Two things happened almost simultaneously in the first quarter of 2026. On March 29, the Africa Magic Viewers’ Choice Awards unveiled its twelfth edition nominations, with glossy productions The Herd and Gingerrr leading the pack with nine nods each, veteran actress Joke Silva stepping in as head judge, and two new categories finally added to include North and Central Africa. Hours later, Nollywood actress Lilian Afegbai took to X and told the organizers they could “eat their award.”
She later apologized, calling her outburst “disrespectful” and admitting she had reacted “from a place of hurt and entitlement.” But her words had already landed like a hand grenade in an industry long accustomed to swallowing its doubts about an award that insists on calling itself the continent’s most prestigious.
The AMVCA, now in its twelfth year, has undeniably become the most-watched and most-talked-about film awards ceremony in Africa. Organized by MultiChoice, watched across the continent, and commanding the kind of red-carpet frenzy that Nigerian social media lives for, it has built something that neither the older African Movie Academy Awards (AMAA) nor any of the regional ceremonies have managed: genuine mass attention. For eight hours every May, the industry holds its breath.
After exclusively interviewing twenty industry insiders, directors, producers, actors, film critics, a music scorer, and even the most reluctant voices who spoke in single sentences, a striking pattern emerged: Attention is not the same as credibility and prestige is not the same as impact.
Nonetheless, almost everyone agrees that the AMVCA is the biggest show in town, but almost no one believes it has moved the needle on film quality, transformed careers in any meaningful way, or earned the right to call itself a reliable indicator of the best work being made in Nollywood today. Some of the most damning assessments came from people who insisted on anonymity.
The Identity Crisis at the Heart of the Award
What exactly is the AMVCA trying to be? The name itself promises an answer. The “V” stands for Viewers. It is, in theory, a popular award shaped by the people who actually watch Nollywood films. But somewhere along the line, that promise became a problem.
In 2024, for its tenth edition, the organizers made a significant shift. Acting categories, Best Actor and Best Actress, were moved out of public voting and placed in the hands of a professional jury. The stated aim was to “align with global standards” and ensure that “popularity” no longer outweighed “substance”. Eighteen categories now go to a jury. Eleven remain open to public voting.
On paper, this is a sensible reform. In practice, it has created a schizophrenic institution that pleases no one.
“What is the AMVCA?” asks Seyi Lasisi, a film critic. “Is it an audience choice award? Or is it a jury choice award? The AMVCA, as its name suggests, is the viewer’s choice. But it has non-voting categories. That’s a paradox.”
This confusion runs deeper than semantics. A director who requested anonymity said, “I don’t think it’s possible that an award in our context is capable of raising the standard, because an award itself often belongs to the industry. The industry used to be about popularity. Only recently have they introduced a jury system. I can’t say that AMVCA has raised the technical standard. Anything that Nollywood has been able to grow has been because filmmakers kept responding to the audience’s need, not because of any award.”
The identity crisis manifests most visibly in the award’s most glaring structural flaw: lumping television and film into a single acting category. A twelve-episode series gives an actor vastly more screen time than a two-hour film. Comparing the two performances in the same category is, by any measure, absurd. Yet the AMVCA has persisted with this arrangement for eleven editions.
“It’s unfair,” says Diji Aderogba, a 2020 AMVCA nominee for Best Documentary. “Putting film and TV series in one category? If you’re taking away their chance to be seen by putting them together, that’s not nice to actors. You might as well put stage actors in the same category.”
The same complaint came from almost every interviewee. A director who spoke anonymously said flatly: “TV shows and feature films should not be nominated in the same category. That alone is a sign that we are far from what a credible film award should look like.”
The Credibility Gap: What the Nominations Reveal
If the category confusion were the only problem, the AMVCA might still salvage a reputation for fairness. But across eleven editions, a more troubling pattern has emerged: nominations that seem to reward visibility and marketing muscle as much as, if not more than, artistic achievement.
Consider the 2026 nominations. Gingerrr, a film that multiple interviewees described, in nearly identical language, as having “questionable quality” received nine nods. Meanwhile, critically acclaimed films like “The Fire and the Moth” and When Nigeria Happens were almost entirely shut out. A producer who asked not to be named put it bluntly: “From an outsider’s perspective, I’ve noticed a pattern with certain shows. Sometimes it seems like certain shows win certain categories to make it seem like fair play. I don’t know if you get what I mean. The criteria are not clear. It keeps changing every year.”
