Nollywood Under Fire: The Battle Between Critics, Filmmakers, and Audiences

In Nollywood today, the conversation about films often begins long before the credits roll. On X (formerly Twitter), in YouTube comments, and across podcasts and group chats, audiences have taken ownership of the discourse, dissecting plots, debating character motivations, and sometimes demolishing entire careers in a few words. This is the new ecosystem of critique: one that merges passion with performance, knowledge with noise. Yet within this chaos lies a deeper unease, a sense that criticism in Nigerian cinema has become both a vital mirror and a potential wound.

 

For filmmakers, every release now breathes two lives, the one on screen and the one online. Director Taiwo Egunjobi describes criticism as an unavoidable reality but one that often lacks context or empathy. “I think for me,” he told The Nollywood Reporter, “it’s about extracting value from every situation, whether it’s negative or positive. I come from people with an intellectual ego and expect to be questioned. So, I don’t run from critique; I try to see what can be learned from it.”

 

Still, he concedes that the line between constructive engagement and hostility has blurred. “We’ve created a culture where critique sometimes feels like warfare,” he adds. “The conversation stops being about the work and becomes about who’s right.”

 

That sentiment is echoed by many filmmakers who’ve watched the tide of social commentary turn vicious. Abiodun Udom remembers how his short film attracted what he calls “fan outrage disguised as analysis.” “People would rather perform their intelligence online than engage with the film itself,” he says. “It becomes about who can say the funniest or harshest thing. Sometimes I read comments and wonder if we’re watching the same movie.”

The rise of social media has democratized criticism, allowing more Nigerians to participate in film conversations, but it has also diluted the distinction between serious critique and trolling. Chinalurumogu Eze, a film critic and cinephile, observes how easily opinions spread and harden into collective judgment. “There are pages on X where people just come and speak from their hearts about how a film made them feel,” she says. “And that’s fine, but sometimes it turns into mob opinion. Whether people say a film is bad or good, it’s still loud, and that noise shapes perception.”

 

Elesin Aderemi Hezekiah, another cinephile, agrees. “You could watch a film that you think is good,” he explains, “then come online and see all these takes; suddenly, you start questioning your own feelings. Human beings are easily influenced by what others say.”

 

Social media has drawn a blurry line between critique and cruelty for him. “Everyone wants to have an opinion,” he tells The Nollywood reporter. “But sometimes what people call criticism is just trolling. You can tell when someone genuinely wants to analyze a film and wants to bring it down.”

 

What keeps him interested in online reviews, he says, is when people discuss the craft, the writing, performances, and cinematography, not just the hot takes. “When someone brings up something I didn’t notice, that’s real criticism,” he tells The Nollywood Reporter.

 

But relevance isn’t always benign. In 2023, when actress and filmmaker Toyin Abraham released her film amid controversy over her political alignment, online hostility quickly overshadowed the work. “People weren’t just bashing the film,” Eze tells The Nollywood Reporter, “they were bashing her as a person. That’s not critique, that’s punishment.”

 

For critics like Jerry Chiemeke, this confusion between engagement and abuse is part of a larger crisis of literacy. “Much of what passes for criticism is really venting,” he says. “We’re losing the ability to talk about films as art. Some people think they can review a film because they can express emotion. But film criticism requires knowledge of form, context, and history.”

 

Chiemeke, who has spent over a decade writing about cinema, argues that good criticism is as creative as filmmaking. “A good critic is not a judge with a hammer,” he says. “They are a translator, helping audiences see what the filmmaker was trying to do, and maybe what they missed.”

 

Still, the imbalance persists. “All over the world, especially in places like India,” says a Nigerian filmmaker who prefers to remain anonymous, “critics are becoming more performative. Everyone wants to go viral. Even here, many critics write for clicks,  sometimes even rage bait. When criticism becomes about who can be the loudest voice in the room, it stops being helpful.” He believes that the real tragedy is that when critique turns into performance, “it stops being about improving the art and becomes about spectacle.”

 

Yet his words are not defensive; they come from frustration mixed with clarity. “No one sets out to make a bad film,” he says. “Every filmmaker wants to tell a story that connects. Sometimes what you intend doesn’t translate, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t sincere. The critic is human, just like the filmmaker, and just as capable of being wrong.”

 

What this filmmaker calls for instead is more contextual criticism, one that understands Nigeria’s filmmaking realities, limited budgets, infrastructure gaps, and cultural nuances, without excusing mediocrity. “There’s a difference,” he says, “between lazy and constrained filmmaking.”

