Nollywood filmmakers are redefining cinematic language through the power of silence—shifting from dialogue-heavy scripts to moments of quiet that deepen emotion, tension, and meaning.
Nollywood has always been a noisy industry. Its films are often driven by dialogue, with characters explaining themselves in long exchanges that leave little to mystery. Yet, within this rhythm of talk, a quieter movement is emerging. Once seen as a gap to be filled, silence is slowly being recognized as a tool, allowing stories to breathe, emotions to linger, and audiences to feel rather than hear.
For actor Nnamdi Agbo, silence carries weight that words often cannot. “Everyone on film is a storyteller,” he reflects. “The mood and tone of a scene strongly indicate the message passed, even with no dialogue. These days, cinematography, lighting, the expressive emotions of the actor, and the director’s storytelling style create the scene.”
In To Kill a Monkey, Agbo recalls a moment where one of the characters (Efe) sat weeping amid beer crates. “The clusters of crates surrounding him showed he was in a tight situation, choking in life. The visuals alone made the audience empathize with him.” For Agbo, silence does not erase dialogue, but when used carefully, it shapes the emotional truth of a film.
Actor Paul Nnadiekwe sees silence as an uncomfortable space that forces growth. “Film as an art transcends any industry, Nollywood, Hollywood, whatever,” he says. “Silence is an opportunity for new ideas. Scarcity breeds demand: in this case, the new demand is for platforms where creative expression can thrive.”
For Nnadiekwe, quiet moments invite audience reflection and self-reflection for the artist: “The silence gave me room to ask big questions in Afemefuna: An Nwa Boi Story: who am I, what don’t I have, and what am I really capable of doing?”
Still, silence has not always been Nollywood’s strong suit. Iroko Critic, Mr. C, a voice in the Nigerian cinephile space, puts it bluntly: “Relying on dialogue has been one of our most persistent weaknesses. There are a few exceptions. Eyimofe has shots that are burned in my brain. The Okoroshi’s stare in The Lost Okoroshi lingers. The S16 trio really moved us forward here. And even Taiwo Egunjobi, though I haven’t warmed up to his films, certainly leans away from heavy dialogue.”
For Mr. C, silence is rare in Nollywood, and it is used mainly by filmmakers working in the festival space rather than the commercial mainstream. He adds that Mami Wata, with its striking black-and-white cinematography, achieved immersion not only visually but through the sound of waves that rolled through stretches of silence. “It gave me chills,” he recalls.
Screenwriter and filmmaker Fisayo Ojabodu agrees that silence remains underexplored. “I don’t think we are there yet,” she admits. “Nollywood, bar a few filmmakers, is still learning to use silence as a tool in storytelling.” She singles out For Maria as a revelation. “Before seeing it, I was used to people expressing certain emotions with noise. But, For Maria let you sit in silence. It allows the watcher to feel, not just observe.”
Ojabodu adds that Nollywood is developing a more visual, cinematic style that can stand alongside global cinema, pointing to films like Vagabond Queen and Over the Bridge as examples. “Maybe not at the level a film like Conclave operates yet, but we are seeing a few hitters,” she notes, signaling the industry’s shift toward cinematic sophistication.
Filmmaker Taiwo Egunjobi approaches the question with caution. For him, silence is a tool, neither inherently good nor bad, but dependent on the filmmaker’s craft. “Instead of leaning into dialogue, we are leaning into cinematography, particular frames that communicate the story, editorial styles, color schemes, musical choices, and performance,” he explains.
Egunjobi points to films like For Maria, The Lost Okoroshi, All the Colours of the World Are Between Black and White, and short works by directors such as Dika Ofoma, where silence works in tandem with other cinematic elements. Yet, he warns that silence alone cannot elevate a film: “You can make a silent film that is very bad. Silence can itself become a hindrance. It’s about the user of the tool, not the tool.”
Looking at Nollywood’s history, silence is not entirely new. Directors like Tunde Kelani and Kunle Afolayan have experimented with it, though sparingly. Kelani’s Thunderbolt: Magun used stillness to heighten cultural and emotional stakes, while Afolayan’s October 1 deployed silence in key scenes to build suspense in its psychological thriller.
These were exceptions in a market that often demanded fast-moving, dialogue-heavy storytelling. But their presence shows that the instinct for visual storytelling has long existed, even if underdeveloped.
Recent years, however, suggest a shift. Films like Eyimofe and Mami Wata have gained international attention precisely for their visual language and ability to hold audiences in quiet moments. All the Colours of the World Are Between Black and White embraced silence to frame intimacy and longing. For Maria demonstrated that silence could become the very texture of emotion.
These films suggest Nollywood is beginning to see silence not as absence but as presence, a space where meaning is built visually, rhythmically, and emotionally.
This experiment also connects Nollywood with global traditions. Japanese filmmaker Yasujirō Ozu used “pillow shots,” moments of stillness with no characters, to let audiences breathe. Andrei Tarkovsky’s films leaned on silence and long takes to evoke spiritual and emotional depth. Wong Kar-wai’s cinema slowed time with quiet gestures and wordless gazes. Nollywood’s embrace of silence engages with this lineage, while grounding it in Nigerian realities.
Still, challenges remain. As Mr. C notes, mainstream audiences may not always welcome long silences. In a culture where talk drives daily life and cinema, quiet can feel alien. Yet filmmakers like Egunjobi argue that growth is underway, if uneven.
“Nollywood is constantly pushing itself,” Egunjobi says. “Sometimes growth isn’t consistent, but with the films we’ve seen in the last five or six years, there’s a deliberate shift toward more cinematically packed stories.”
Perhaps the question is not whether Nollywood will embrace silence, but how it will wield it. In the hands of a skilled director, silence can become an eloquent voice, a gaze that lingers, a pause that hurts, a wave that echoes. That might be the boldest statement Nollywood can make in a noisy industry and a loud country.