Film critic Adedamola Jones Adedayo, whose reporting on the exclusion of North and Central Africa led to a closed-door meeting with AMVCA organizers, was more specific. “Imagine films such as The Weekend, Kill Boro and With Difficulty Comes Ease, some of the best and critically acclaimed products from Nollywood in 2024, being snubbed across key categories. You take a look at the current edition and ask yourself why a film of questionable quality like Gingerrr has the highest nominations whereas films with certainly more positive reactions miss out. Certainly, something is wrong somewhere.”
This is not a new phenomenon. In 2023, Kunle Remi’s performance in Anikulapo failed to secure a nomination in the Best Actor category, a snub that still rankles. “I strongly believe that Kunle Remi should have been nominated and not just nominated; to be honest, he should have won,” Diji Aderogba contended. Actor Paul Nnadiekwe, when asked for a performance that deserved AMVCA recognition and never got it, answered simply: “I think Kunle Remi in Anikulapo.”
The actor Riyo David, speaking on record, offered a slightly more diplomatic view: “I think one cannot really get it right when it comes to awarding talents. This is not an industry thing; even Hollywood has had their fair share of getting it wrong. I believe some factors are guiding who wins what and when. Factors like the theme of the award season.” But then he added a quiet confession: “Chimezie in Breath of Life should have won for Best Actor.”
Even the most reluctant voice in the entire interviewee list answered questions with breathtaking brevity. A filmmaker who insisted on anonymity said: “No. No. The Mami Wata loss season. Lmao, it does nothing please. It’s just cool to pad stats. It only benefits those in TV. Start with the festivals. Then focus on the bloody films, not the dresses.”
That last sentence —”focus on the bloody films, not the dresses”— would become a recurring chorus.
The Before and After: What a Trophy Actually Does
The central question of this feature is straightforward: Does an AMVCA win genuinely change a career trajectory, or does it simply confirm momentum already in motion?
The evidence gathered from winners and nominees across eleven editions suggests the latter.
When Diji Aderogba was asked what difference the nomination made, his answer was surprisingly honest: “It was the beginning of good stuff for me. It gave me visibility. A lot of people started respecting my craft more. After that, I started directing features. For me, it was definitely a game-changer.”
But here is the nuance that gets lost in the red-carpet glow. Aderogba’s nomination came in 2020. His debut feature had already won an audience award before the AMVCA nod. The award did not create his momentum. It added a stamp of approval to a trajectory already in motion.
Actor Nnamdi Agbo, speaking on record, was even more direct: “To be honest, I don’t think awards change anything. An award gives you more visibility. It’s a reward system to say ‘well done’ for the work you have put in, not necessarily about changing anything. The roles you get offered might or might not change. The only thing that happens is that once you get the visibility, more people have access to you.”
A producer who requested anonymity broke down the practical impact: “A win helps me argue for bigger budgets on the next job. Investors listen more because they see less risk. For distribution, it opens doors with platforms and cinemas, and they return calls faster. But it doesn’t guarantee money. I still have to chase funds and fight for good deals. The award gets me into the room. It doesn’t close the deal for me.”
Producer Emmanuel Bless Smile Edi, who insisted his name be used, concurred: “It boosts perception more than reality. Investors get excited, yes, but the money doesn’t suddenly increase. It’s leverage, not a guarantee. If you can’t monetize the attention, the award means very little financially.”
Even nominees themselves seem to understand this. When actor Paul Nnadiekwe, who has been nominated but never won, was asked what the AMVCA meant to him, he said: “It’s a rewarding feeling; it makes an actor feel seen and heard.” Not a word about career transformation.
And then there is the strange case of the Trailblazer Award. Critic Esther Kalu, on record, pointed to Bimbo Ademoye as someone whose career genuinely benefited: “I remember when she won Best Actress in a Comedy. Since that award, her career has become widely popular and widely trusted. The award hugely contributed to making her career bigger.”
But Kalu could not think of a single counterexample where the award had no effect, not because it always works, but because, as she admitted, “honestly, I can’t think of anybody right now” whose win was unconvincing. The absence of evidence either way is itself evidence.
The Pan-African Promise
The AMVCA’s full name includes the word “Africa.” It positions itself as a Pan-African award, celebrating the best of the continent’s filmmaking. But how true is that claim?
When the awards began in 2013, the first edition made a genuine effort to represent the continent. Non-Nigerian titles appeared in major categories. After 2014, as critic Seyi Lasisi noted, “that sort of life shifted back to Nigeria.”
“Over the years, except in 2013, the award system has primarily targeted Nigerian films,” Lasisi said. “In its most important categories, Best Director, Best Film, performance categories, you’ve had Nigerian filmmakers dominating both the nominees and the winners.”
A filmmaker and cinephile who watches Nollywood closely agreed: “I think that AMVCA definitely misses more than it catches. There are so many recent films that did not receive a single AMVCA nomination. Films like With Difficulty Comes Ease and Kill Boro are small films that should be celebrated. Putting TV and film in the same category obviously causes problems.”
