Funmilayo Ransome-Kuti is a name that resonates with every Nigerian who has had the opportunity to receive primary education: “the first woman to drive a car in Nigeria”. While this might have been a mean feat for a woman in her time, it is unfortunate that this singular occurrence has been used to define and inadvertently undermine the legacy of one of the most significant women in Nigerian history. FRK was a progressive women’s rights activist and a foremost voice in the Nigerian political scene, especially in the struggle for independence. Her legacy has long needed revision, and Bolanle Austen-Peters’ biopic accomplishes enough to create a new narrative.

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Making biopics can be a delicate task, as there is often a temptation to cram in too many details of the character’s life. When done poorly, this leads to an overwhelming narrative that loses focus, as we have seen in several lacklustre attempts. However, FRK’s biopic, written by Tunde Babalola (October 1), takes a more straightforward approach by focusing on one significant aspect of the protagonist’s life. The incident becomes the central focus of the narrative, with other minor details carefully woven around it.

 The Aba women’s riot is probably the most popular occurrence of women revolting against authority in Nigerian history, but there is a lesser-known women’s revolt of equal magnitude that happened in 1947. FRK, who was in charge of the Abeokuta Women’s Union, was at the forefront of the movement alongside Eniola Soyinka (yes, Wọlé Soyinka’s mother), played by Omowunmi Dada. They led the Ẹ̀gbá women to protest against high taxes imposed on women and the marginalization of the female gender in the government. The protest forced Ọba Ladapo Ademola, the Aláké of Ẹ̀gbá Land, to abdicate his throne temporarily, end taxation on women in Abẹ́òkúta, and provide seats for women on the local council. For her actions in spearheading this protest, Funmilayo earned the moniker “The Lioness of Lisabi.” Her heroics in the struggle for women’s rights are crafted as the focal point of this biopic, a narrative that is shored up by other pivotal moments like being the first female student of the Abeokuta grammar school and promoting education for women and children. This ensures that the inspiring character is not reduced to one popular narrative. 

The film opens with an elderly Funmilayo, played by Joke Silva (Chief Daddy 2), recounting the unfortunate invasion of Fela’s home, the Kalakuta Republic, by government forces in 1977 (injury complications from this attack would eventually lead to her death a year later). The storytelling seamlessly intertwines with the unfolding events, guiding us on a nostalgic journey. The film beautifully portrays her teenage years, with Iyimide Ayo-Olumoko delivering a captivating performance. As the story unfolds, we are introduced to her adult years, portrayed by the talented Kehinde Bankole (Adire). Throughout these scenes, we witness her journey of personal growth and the powerful forces that have moulded her, particularly her father (Patrick Dibuah), who instilled in her a resilient and determined mindset, and her supportive husband, Israel Ransome-Kuti (Ibrahim Suleiman)

The portrayal of the character by the three actresses is a close reflection of FRK’s real-life personality. Each actress effectively captures the essence of the character during different stages of her life. Iyimide brings to life a vibrant and fearless teenager, while Kehinde Bankole shines as the character evolves into the formidable lioness of Lisabi. Joke Silva, on the other hand, beautifully portrays the older and more serene version of the character. On the other hand, most of the secondary characters receive a mundane portrayal. At times they are almost detached from the action, in what is possibly an intentional measure to minimise the risk of the main eponymous character being decentered. For that reason, the performances of the supporting cast are quite limited in this film.

Despite suggesting that family was important to Funmilayo, the film fails to present a proper depiction of her family in the several contexts in which they appear. Instead, we see a caricature representation of her siblings and kids in several instances like. A scene that comes to mind is a hospital visitation. Here, the acting is out of sync and the actors look like they can’t wait for it to finish. Additionally, the film presents a perplexing timeline. The rapid succession of events creates a sense of time passing quickly, although certain details contradict this perception. It makes it quite challenging to incorporate the development of her children within the film’s timeline. 

There is even more confusion caused by the inconsistency in the language used. The events depicted in the film happened in the 1940s when literacy rates were low and there were fewer English speakers. Also, they must have felt more comfortable conversing in their native language than in English. Thus, it is strange that several characters speak English to each other in informal settings. It is even more strange that English would be the language of communication in a traditional Yoruba royal court. 

Although Funmilayo Ransome-Kuti might be shaky in its filmmaking, it’s an important story that helps to preserve the legacy of a national heroine whose memory has been maligned for far too long. This movie undoubtedly alters the narrative and guarantees that people view her as more than the tired and outdated narratives that have threatened to erode her legacy.

Funmilayo Ransome-Kuti premiered in cinemas nationwide on May 17, 2024, after a limited theatrical run in September 2023. It is now available on Prime Video.

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Side Musings

• The head boy should be way older than her, right? 
• Why she dey assault everybody like this? 
• Can’t mention Tinubu without tax😂
• Why are the Parakoyi’s dressed like epic Yorùbá warriors? Surely palace guards in the 1940s wore Western-style uniforms 
• It’s not from my mouth you’ll hear it, but this was a better performance to nominate Kehinde Bankole for best actress. 
• There’s something off about her jovial retelling of the Kalakuta tragedy, and equally worse is the portrayal of her children’s reactions to it. Especially Fela, whose haunting rendition of “dem kill my mama” in Unknown Soldier proves otherwise.