo, directed by Bíọ́dún Stephen and produced by Ìyábọ̀ Òjó, is a culturally immersive and visually gripping film. It celebrates Yorùbá heritage while raising critical conversations about leadership, youth, morality, and identity. It is a film worth watching. I am rating it 7 out of 10.

Ire o

Ire kàbìtì kabiti

The movie Àsírí Adé opens with an intense and gripping scene. Olóyè Arẹ̀ṣà, played by Ìjẹ̀bú, is fleeing for his life, guarded by an Ẹ̀ṣọ́, a palace guard. He’s being pursued by a masked figure, a terror of a man whose presence alone is chilling. The tension builds as the assassin catches up to Olóyè Arẹ̀ṣà and takes his life. This first scene immediately sets the tone for the movie as thrilling and attention-grabbing, pulling the audience in right from the start.

From this opening, I was already impressed by the filmmakers’ attention to detail. The use of an Ẹ̀ṣọ́ as a guard was spot on, showing proper research into Yorùbá history. And then there’s the sword—an authentic representation of what was used in Yorùbáland during that era. It’s been a challenge for movie sets I’ve been seeing to get the sword used in Yorùbáland in their productions right, so I appreciated the effort.

We’re then introduced to Ọba Adéwọlá, the king of Ìwàjoyin, portrayed by Akin Lewis. His queen, played by Fathia Balogun, and their only child, Princess Oyínadé, played by Ọmọ́wùmí Dàda, are preparing to welcome suitors from a neighbouring royal family.

Leading the suitors is Prince Adéyẹlé, the son of Ọba Adégoróyè. He’s handsome but has a chronic stammer, which makes him undesirable to Ọba Adéwọlá and Princess Oyínadé. The princess, however, is already in love with Iréwọlé, a humble beadmaker played by Mike Afọlárìn.

Meanwhile, the movie introduces Ọba Ajagungbadé, a conqueror and warrior king played by Bọ́lánlé Nínálowó. He returns victorious from battle to his town, Ìkérèwà, only to learn that his favourite chief, Olóyè Arẹ̀ṣà, has been assassinated. What makes this even more horrifying is that Olóyè Arẹ̀ṣà’s manhood was mutilated after his death.

To strengthen their kingdoms, Ọba Ajagungbadé and Ọba Adéwọlá form an alliance. As part of this, Princess Oyínadé is expected to marry Ọba Ajagungbadé’s son, Prince Akinadé, played by Gabriel Afọláyan. What no one knows is that Prince Akinadé is impotent, adding another layer of tension to the arrangement. But Princess Oyínadé is steadfast in her love for Iréwọlé, a love that threatens to derail the alliance.

The suspense in Àsírí Adé builds as the masked assassin continues to target Ọba Ajagungbadé’s chiefs, killing only his closest allies and mutilating their bodies. Who is this masked figure, and why does he only go after these specific men? The mystery keeps the audience guessing. Things take a turn when Ajírọ́ba, played by Lasisi Elenu, accidentally sees the assassin’s face.

At this point, tensions between Ọba Ajagungbadé and Ọba Adéwọlá reach a boiling point. Ọba Ajagungbadé accuses Ọba Adéwọlá of sending the assassin to kill his chiefs, while Princess Oyínadé’s refusal to marry Prince Akinadé only worsens the situation. The story takes a dramatic turn when Ajírọ́ba identifies Iréwọlé as the masked assassin. Ọba Adéwọlá steps in to protect him, further straining the fragile alliance between the two powerful kings.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d17RDWIdWuE&t=17s

The plot thickens with the shocking revelation that Iréwọlé has a twin brother, Gbèjàmi, who is the real masked assassin. Gbèjàmi, a palm wine seller, is on a mission of vengeance. We learn that their mother, Àdùkẹ́, was raped by Ọba Ajagungbadé during his quest for power. This act, aided by his closest allies—who are now the assassin’s victims—was part of a ritual to secure Ọba Ajagungbadé’s kingship. Àdùkẹ́ cursed his lineage, which is why Prince Akinadé is impotent.

To lift the curse, Prince Akinadé must kill his father. In a dramatic climax, he does just that, ending Ọba Ajagungbadé’s reign. Gbèjàmi completes his mission of vengeance, and the twins reconcile. Peace is finally brokered between the kingdoms, and love triumphs as Princess Oyínadé and Iréwọlé are united. Iréwọlé is even set to succeed Ọba Adéwọlá as the king of Ìwàjoyin, marking a hopeful new chapter.