The data support this. In 2025, Nigerian productions won the overwhelming majority of categories. The 2026 edition introduced new indigenous language categories for North and Central Africa, a welcome expansion that critic Adedamola Jones Adedayo described as “a plus.” But as he pointed out, “The AMVCA is still largely Nollywood-esque, catering to mostly domestic players. Representation across Africa remains skewed, which is deeply concerning for an event that prides itself as arguably the most popular film awards on the continent.”
“If I had to rate the Pan-African posture of the AMVCA, I’d say four out of ten,” he added. “AMAA, in comparison, is clearly more Pan-African. The data speaks for itself. Last year, we had 80 to 90 per cent of AMVCA winners and nominations coming from Nigeria.”
Filmmaker and Creative Director Nduka Ebube Dike offered a slightly more generous view: “The AMVCAs have a reputation for nominating just popular movies, but some of the most nominated movies over the years have been some of Nollywood’s best—like 76, October 1, and 93 Days. However, they did miss films like The Milkmaid, Eyimofe, and Mami Wata. I believe that nominating these films with smaller releases would introduce their audience to more Nollywood films they’re not watching.”
But for most interviewees, the Pan-African claim remains aspirational at best. A cinephile, who spoke on record, Timilehin Mustapha was scathing: “We don’t see Senegal anywhere. We don’t see Morocco, we don’t see Egypt, we don’t see Tunisia. Even Cameroon, I doubt we’ll see Cameroon. The countries we see are the ones where DStv operates: Nigeria, Ghana, South Africa, and Kenya. An African film award that doesn’t have, at the very least, Senegal is not serious in my opinion.”
The Fashion Show Problem
If you ask a random Nigerian what they remember about the most recent AMVCA, they will likely describe a dress, not a film. This is not accidental. It is also not harmless.
The AMVCA has a Best Dressed category, actually, it has two: Best Dressed Male and Best Dressed Female. These awards, voted on by the public, generate more social media engagement than almost any competitive category.
“Nobody really cheers for the categories,” said film journalist Ini-Abasi Jeffrey. “It’s more like a fashion award now. In terms of industry standards, not a lot has changed. It’s just a fashion show.”
This is not a fringe opinion. The same producer who spoke earlier returned to the point: “The AMVCA is pretty little more than a fashion show that has a film award as a sideshow. I feel like if something isn’t done really quickly to salvage it, it’s just going to keep getting worse. It used to be such a big deal, and now it just doesn’t feel like it has that much of an impact.”
A filmmaker and cinephile, Olohije Oyakhire was more critical on this subject: “It’s almost seen like an MTV Movie Award. They still have Best Dressed. They have a content creator award. So people see it as the MTV of these things. It doesn’t have prestige.”
Even actor Riyo David, who otherwise defended the award, acknowledged the problem: “Summarily, the AMVCAs are a necessity, and proper organization in terms of correctly awarding talents is the one thing that can keep it safe in the echelon it resides in.” The implication being that without that proper organization, it will fall.
Director Abiodun Udom, who asked not to be kept anonymous, put it plainly: “There are a lot of controversies around the AMVCA. This year’s nominees were kind of okay, but the AMVCA needs to separate film from TV. The ‘V’ in AMVCA stands for Viewers, so the viewers are the ones. Not all categories are open for voting. For a film to win Best Film, it should cut across other categories in a way.”
The Music and the Afterthought
One of the most unexpected voices came from a nominee for this year’s edition, Tolu Obanro, a music scorer who works behind the scenes. He offered a rare note of measured progress: “I think over the years there has been a great improvement. It used to be that they called everything ‘best sound,’ but now they have best score, best sound, and the best editing. It’s no longer an afterthought.”
But then he added a crucial caveat: “Most directors and producers still treat sound as an afterthought. They budget everything, and then when it comes to sound, they look for cheap money to do it because it wasn’t included in the project from the beginning. The AMVCA nomination gives exposure, yes. It makes people pay attention to sound. But the people who sit in judgment of these categories need to be more technical. It will take more technical people for it to be well done.”
The Producers’ Lament
A producer who spoke anonymously had already spoken about the practical limits of an AMVCA win. But producer Emmanuel Bless Smile Edi added a structural critique: “One major gap is the depth of a producer’s role. Producing isn’t just about funding; it’s about problem-solving, logistics, team management, creative input, and delivering the project against all odds. I’d like to see more categories or clearer recognition of the different aspects of producing, such as line producing, executive producing, and creative producing. That would better reflect the actual work behind the scenes.”
