There was a time in Nollywood when horror was not a niche but a foundation. The 1990s and early 2000s saw a golden age of Nigerian horror, with films like Living in Bondage (1992), Blood Money (1997), Nneka the Pretty Serpent (1994), and Karishika (1996) becoming major audience favorites.
These films drew their power not from abstract monsters but from deep cultural beliefs, featuring witches, juju priests, and demonic forces rooted in traditional folklore. They reflected widespread fears of greed, the occult, and supernatural revenge, while also acknowledging a world in which spirits and ancestors played active roles in everyday life.
The horror was believable because it tapped into real societal anxieties about ritual killings and spiritual warfare. But as religious conservatism gained prominence in the late 2000s, Pentecostal Christianity labelled these films as promoting witchcraft, and the genre gradually faded.
The early 2010s saw occasional sparks of revival, with C.J. Obasi’s 2014 indie horror Ojuju marking a bold and genre-defining moment in Nigerian cinema. Widely praised as Nigeria’s first zombie film, Ojuju went beyond Western clichés by embedding ancient fears and cultural archetypes into a modern-day slum horror narrative.
The film drew on traditional African mythology, in which natural elements like wells are sacred spaces watched over by spirits, and pollution is a spiritual violation with severe consequences.
Despite its critical acclaim, Ojuju remained an indie outlier, and mainstream Nollywood continued to shy away from the horror genre for years. Other attempts emerged, such as Ojukokoro (2016), which blended crime thriller and dark comedy, and The Bridge (2017), which explored supernatural themes. But none fully embraced the zombie apocalypse format at scale.
In Hollywood, horror has long been a reliable engine for both creativity and commerce, from George A. Romero’s Night of the Living Dead to Danny Boyle’s 28 Days Later and the global phenomenon of The Walking Dead. What makes Hollywood horror endure is not just spectacle but the way it holds a mirror to societal fears, a tradition that Nigerian filmmakers are now beginning to explore more deliberately.
It is against this backdrop that Alive Till Dawn arrived in cinemas on January 30, 2026, positioning itself as Nollywood’s first theatrical zombie apocalypse film to receive a wide cinema release. Set in Abuja, the story follows a group of survivors, including a police officer, ex-prisoners, and a stranded woman, trapped inside a police station during a sudden outbreak.
Directed by Sulaiman Omotola Ogegbo and produced by Leo Obienyi in collaboration with actor-producer Uzor Arukwe, the film grossed ₦20.2 million in its opening weekend. It went on to earn over ₦74 million before exiting cinemas, ranking among the top-performing new releases during its debut window.
The critical reception has been divided, with some praising its ambition and others pointing to execution struggles. The Nollywood Reporter called it “audacious but uneven”, noting that while the film breaks new ground for Nollywood, its heavy reliance on Hollywood-style tropes does not fully resonate with the local audience.
Still, the film’s box-office performance signals continued audience interest in non-traditional Nollywood genres, pushing the industry further into horror.
This genre has often existed on the margins rather than at the center of mainstream cinema. In an exclusive interview, director Sulaiman Omotola Ogegbo, producer Leo Obienyi, actor Sunshine Rosman and actor-producer Uzor Arukwe spoke to The Nollywood Reporter about the risks they took, the lessons they learned and why they believe the future of Nigerian cinema lies in pushing into uncharted territory.
Ogegbo was not interested in just a story. “I was interested in the genre first, especially because it’s one that we barely scratch in the industry,” he says. “So when Leo the producer told me he wanted to shoot a zombie movie, I was sold. We then talked about a survival story, which even made it better for me because most of the time, survival is a concept that is only realized in the moment.”
On pacing for a Nigerian audience, Ogegbo started with one question: “How does the average Nigerian or African audience perceive a genre like this? You don’t want to rush the average Nigerian audience with a narrative. You want to warm them into it, especially because this is almost new to them.”
He thought deeply about fear and spectacle. “In this part of the world, what gets us is spectacle. If it’s not spectacular, we aren’t impressed. That’s why we had to rely on simply the emotion: fear. If you found yourself in this situation, how would you feel? Once a character feels it, you’re also hoping that the audience feels it.”
He says the film taught him to trust his instincts 95 percent of the time. “It is very important that, as a director, you know the effects of spontaneity. You must value people. This film didn’t only teach me, it reminded me and challenged me to tweak, to replace, to trust my instincts 95% of the time.”
Producer Leo Obienyi had always wanted to make films, and he knew Nigeria lacked a proper zombie film. He did a test run in 2022 titled Route to Jabi, a 28‑minute zombie short made on a budget of roughly 600,000 naira. He premiered it in Silverbird for four hours, and over 1,200 people paid to watch, with no popular faces and no marketing.
He repeated the same in Lagos and Anambra State. “That was when I realized, okay, Nigerians are ready for a new genre film.” Obienyi also loves zombie films. “I’ve seen almost all the zombie films ever made. So I decided to bring that niche into Nigeria.”
The risks were clear to him from the start. “First of all, you aren’t sure. It’s not a genre people are used to in Nigeria. The first risk was, ‘Will you be able to sell it?’ Putting the funds together took him about two years. “You just had to trust your instinct and believe Nigerians were going to watch this.”
Execution was the second risk. “It hasn’t been done properly in Nigeria before. There are probably just shorts made on low budgets for YouTube that make no sense,” Obienyi says. He had to get a proper cast, train the zombies and invest heavily in makeup.
“Getting the zombies to deliver their roles and convey acts like a zombie” was another challenge for the production team
Funding was difficult, so they had to cut corners. “There were scenes where we needed a lot of zombies, like a lot, but we couldn’t afford it. There was a scene where we were supposed to use a helicopter, but we couldn’t afford it; so, we used an armored car,” Obienyi reveals.