What stands out in Àsírí Adé is its cultural depth. The movie is filled with Yorùbá proverbs, analogies, and sayings that truly transport you to the time it portrays. The language is impeccable, with actors like Ọmọ́wùmí Dàda and Mike Afọlárìn delivering flawless performances in Yorùbá.

The setting is intentional and immersive. I loved the marketplace scenes that showcased the making of Òfì fabric and the blacksmiths at work. Including Lasisi Elenu in a serious role was also a bold move that paid off; he nailed his performance.

But I do have a couple of criticisms. First, the titles of Arẹ̀ṣà and Ajerò are among the oldest and most respected kingships in Yorùbáland, not chieftain titles. Even though it’s just a movie, this portrayal could mislead viewers unfamiliar with the culture. Second, the depiction of Iréwọlé as a poor bead-maker doesn’t sit right. Beadmaking was a lucrative trade during that era, and portraying it otherwise feels inaccurate.

Still, these issues don’t overshadow the brilliance of the movie. Àsírí Adé is a masterpiece, blending suspense, history, and cultural pride. It’s a must-watch for lovers of Yorùbá culture and storytelling. I’m giving it a solid 8 out of 10.

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I had previously reviewed Lísàbí – The Uprising last year, holding back some of my thoughts because the producers had promised a sequel.

My hope was that part two would correct many of the historical inaccuracies and misleading portrayals from the first movie. Unfortunately, I was wrong.

Before I dive in, let me make one thing clear: reviewing this movie doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the immense effort that went into its production. I do.

I acknowledge the giant strides Nollywood Yorùbá has made, and Lísàbí is a testament to those improvements in many technical aspects.

However, historical movies like Lísàbí have a higher calling. They aren’t just for entertainment—they serve as a medium to preserve and share our heritage, telling the world about our history and culture.

When a movie distorts history, especially one as significant as that of the Ẹ̀gbá Patriarchy and a revered legend like Lísàbí, it does more harm than good. It would have been better not to produce the movie at all than to get it this wrong.

Let’s start with the positives. The cinematography is outstanding—easily one of the best I’ve seen in Nollywood.

The action scenes are thrilling, the sound effects are top-notch, and the stunts and fight choreography are impeccable.

The actors performed with grace and intensity, embodying their characters so deeply that I could almost forget who they are in real life.

But that’s where the good ends.

The movie opens with Bàbá Àgbà Osólànkẹ́, played by the legendary Adébáyọ̀ Salami, narrating a mythological tale about the son of Òdùduwà, Ọ̀kànbí and his seven children, including Iyùnadé, said to be the mother of the Òwu people.

This introduction is riddled with historical inconsistencies. Was Iyùnadé truly the progenitor of the Òwu people or simply married to an Òwu king?

And what about the ancestry of this Òwu king?

How does this connect to the history of the Ẹ̀gbá people?

It’s critical to note that the Ẹ̀gbá people and the Òwu people are not the same, yet the movie blurs this distinction.

The Old Ọ̀yọ́ Empire dominated Ẹ̀gbá territories due to its military prowess, not because Iyùnadé asked the descendants of Òdùduwà to contribute to Ọ̀rànmíyàn, as the movie suggests. This portrayal is not just wrong but also deeply misleading.

Additionally, not all Yorùbás are descendants of Òdùduwà, as the movie tries to imply. Many trace their lineage to other great patriarchs like Ọbàtálá and Ọ̀ranfẹ̀.

Historically, the Ẹ̀gbás rose against and killed the Ìlàrís due to their oppressive conduct. But the movie portrays the revolt as a catalyst for vengeance from the Ọlọ́yọ́, who supposedly sent an army in retaliation. This never happened in history, the Ọlọ́yọ́ didn’t retaliate.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1SNFTk7H748

Another glaring issue is the lack of distinction between the Ìlàrís and warriors. While some Ìlàrís were trained to fight, they were not the primary military force of Ọ̀yọ́. The Ọ̀yọ́ Empire had a structured military led by the Baṣọ̀run and the Ààrẹ Ọ̀nà Kakanfò. Ignoring this complexity oversimplifies the sophisticated military hierarchy of the time.