Filmmaker Orobosa Ikponmwen, on record, agreed that the AMVCA has had some positive effect on quality, but only indirectly: “In some way, it has affected the quality of Nigerian cinema. You get nominated, or even win, and it gives you a certain level of leverage. To get there, your film would have had to be above average. So yeah, in that sense, I’d say it has had an effect.”
But she, too, noted the gaps: “Marketing is another thing. The random Nollywood watcher probably doesn’t know when the AMVCA happens or even hear about it, except from those who get nominated. Is it only meant for filmmakers? What happens offline?”
The Silence That Speaks Loudest
Throughout this feature’s reporting, one detail stood out above all others. Multiple potential interviewees declined to speak on the record about the AMVCA. Some cited management advice. Others simply expressed fear.
“When I started reaching out, most people said, ‘I don’t want my name out there,'” I told one filmmaker during our interview. The response was immediate. “They know,” he said. “They know that if you speak, something might happen.” This sentiment was echoed by many.
The fact that industry professionals, not just nominees and winners, but people who have never been nominated, are advised to keep quiet about an award that supposedly celebrates them is not a minor footnote. It is the story.
What does it say about the industry when nominees and winners are being advised not to speak freely about the award that supposedly celebrates them?
“It shows that the politics of Nigeria in general has filtered into everything, including their awards,” said Ini-Abasi Jeffrey. “It’s just annoying now, because you cannot put out an award ceremony every edition, every year, and still not get it right.”
Critic Esther Kalu was more measured but no less pointed: “An industry that tells people not to express their opinions is saying that it doesn’t want to know whether it’s doing things right or not. It just wants them to swallow everything. It doesn’t make sense. Some of these opinions could be suggestions that could improve the platform.”
A director who had spoken earlier said something that now resonates with dark irony: “I don’t think any awards system around the world is capable of recognizing everybody. People do get missed. It is sometimes annoying. But it is normal.”
However, the question is whether the AMVCA is willing to admit that it misses, and whether it will allow the industry to point out those misses without fear.
What Would a Credible Award Look Like?
The industry does not lack for suggestions. Interview after interview yielded the same proposals: separate television from film; publish the jury criteria; make the selection process transparent; rotate the host country to reflect the Pan-African ambition; eliminate the popularity-driven categories.
Olohije Oyakhire said, “If I were redesigning the AMVCA from scratch, I would be more transparent. I would make the jury members public. I would state the criteria for selecting things. People don’t even know what the Trailblazer criteria are anymore. I would know my identity, am I Pan-African or not? I would scrap all those content-creation awards and put film and TV in separate categories. The problem is that it started as a viewer’s choice, and the brand name is now already AMVCA. But it’s clear that they can’t be a viewer’s choice anymore if they want to be prestigious. So I guess I’d change the name too.”
Filmmaker Nduka Ebube Dike offered a simpler fix: “I’d fix the categories. TV actors need their own categories: Lead Actor, Lead Actress, Supporting Actor, Supporting Actress. More people win awards, and the acting categories will be less crowded. Win‑win. I’d keep the Best Red Carpet Look category, though. It’s genius.”
That last line, keeping the fashion, captures the essential tension. The AMVCA cannot afford to lose its glamour; the red carpet pays the bills. But it also cannot afford to remain a fashion show with a film award attached. As a cinephile, put it by name Timilehin Mustapha: “If you say you are one thing, but you move differently consistently for over a decade, then really, what are we doing here?”
The Final Reckoning
The AMVCA, for all its flaws, has achieved something genuine. It has given Nollywood a yearly moment of collective attention. It has created jobs for publicists, stylists, and event planners. It has made the industry feel, for one night a year, like a global player.
As Diji Aderogba noted, having that platform matters: “I wrote to the UK global talent people, and they eventually added the AMVCA to their recognized award list. For filmmakers now, if you have an AMVCA nomination, you’re qualified to apply for global talent. That’s huge. Having a platform like AMVCA in Africa, in Nigeria, is a huge benefit to everyone.”
But a party is not a benchmark. And a trophy is not a transformation.
As the twelfth edition prepares to hand out its awards on May 9, 2026, the question hanging over the ceremony is not who will win. It is whether winning means anything at all. The industry’s most powerful institution has spent eleven editions building a stage. However, it has not yet figured out what to put on it.
Perhaps the final word should go to the shortest, most brutal response of all, from a filmmaker who answered five questions with exactly twenty‑three words: “No. No. The Mami Wata loss season. Lmao, it does nothing please. It’s just cool to pad stats. It only benefits those in TV. Start with the festivals. Then focus on the bloody films not the dresses.”
Focus on the bloody films, not the dresses. That is the challenge. And until the AMVCA meets it, the hollow trophy will remain just that, hollow.