The “Osuofia” Connection: Notes on a Nollywood Film Cycle

The sheer difficulty of identifying sequels, cycles, and genres in African cinema is surely attributable, at least in part, to a certain modesty of publicity. While studios and associated marketing firms have long sought to profit from any number of connections (both real and imagined) among Hollywood products, advertising has always been a luxury for films made in Africa. The signal exceptions, of course, are Nollywood movies, which have famously benefited from the efforts of distributors operating throughout southern Nigeria (but mainly in the markets of Idumota and Onitsha), and which have lately entered the matrix of online publicity—an ever-shifting matrix that, despite persistent claims to the contrary, only adds to the difficulty of defining these movies as generic or cyclic constituents. As a popular industry, Nollywood is invested not in the auteurist upholding of an exceptional art object, but in the manufacturing of “flow”—providing a sense of stylistic and ideological continuity among thousands of films. Subtle distinctions inevitably emerge, however, and it remains important, for instance, to differentiate among the acting strategies of stars who, despite or perhaps because of their iconic familiarity, often introduce fresh techniques into their performances.

One such Nollywood star, Nkem Owoh, is undoubtedly best known for the role of Osuofia, which he played in Kingsley Ogoro’s 2003 hit comedy Osuofia in London. So successful was Ogoro’s film—and so central is it to scholarship on Nollywood—that Owoh is now firmly associated with its title character, to the point of losing his own identity in popular and academic writings. Indeed, “Osuofia” now describes not simply a fictional character but also a professional performer, one whose diverse skill set is often subsumed under the totalizing tendencies of Osuofia fandom. This blurring of distinctions between performer and role is perhaps part and parcel of the star phenomenon (although it is arguably more common in relation to lesser known thespians), and there appears at first glance to be nothing untenable about the reflexive conflation of Owoh and Osuofia. Upon examining this conflation more closely, however, it is possible to perceive the elements of a certain Eurocentrism, whereby Western performers are firmly identified as individuals and as professionals while African actors are denied agency and artistry—reduced, that is, to their film roles. While “Osuofia” conceivably operates in an honorific capacity, in keeping with the griotic cultures out of which Nollywood emerges and to which it contributes, it conceals Owoh’s professionalism, in contrast to the use of the nickname “Mr. Prolific” that does not occlude the talents of the director, Chico Ejiro. Indeed, it would appear unseemly if Ejiro, rather than receiving a title that points to the impressive immensity of his output, were instead made to bear the name of his most famous film.

There is another problem with the popular construction of “Osuofia” as a catchall for Nkem Owoh’s persona, and it relates to the taxonomic obstacles outlined above. Since the production of Ogoro’s Osuofia in London in 2003, the name “Osuofia” has been attached not only to Owoh himself, but also to several of the star’s films, appearing in various titles in such a way as to suggest a succession of sequels. Similarly, websites that stream Nollywood movies, such as iROKOtv and Dobox, have used the name to suggest the existence of a bona fide filmic cycle—even a genre unto itself, in which the character of Osuofia functions as the only connective thread. For those who have not actually watched these movies, it may seem as if Osuofia in London has generated sequel after...