As I mentioned in my first review, the movie focuses excessively on spiritual powers, neglecting the strategic and military brilliance of our ancestors. In reality, the Yorùbá military system was organized, with roles like the Kakanfò (Generalissimo), Ọ̀tún Kakanfò (Commander of the Right Wing), Òsì Kakanfò (Commander of the Left Wing), and Balóguns (Warlords).

The brave Ẹ̀ṣó Ìkòyí warriors, famously known for their fearlessness, were also a key part of the Ọ̀yọ́ Military structure. Àwon Ẹ̀ṣó Ìkòyí tí wọn ò gbọdọ́ fi ẹ̀yìn gba ọfà.

One of the most troubling scenes is when the Ọlọ́yọ́, played by Ọ̀dúnladé Adékọ́lá, is summoned to view the corpses of the Ìlàrís killed by the Ẹ̀gbás. In Yorùbá culture, kings are forbidden from seeing corpses. This oversight is a significant cultural blunder.

The dialects spoken in the movie also leave much to be desired. Aside from Lísàbí acted by Lateef Adedimeji, Akinolú acted by Kọ́láwọlé Ajéyẹmí, and the Ẹ̀gbá Chief acted by Káyọ̀dé Akíndínà Paragon, the rest of the cast struggled to speak the Ẹ̀gbá dialect convincingly.

Béjídé acted by Olúmídé Oworu couldn’t even manage a standard Lagos Yorùbá accent, let alone the Ẹ̀gbá dialect. For a historical movie, this is unacceptable.

Then there are the anachronisms. Lísàbí’s mother, played by Bímbọ́ Akíntọ́lá, is shown with fixed nails—something unheard of in the 18th century. Baby Lísàbí is seen in modern diapers. These details might seem minor, but they ruin the historical immersion.

The use of tribal marks was inconsistent and inaccurate. Tribal marks were a significant means of identification in those days. Yet, the movie carelessly gives Lísàbí’s mother Ọ̀yọ́ tribal marks and has Kelvin Ikeduba wear barely visible, inconsistent Ọ̀yọ́ tribal marks.

Lastly, the movie fails to tell a cohesive story. While it mentions that there are multiple accounts of how Lísàbí died, it glosses over the most widely accepted historical version: that the Ẹ̀gbá nobles conspired to kill him in his old age due to dissatisfaction with his leadership. At least it was agreed that Lísàbí lived longer, he grew old and didn’t die almost immediately after the uprising as the movie portrays

In conclusion, I keep asking myself what was the purpose of this sequel?

It neither preserves Lísàbí’s history nor offers compelling fiction. The storyline is weak, riddled with inaccuracies, and full of unnecessary scenes.

I agree with those who feel this sequel was unnecessary.

I’m rating Lísàbí – A Legend is Born 3/10.

Let fiction be fiction, but let history be preserved.

Watch the Video Here

The Yorùbá Nollywood industry is evolving, and it’s a transformation worth celebrating. From impeccable productions to deep cultural portrayals, these films are redefining our stories.

Take Alágbẹ̀dẹ, for instance. This movie is currently streaming on Circuits, a likely Nigerian platform. While it’s refreshing to see our stories told on our platforms, I hope Circuits improves its user experience and develops a mobile app soon. We need platforms like this to stand tall on the global stage.

Alágbẹ̀dẹ is a masterpiece that takes us back to our roots. The title alone holds so much meaning. It reminds us that technology isn’t new to Africa—it’s been here all along. The blacksmith workshop depicted in the movie reflects the metallurgical technology that existed in Yorùbáland for centuries. Unfortunately, instead of innovating, we left it stagnant, a powerful reminder of lost potential.

The movie follows the story of Àdìó, played by Fẹ́mi Adébáyọ̀, a humble and hardworking blacksmith deeply in love with Ọmọlẹwà, portrayed by Kẹ́hìndé Bánkọlé. But as love stories often go, there’s conflict. Àdìó faces rejection from Ọmọlẹwà’s mother, played by the ever-talented Bimbo Oshin, because of his poor background.

Desperate to prove himself, Àdìó turns to money rituals, a decision influenced by his friend Wọlé, played by Gabriel Afọláyan. To hide his secret, Àdìó lies, claiming his newfound wealth comes from Wọlé’s inheritance from his late grandfather. But Wọlé, enjoying the benefits of the lie, becomes reckless—marrying three wives at once and living extravagantly.

