When Aníkúlápó: The Ghoul Awakens dropped, the conversation wasn’t just about what was on screen. It was also about what Kunle Afolayan had to say to viewers.
After the series landed and the criticism started rolling in, Afolayan pushed back on what he saw as rushed judgments. He reminded people that certain kinds of stories, especially ones rooted in Yoruba cosmology and mythology, require patience. You can’t watch them the way you’d scroll through TikTok. You have to sit with them.
That confidence isn’t new. It’s part of his history with this franchise.
Back in 2022, when the original Aníkúlápó premiered, the Nigerian Oscar Selection Committee rejected it, along with two other films, and decided to submit nothing to the 2023 Oscars. Afolayan responded publicly. On Instagram, he said he was pleased the world had called the film a masterpiece, even if the local committee thought it wasn’t worth submitting. Then, when the Academy granted a one-week extension for reconsideration, he tweeted: “God’s hand is in this one, I believe! ‘Anikulapo’ on my mind.”
That moment mattered. It wasn’t just about an award. It was about believing the story could travel. That the mythology, the craft, the world he built, all had weight beyond Nigeria’s borders.
So when he talks now about audiences needing to catch up, it comes from somewhere. He’s made films like October 1, The Figurine, and Citation, work that’s visually considered, culturally grounded, and never careless. Even when his choices polarize, you never get the sense he’s winging it. He understands when silence does more than words, when a frame should hold, when a story earns its weight.
The first Aníkúlápó worked because it understood restraint. Saro’s story was tight. Tragic, yes, but you could follow it. The supernatural elements didn’t overshadow the human ones; they served them. You felt the weight of choices, the consequences of desire. The world made sense, morally speaking. That Oscar push wasn’t arrogance; it was belief.
Unfortunatly, TheGhoul Awakens wants more, maybe too much.Saro’s tragedy is now one story among many. Basorun Ogunjimi isn’t just a rival anymore; he’s practically a supernatural force, stretching across kingdoms and spiritual realms. Princess Omowunmi is taken by slave traders, which should land heavily, but the series rushes past it as if it’s checking a box. Prince Aderoju maneuvers through palace politics and supernatural schemes, but his emotional throughline gets lost. Akin and Arolake offer grounded moments, but even they have to fight for space.
Visually, it’s still among Nollywood’s most ambitious. The cinematography, the costumes, the production design, all of it carries confidence. You can see the care in every frame. Afolayan’s meticulousness hasn’t slipped.
But the pacing is where things fray. Scenes stretch past their natural endpoint. Subplots appear, then vanish. The expansion, which should deepen the world, ends up diffusing the emotional core that made the first film stick. Tragedy, which worked so well in a contained space, now feels spread thin. The tone shifts, meditative here, operatic there, mystical and political, without always earning the transitions. You’re never quite sure where to anchor yourself, even when individual performances land.
This is where Afolayan’s comments about audience intelligence get complicated. He’s framed some criticism as viewers simply not getting it. But the discontent isn’t about missing nuance. It’s about too much: too many threads, too many symbols, too little of the quiet human truth that made the mythology breathe in the first place. The series reaches so hard for scale that it sometimes loses sight of what grounded the myth: life, death, love, betrayal. The things that don’t need translation.
Narrative clarity suffers as a result. The mythology gets deeper, but messier. Romance gets more complicated, but less affecting. Power is interrogated, but the spectacle often overshadows it. The supernatural feels louder, but less personal. Death, which once landed with weight, now feels like a plot mechanism. Resurrection becomes symbolic rather than felt.
The performances still hold. Saro, Basorun Ogunjimi, and Arolake commit fully. There are moments when their work cuts through the clutter and reminds you what this story can do. The music and sound design support that, adding texture and tension.
But the series remains a study in contradiction. It wants to be epic and intimate. Globally legible and culturally specific. It wants to expand a beloved story while respecting what made it beloved. Sometimes it succeeds. Often, it overshoots. A stronger editorial hand, someone willing to trim, focus, and let threads go, might have preserved the emotional clarity without sacrificing scale.
The irony is that Aníkúlápó never needed defending. Yoruba mythology carries its own weight. The first film proved that stories rooted in culture and consequence can travel. The Oscar conversation back in 2022 was proof that Afolayan believed that long before anyone else did.
But ambition alone isn’t discipline, The Ghoul Awakens feels caught between conviction and overreach. It’s not a failure. But it’s not quite the leap it believes itself to be. And when the person who made it tells you you’re watching it wrong, it’s worth asking: is the problem really the audience, or is it the story asking for more patience than it earns?
Release Date: January 30, 2026
Runtime: 6 episodes, approximately 45–55 minutes per episode
Streaming Service: Netflix
Directed by: Kunle Afolayan
Cast(s): Kunle Remi, Bimbo Ademoye, Sola Sobowale, Owobo Ogunde, Lateef Adedimeji, Gabriel Afolayan