How I usually know that a movie has gotten to me is when it hangs like a sweet mist over the evergreen consciousness of my mind and refuses to dissipate with the winds of time. This flick was that and much more, about top-notch in every department. The blend of Yoruba and English is smooth on the palate of the senses like the taste of Kopi luwak coffee on the tongue (I love movies where traditional languages are mixed with English, they are usually a delightful cocktail).
The drama was a moving gallery exhibiting African art; I particularly liked the tie and dye “buba and sokoto” that Mr. Afolayan wore when he and Ramsey went into the jungles of Araromire to return the figurine to its resting place. The subtitling was also done pretty well, a resounding message to Nollywood Yoruba movie producers who cannot subtitle their productions to save their lives. I wonder how they are able to thrive in the international market since no one will be able to follow their story lines intelligently. We need to take a cue from other countries like South Korea where an epic/classic like “Jumong” has flawless subtitling. You don’t have to understand the language to understand its unfolding plot.
The only blip on the scintillating screen of their performance was the club Ramsey and Funlola had their night out. The place was too juvenile and common for such a classy duo.
The god araromire was made out of the bark of a cursed tree and it ultimately brings pain to its worshippers after an initial seven years of prosperity. The earth is cursed and irrespective of how much happiness we get from its endowments, the elation wears off after a while. Sometimes they even bring unhappiness. The euphoria of getting the latest car, phone or the best house in the neighborhood diminishes with time and by seven years might even cause embarrassment compared to the ones that are up to date then. That is why people who manipulate and kill others for earthly gains are so FOOLISH because they will eventually get their comeuppance.
From the onset it was so clear that Omoni Oboli was making the mistake of her life by marrying Kunle Afolayan. They were not compatible; he was too unserious for her. Till tomorrow, I still wonder why everybody but the lady who makes the mistake of marrying the wrong dude can see that she is walking into a dark pit occupied by a black mamba. She lost her life for that mistake. How many ladies keep losing their limbs, lives, destiny for this error? It is quite disheartening!
The flippancy with which ladies get into relationships with guys they don’t know diddly squat about the way Funlola Raimi threw herself at Ramsey Noah is mindboggling. This rush in the name of an increasing age number is as foolish as a prospector leaving everything he has acquired in a life time for an imaginary gold rush and ending up with nothing but sand trickling through his fingers. For some it’s like committing suicide at twilight after waiting for so many years with your knight in shining armour galloping in to see you dead at dawn. It is not worth it. Ask Funlola Raimi, she almost paid with her life for the desperation of having a marriage ring on her finger.
One other thing that struck me was how the Afolayans ran from pillar to post in search of a solution to the problems plagueing them but could not zero in to the panacea of liberation. That’s is so typical of life where dehydrated people settle for dwindling streams of brackish water instead of slaking their thirst with the crystal clear Spring of living waters.
THE BLESSING OF THE LORD IT MAKETH RICH AND ADDETH NO SORROWS TO IT!!!