Wọlé gets greedy, exemplifying the Yorùbá adage, idá n fa àkọ̀ ya, kò mọ̀ pé òun n wó ilé mọ́ ara òun lórí (‘the sword is destroying its scabbard, unaware it is also ruining its own sheath’). He forgets that all the luxury and enjoyment he was basking in were extensions of Àdìó’s supposed wealth from the money ritual. By threatening to expose and sabotage Àdìó, he is essentially cutting off the very source of his own riches.

When Wọlé starts to threaten Àdìó with exposing the truth, and the demands of the ritual become unbearable, Àdìó contemplates ending it all. But his loyal fiancée, Ọmọlẹwà, convinces him to fight back and seek a way out.

Now, let’s talk about standout characters. Prince Jídé Kòsọ́kọ́, as Ọmọlẹwà’s father, delivers a calm and loving performance. Unlike Ọmọlẹwà’s mother, he has nothing against Àdìó and wants the best for his daughter without judging based on wealth.

Ọmọlẹwà herself is a beacon of loyalty. Despite tempting offers from wealthier suitors and her mother’s disapproval, she stands by Àdìó. Her unwavering faith in his potential is both touching and inspiring.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1fqEbuYYx1I&t=19s

The turning point comes when Àdìó, with Ọmọlẹwà’s encouragement, revisits the Ifá priest, played by Fatai Odua Lalude. Here’s the twist—Àdìó’s wealth has nothing to do with the rituals. It is his hard work, consistency, and kindness all along.

This revelation is the heart of the movie. It highlights the real ‘money ritual’—diligence, persistence, and strategic relationships. It’s a powerful message, dismantling myths about wealth and the baseless accusations of rituals often thrown at disciplined individuals.

By the way, I don’t believe in Ògun Owó (money rituals)—at least not in the way the average Nigerian perceives it.

Adding humour and spice to the story is Ìyá Ajá, played by Jaiye Kuti, the neighbourhood gossiper who never misses a beat.

Then there’s the Báálẹ̀, portrayed by Ọláìyá Igwe, who hastily makes Wọlé a chief because of his wealth. This decision backfires when Wọlé demolishes the palace, leaving the community in chaos once his funds dry up.

This subplot serves as a lesson: Although the Báálẹ̀ wasn’t wrong in appointing a wealthy man as his chief to help develop the town or village, leadership decisions should be based on character and substance, not just on wealth.

However, not everything in Alágbẹ̀dẹ is perfect. For example, the subtitles had translation issues. The cast credits also have typos. Translating a Babaláwo to a witchdoctor and rendering ànjọ̀nnú as gods or deities feels inaccurate.

During Wọlé’s third wedding, I expected a traditional Yorùbá Ìṣẹ̀ṣe ceremony. Instead, we saw a portrayal that was not very accurate and misleading. For instance, pouring water on a bride’s feet is cultural, not necessarily tied to the Ìṣẹ̀ṣe religion— a Christian or Muslim Yorùbá can do it. I was looking forward to an Ìṣẹ̀ṣe wedding.

Lastly, Mr. Macaroni’s use of the proverb Ẹni orí yọ ó di ilé and his mispronunciation—saying Ẹní (mat) instead of Ẹni (used for personification)—was disappointing. Such errors undermine the cultural authenticity the movie otherwise strives to deliver.

Despite these minor flaws, Alágbẹ̀dẹ delivers a powerful story. It perfectly shows us what a typical Yorùbá town looked like in the mid-to-late 1900s.

For me, this movie is a solid 8 out of 10. It’s a must-watch for anyone who loves culturally rich stories with meaningful lessons.

Have you seen Alágbẹ̀dẹ yet? If not, you’re missing out.

If you have, let me know what you think in the comment section.

Watch the Video Here

Before anything else, let’s take a moment to applaud Ẹ̀gbọ́n Femi Adebayo for crafting an absolute cinematic masterpiece—one that doesn’t just tell a story but pulls you into a world of gripping realism and raw emotion.

From the very first frame to the final act, this film is an unrelenting showcase of make-believe acting at its finest, a testament to Femi Adebayo’s brilliance as both a storyteller and performer.