Time was also a constraint. “The more money you have in production, the more time you have. We didn’t have time to shoot some scenes the way they were supposed to be [shot], so we had to cut corners and make them shorter. We had to remove some scenes because we felt they were taking time and were not really necessary.”
Looking back, Obienyi wants to be a producer who no longer compromises on quality. “Starting from the script, the story to the screenplay, set design, the casting, the execution of the project, every single thing, I must be detailed.”
Part two is in the works, he discloses. “I’ve started drafting the story for part two. Then, after that, my screenwriter will start working on the screenplay. We would have a bigger budget, that’s for certain. And for every single scene we write, we plan it in detail and make sure our budget works perfectly for this project, ensuring the quality will be really good. We won’t compromise on many scenes. We would focus heavily on quality. That’s one thing I want. I don’t want to compromise.”
Actor Sunshine Rosman’s first reaction to the script was wonder. “Wow! How are they gonna pull this off?” She said to herself, “I’d rather be part of an experimental film that failed than be too scared even to try it.”
On set, she found something different. “This wasn’t a set where they would dictate, and you’d follow blindly. This was a family of creatives at the peak of collaboration.” She cried reading about her character’s father’s death. “It’s a pain, I understand. I just took all the elements of what was happening on set to my character and used that to define how I reacted to all the emotional scenes.”
The extras playing zombies were so good that just looking at them made her scared. “I promise a lot of my reactions were truly natural. We had the best extras on set who played the best zombies. They did so well, I just had to look at them, and I was scared.”
She says that if you love the job and the project so much, you just make it through it. The experience helped her see “how vulnerable you get when you have all the right elements to perform.”
Uzor Arukwe says the “trying‑a‑new‑thing” factor drew him in. “As an actor, you eventually reach a point where the comfort of familiar tropes and characters feels suffocating. When Alive Till Dawn came, it was an opportunity to challenge myself and the Nollywood status quo.”
He wanted to be part of the team that proves Nollywood can tell diverse stories beyond rom‑coms and political thrillers. “The genre is physically and technically demanding, but the opportunity to expand the industry’s palate was too significant to pass up. It was time to show that our stories can be both local in essence and global in execution.”
Building his character, Badu, was a study in fear. “I approached Badu by asking: ‘Who does a man become when the social contract is deleted? ‘As a man with a complicated past, I didn’t want him to be a ‘tough guy’ for the sake of it. Instead, I focused on the transition from terror to pragmatism. Fear makes some people freeze but, for Badu, fear is a sharp tool. It makes him hyper‑aware.”
Arukwe worked closely with the director to ensure every decision Badu made felt earned. “We stripped away the vanity. I wanted the audience to watch his sweat, follow his hesitation, and notice the moral ambiguity of a man who is terrified but refuses to die,” Arukwe disclosed.
Arukwe believes the Nigerian audience has matured. “When you consider that we outperformed established drama titles released in the same period, it sends a clear message: the audience is hungry for variety.”
He points to the film’s box office performance as proof. “Nigerians watch global blockbusters. As an actor and producer, my goal was to show that when we apply our local context to these global templates, the commercial viability is not just present but dominant.”
On the actor‑producer model, Arukwe is firm. “I absolutely believe the actor‑producer model is the future and, quite frankly, a necessity for longevity.”
He cites colleagues who have succeeded with this model. “We’ve seen this model yield incredible commercial and critical results for colleagues like Funke Akindele, Femi Adebayo, Toyin Abraham and Timini Egbuson. These are individuals who didn’t just wait for the right roles; they created them, and the box office has rewarded that proactivity.”
He explains the business advantage. “When an actor with a strong brand steps into an Executive Producer role, they aren’t just bringing talent; they are bringing ‘collateral’ and a guaranteed audience. It allows us to bypass traditional gatekeeping and have a direct stake in the commercial success of our work.”
He says the film changed him. “After playing Badu, who required such a high level of physical discipline, emotional grit and narrative stakes, it’s hard to go back to ‘business as usual.’ The experience has made me more conscious and selective. I’m no longer just looking for a good character; I’m looking for brave projects.”
Arukwe asks himself new questions now. “Does this script challenge the audience? Does it push Nollywood’s technical boundaries? Does it offer something we haven’t seen before? Alive Till Dawn taught me that our audience is ready for the unconventional. Moving forward, I’m open to roles and producing projects that feel like a first or a best. I want to be associated with films that aren’t just watched, but discussed, films that leave a mark on the industry’s timeline.”
Alive Till Dawn is not a perfect film. The Nollywood Reporter’s review noted uneven sound design, inconsistent make‑up effects and character development that sometimes struggled to land. The film’s heavy borrowing from Hollywood zombie tropes, from the sprinting infected to the survivor dynamics, sometimes sits uneasily with the local context.
But for the cast and crew who spoke to The Nollywood Reporter, the film was never just about perfection. It was about taking a chance on a genre Nollywood had barely touched. It was about proving that Nigerian audiences are ready for something different. And by that measure, it succeeded.
It opened doors, started conversations and showed that a zombie thriller made on a tight budget with a team of young creatives could hold its own at the box office. The film’s journey from a 600,000 naira short to a ₦74 million theatrical release is itself a story of persistence and belief.
As Nollywood continues to evolve, with streaming platforms demanding variety and audiences growing tired of the same formulas, Alive Till Dawn stands as a signpost. It is not the destination. It is the first step into a wider, wilder territory.
The question now is ‘who will take the next leap?’