 

Director Bobby Rak shares a similar sentiment. He admits that criticism once left him anxious. “You spend years building something, and then someone dismisses it in two paragraphs. But over time, I realized you can’t control interpretation. Once a film is out, it doesn’t belong to you anymore. Critique should make you better, not bitter.”

 

For JB ‘GbagyifilmBoy’ Mairubutu, a filmmaker and researcher, the relationship between art and criticism is symbiotic. “Every work of art is meant to be critiqued,” he says. “My background in literature taught me that. Critics are a big part of art.”

 

Still, he doesn’t believe Nollywood has a healthy culture of critique. “Too often, filmmakers see it as personal attacks. It reminds me of the fights between critics and filmmakers on X. We need more thoughtful engagement, not ego.” What he longs for, he says, is “criticism that helps us do better with our storytelling, not just boost our egos.”

 

Olamide Àdìó, another filmmaker who once worked as a critic, believes both sides still misunderstand the purpose of criticism. “Our conversations about film in Nigeria swing between cheerleading and hostility,” he says. “We need analysis. Many people approach criticism as judgment, not inquiry. But when critique is missing, the work itself suffers. It lulls into monotony.” For him, criticism should become part of the culture, “not conflict, but curiosity.”

 

That curiosity, however, often gets buried under the noise. “Social media has become a game of who can be the most controversial,” says Tendai Midzi, an African film podcaster and researcher. “The more polarizing a film is, the better it performs online. It’s not about reflection anymore, it’s about reaction.” He admits that he sometimes gravitates toward reviews that feel personal, like those on Letterboxd. “They’re closer to real taste,” he says, “but it’s still a space where controversy travels faster than thought.”

 

Seyi Lasisi, a young Nigerian film critic, believes the imbalance stems from growth without grounding. “We don’t have enough consistent, trained critics,” he explains. “Many people are writing from the heart, not from study. And filmmakers don’t always understand that a review isn’t a personal attack, it’s an interpretation. That’s where the tension comes from: a lack of shared language.”

 

Timilehin, another cinephile, sees it as generational. “Older filmmakers grew up without the internet breathing down their necks,” he says. “Now, every release is a referendum. There’s an obsession with instant validation. If your film doesn’t trend positively on Friday, by Monday it’s dead.”

 

Among the filmmakers interviewed, perhaps none articulates the balance between learning and letting go better than Korede Azeez. “I’m my own harshest critic,” she tells The Nollywood reporter. “So there’s hardly anything a critic will say that I haven’t already thought about. I look for new information in criticism, something I missed.”

 

Azeez acknowledges that criticism in Nollywood can sometimes cross personal lines but insists that the solution lies in building mutual respect. “You can critique a film without attacking the filmmaker. We must cultivate a culture of talking with artists, not at them.”

 

She says her ideal form of engagement was a Twitter Space hosted by Iroko Critic, where she discussed her film with viewers. “It wasn’t about praise,” she recalls. “They asked questions, and we discussed choices. It felt like real dialogue that helps you grow as an artist.”

 

That kind of dialogue remains rare, but it is growing. More filmmakers and writers are beginning to see criticism not as confrontation, but as conversation,  a necessary part of documenting Nollywood’s evolution.

 

There’s truth in that. The history of global cinema is inseparable from its critics, the Cahiers du Cinéma writers who championed auteurs in France, the New York critics who debated Scorsese and Coppola into legend. Criticism may well be its conscience for Nollywood, which is still young and still defining its language. Films gain meaning beyond the box office through critics, scholars, and engaged audiences.

 

However, as Chiemeke warns, the critic’s role is not to police but to participate. “We must remember that we’re part of the same ecosystem,” he says. “Filmmakers and critics are both trying to understand the world through film. The problem starts when either side forgets that.”

 

Still, the future of Nollywood criticism will depend on how both camps choose to evolve. For now, the internet remains both amplifier and minefield. A filmmaker can wake up to global applause or unrelenting abuse, sometimes in the same hour. But if there’s one thread uniting everyone, filmmakers, critics, and fans, it’s the shared belief that Nigerian cinema deserves to be taken seriously.

 

Perhaps that’s where the healing begins: recognizing that the noise, however chaotic, comes from love. From a country learning to speak about its stories in public, from creators who pour their souls into film, and from viewers who finally have a voice.

 

The crisis of criticism is also its promise, a sign that Nollywood matters enough to argue about.