This movie doesn’t just entertain; it pierces the veil of time, spotlighting the often-overlooked intricacies of the Yorùbá royal stool. It delves deep into the essence of history, tradition, and identity—an urgent reminder in an era where Yorùbáland is increasingly viewed through the narrow lens of Abrahamic religions.

This film boldly reclaims the narrative, reviving the power and efficacy of Yorùbá traditions that remain as potent in the 21st century as they were centuries ago.

The cold-open of the movie gives a glimpse of what it is about, showing the seven queens sacrificed for Ọba Adéjùwọ́n, acted by Kọ́láwọlé Ajéyẹmí, whose earnest desire to evade early death makes a bold statement that Iyán ogún ọdún á máa jó ni lọ́wọ́.

The movie began by portraying Ìlárá as a town without a king, ruled by three high chiefs — Ọ̀tún, Olúkòsì, and Àgbaakin, acted by Adébáyọ̀ Sàlámì, Jídé Kòsọ́kọ́, and Afeez Ayétòrò Sàká — who dominated with iron fists of tyranny.

They demolish the house of Agúnbíadé, acted by Délé Odùlé, a compatriot and son of the soil who would later sacrifice his life for Ọba Adédùnjoyè. This was forced upon the chief Ifá priest, who had to decide between Agúnbíadé or Ọba Adédùnjoyè following Ọ̀páyẹmí’s flagrant use of power.

As customary, the oracle was consulted to determine the next king. Ifá decreed that the next king must come from the Adékọ̀gbẹ́ ruling house. The family selected a suitable but unwilling Prince Adédùnjoyè, acted by Fẹ́mi Adébáyọ̀. This choice was later approved by the town’s deity, Aganju. Meanwhile, another Prince Adéoyè, acted by Muyiwa Adémọ́lá, was wealthy and eager for the throne but did not belong to the Adékọ̀gbẹ́ lineage.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rYGQMS8JmVo&t=45s

Prince Adéoyè excelled in his role as a rich and ambitious prince determined to buy his way to the throne. His confidence and lavish displays of wealth made his character compelling.

On the other hand, Prince Adédùnjoyè enjoyed a perfect life with his happy family and wanted nothing to do with the Onílárá stool. Aware of the challenges of kingship, he sought to avoid them. However, his Igbo wife, Amaka, acted by Chioma Chukwuka, persuaded him otherwise, unaware of the trials that awaited them.

Bí ọmọdé bá dé ibi ẹ̀rù, ẹ̀rù á bà á. The coronation rites were terrifying, but Prince Adédùnjoyè understood that to become king, he must undergo all that was required. These rituals would transform him into Kábìyèsí, Alásẹ ìkejì Òrìsà. He complied with everything except knocking on the seven doors.

The coronation day was colourful and fascinating, but what stood out most was Queen Amaka’s ability to speak her husband’s language. That scene delivered a powerful message: leaders must speak the language of the people they serve. To truly connect with them, you must communicate in their tongue and think in their language.

Before continuing with my review, let’s pause to reflect on the significance of a Yorùbá name as explored in the movie. The name of the first Onílárá, Adékọ̀gbẹ́, translates to the child of the crown, a prince rejects the jungle. It could also mean that a prince should not engage in manual labour or farming activities.

Aliu Gafar’s portrayal of Èsúsú was exceptional. I’ve never seen him display such talent as an actor. This performance is bound to put him in the spotlight.

The movie cleverly incorporates Aganju, the third Aláàfin of Ọ̀yọ́, who was posthumously deified as Ìlárá’s township deity. It also features Èsúsú, another powerful individual who became a deity after his death. This reflects a historical period in Yorùbáland when many kings and significant figures were deified posthumously.

The joy of royalty in Ọba Adédùnjoyè’s family turned to sorrow with the tragic loss of their first child, Princess Fola, under mysterious circumstances.

It was revealed that this tragedy stemmed from the actions of Ọba Adéjùwọ́n, an ancestor of Ọba Adédùnjoyè, who sacrificed seven queens for a charm of longevity. Being the first king from that lineage after Ọba Adéjùwọ́n, Ọba Adédùnjoyè was tasked with rectifying this by marrying six more wives to match the seven wives his ancestor had sacrificed.

For me, this was the movie’s climax. It highlights the importance of knowing one’s family history, especially before assuming leadership. Ọba Adédùnjoyè was unaware of his lineage’s dark secrets, and the discovery shocked him.

Another captivating subplot was that of the Ọlọ́pàdé family, custodians of a powerful ancient staff that the king must never see. Ọ̀páyẹmí, acted by Gabriel Afọláyan, became the family’s representative and was manipulated by Prince Adéoyè to carry the staff to the palace—an act meant to cost the king his life.

Ọ̀páyẹmí, encouraged by his uncle Ọ̀pámúyiwá, acted by Ọláìyá Igwe, suffered severe consequences: his hand and leg became paralyzed for misusing the ancient powers entrusted to him.

Ọba Adédùnjoyè, deeply in love with his wife, struggled with the requirement of marrying six more wives. However, he eventually complied, leading to a chaotic and dramatic palace life as the new wives caused endless conflicts.

Just when it seemed everything had normalized, another challenge emerged: the king had to defeat Èsúsú, a powerful figure betrayed by his ancestor, Ọba Adéjùwọ́n, and later deified.

The movie concludes with Ọba Adédùnjoyè’s epic combat with Èsúsú, emphasizing a vital aspect of Yorùbá culture: respect for one’s parents and ancestors, whether alive or dead.

One of the Yorùbás’ core cultural values is honouring the legacy of those who came before us. Recognizing this, Ọba Adédùnjoyè called upon the spirit of the first Onílárá, Ọba Adékọ̀gbẹ́, who came gun-blazing and ready to help his descendant defeat Èsúsú for good.

The movie is impeccable, with virtually no mistakes. As a fictional work, it cannot be criticized based on historical accuracy.

However, Prince Adédùnjoyè wearing a suit to Ìlárá to begin coronation proceedings felt out of place. Additionally, the coronation rituals could have included lessons on kingship, history, and the traditions of Ìlárá, rather than solely focusing on supernatural fortifications.

Overall, this movie is a masterpiece — a 9/10 for me. Ẹ̀gbọ́n Fẹ́mi Adébáyọ̀ has delivered his best work yet.

Watch the Video Here

With the release of Lísàbí, I’m now totally convinced about the revolution happening in the Yorùbá movie industry. It’s a new dawn.

There is a reawakening. Our actors, actresses, producers, directors, and all the major players in the Yorùbá movie industry have rediscovered the magic they had in the 1990s and early 2000s when they produced epic films like Ògbórí Ẹlẹ́mọ̀ṣọ́, Baṣọ̀run Gáà, Àfònjá, Efúnsetán Aníwúrà, and others.

From Ògúndábède to Aníkúlápo, Jagun Jagun to Àjàkájù, Àyìnlá to Funmilayo Ransome -Kuti, House of Ga’à to Lísàbí, these movies are deeply rooted in our beautiful culture, and the execution has been second to none. All those involved have demonstrated creative excellence at its peak.

Lísàbí is another masterpiece that will dominate the visual space for a while, emphasizing that Yorùbá culture is bigger than Africa.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nXoc8Ecu45k

Despite being a beautifully told story about the Ẹ̀gbá resistance against tyranny and their defiance of a world power, the film didn’t downplay the influence of the Old Ọ̀yọ́ Empire, with its seat of power in Ọ̀yọ́-Ilé and the Aláàfin, an unquestionable entity bearing the cognomen “Ikú, Bábà, Yèyé.”

The trio phrase “Ikú, Bábà, Yèyé”—translates as “The Death, The Paternal, and The Maternal”—might not resonate with us in this modern democratic era, but in ancient Yorùbá days, it held immense significance. I’ll delve into how the Aláàfin earned that title in another article.

First, the grandeur displayed in the movie’s setting is highly commendable. The use of artefacts, costumes, and folksongs was deliberate and intentional, effectively representing both the Ẹ̀gbás and the Ọ̀yọ́s.

The film also excellently depicted the politics at play in Yorùbá courts at the time. It vividly showed that power is taken, not given—a recurring theme in Yorùbá history. Sàngódèyí did not wait around to become Olórí Ìlàrí. He seized his moment when the Olú Ọlọ́dàn challenged the powers of Ọlọ́yọ́.

Moreover, the movie did a great job showcasing how traditional weddings were conducted in Yorùbáland. This aspect is gradually fading due to civilization, and films should not only entertain but educate.

Similarly, the concept of Àáro was well portrayed. Our ancestors organized themselves into a mutual aid society called Ẹgbẹ́ Àáro (Àáro Society) for more efficient farming—a tradition that reflects the collective strength and unity of the Yorùbá people.

However, despite the film’s strong points, I have a few concerns about certain portrayals. Historical movies should aim to avoid confusing or complicating our history as a people. A fellow Yorùbá culture enthusiast pointed out how movies about the Roman Empire often serve as a way of learning Roman history. We are fortunate to have this revolution that translates Yorùbá histories into film, but we must get it right to avoid misinforming the world about our identity.

I was impressed that the filmmakers researched enough to know that the Old Ọ̀yọ́ Empire had extensive trade relations with Portugal. In 1471, it was officially recorded that Portugal contacted the Aláàfin, and they maintained a cordial relationship for centuries. In fact, a great historian, Olóyè Lájì Abbas, the Àarẹ Ònpìtàn of Ìbàdàn, insists that a Portuguese man knew Aláàfin Sàngó personally and wrote about his encounter with the powerful, posthumously deified emperor. Please note that Aláàfin Sàngó Tẹ̀llà-Òkò, an Òrìsà (deity) and third Aláàfin of Ọ̀yọ́, is different from Sàngó Ayílẹ́gbẹ̀ẹ́-Ọ̀run, the Irúnmọlẹ̀ (divinity).

Historically, it’s true that the Ọ̀yọ́ Empire had strong ties with Portugal long before Great Britain arrived, as shown in the movie. However, my issue is that the Portuguese characters were communicating in English rather than Portuguese, the official language of Portugal.

Lísàbí was not just any man; he was a giant, both in stature and in spirit. The movie didn’t focus on an important aspect, which is that although Lísàbí lived in Igbehin, his roots are traced back to the Ẹ̀gbá village of Itoku. This connection to Itoku adds another layer to his character and heritage, one that could have enriched the film’s narrative even further.

I don’t mind that the movie featured many popular, talented, and experienced actors. My concern is with the use of language, which didn’t match the calibre of the cast. For example, Bàbá Peter Fátómilọ́lá only appeared in one scene, and there was a disappointing lack of Yorùbá proverbs or any deep use of the Yorùbá language. It was too plain for a historical movie.

While they made an effort to speak basic Yorùbá in the Ọ̀yọ́ scenes (though it could have been better), the Ẹ̀gbá scenes were inconsistent. Some characters didn’t even speak Ẹ̀gbá at all.

Another cultural misstep was in the portrayal of Ọlọ́yọ́, who shot some slaves dead. In Yorùbá culture, it’s forbidden for a king to look upon a dead body, yet the scene was cast as though there was nothing wrong with it.

Adébọ̀wálé Adédayọ̀ (Mr. Macaroni) gave an exceptional performance and spoke the Ẹ̀gbá dialect well. However, his line, “Tí a bá ní ká mú òní, Ọ̀la ni a ma mú,” didn’t sound like something from 1775; it felt more like a Gen-Z Lagosian reciting a Yorùbá proverb. The director should have adjusted this part to suit the historical setting.

Additionally, Lísàbí’s brilliance as a strategist went beyond mysticism—his tactical planning and the formation of the Ẹgbẹ́ Àro allowed the Ẹ̀gbás to prepare for the Ọ̀yọ́ invasion, ultimately freeing themselves from oppression.

According to history, Lísàbí instructed his fellow farmers involved in his Àáro Society to return to their settlements and kill the Ìlàrís stationed there. This demonstrated his profound understanding of strategy and bravery. It was a brilliant display of military cunning, far more compelling than the movie’s overemphasis on his partnership with spiritual beings as the source of his power.

I believe the storyline would have been more captivating had it highlighted this strategic brilliance rather than leaning so heavily on mysticism.

Before Christianity and Islam, both the Ẹ̀gbás and Ọ̀yọ́s were rich with military strategy and structured offices for warfare, not just mysticism. Africa is often misrepresented as uncivilized, but our history proves otherwise. Films like Lísàbí should showcase the sophistication of Yorùbá warfare alongside its spiritual elements.

Lastly, I must give credit to Hakeem Effect. His consistency in these revolutionary movies is noteworthy, and he deserves his flowers.

While we eagerly await the sequel to be released in January 2025, I’m rating Lísàbí an 8/10.