The women of Jack’enneth Opukeme’s films are attempts at complexities to varying levels of success. In Adire (which he wrote), the titular character is bringing emancipation to the women of the town through the power of lingerie; in Farmer’s Bride, Gbubemi Ejeye abandons a forced marriage for a forbidden love; and now in Aba Blues, Amara is stuck between a past love that has hurt her but is back for reconciliation by any means possible and a present love willing to move mountains.
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Set immediately after her marriage to Uzor, the film centres on Amara as her former love, Dirim, returns to Aba, to rekindle the complicated feelings of their past relationship. The story then follows the tug of war between these two men and the times they represent. Dirim brings the possibility of what could have been while Uzor shows the reality of what is and what could be. The bones of the story are riveting enough to keep you watching, the question of Amara’s decision carries you to the end, but the strength of that vehicle wanes more than it waxes.
The lore of this entanglement is not as compelling as it needs to be due to both writing and performance. Jack’enneth’s dialogue is often too heavy, weighing down the actors who stumble through recitals and not emotions. Jide Kene’s character, Dirim, is introduced as a suave charmer with an accent, but he enunciates through every line with the awkwardness of a first time rehearsal; his performance is often uninhabited by the ease of carriage his character requires. His first meeting with Amara is terse only on one side and as their backstory begins to unfold, it doesn’t give you enough to ground or root for their love. We hear of the hurt and pain she has suffered because of his immaturity but it is not enough to elicit feelings. Angel Anosike (Christmas in Lagos), in her debut leading role, plays Amara with a sheen of crumbling confidence and resolve that is quick to fluster (in a way that works) as she pivots from one man to the other.
When we move to Uzor, we get a man whose written perfection stunts him, he’s Amara’s faultless husband willing to go to the end of the world for her. Prince Nelson Enwerem (Man of God), bolstered by a handsome face, makes do with his arc as his marriage threatens to collapse on him.
This clash of love stories unfolds in the titular city of Aba, set in an unspecified time period, a style Jack’enneth has carried across his films. His vintage production ethos, which blends retro aesthetics with modern sensibilities is deliberate; you’re unsure what period you’re in until Amara tells Dirim he will have to pay 150 naira for his clothes—a line that quickly reminds you that nothing is 150 naira in Tinubu’s Nigeria.
Yet here in Aba Blues, that same visual and temporal ambiguity with indigenous cultural undertones feels more incoherent. It does not have the narrative payload, so the vagueness feels less deliberate and more unresolved. Also, its positioning of Aba within the story is never fully actualized in sight, only in words. Characters speak of the city but we never feel their connection to it, Aba is—cliche as it is—a character in the story but we never get to know her intimately, confined in the same rooms, save one or two aerial shots.
Aba’s unresolved role in this film continues with the weight of cultural pride and progress of being Igbo peppered awkwardly throughout the story. Uzor’s best friend, Lota (played by Chuks Joseph), is talking to his friend about his marriage woes and somehow springs out a sentence about Aba being the hub of capitalism and the Japan of Africa. In another clumsily inserted scene, Amara stops a group of people from harassing a widow (Patience Ozokwor in a blink of a role) accused of witchcraft. Sometime later, we get a better lesson on tribalism through Dirim’s mother (played by Bimbo Akintola in a camp British accent) whose Yoruba heritage forces her to raise the perfect Igbo son to prevent disgrace. The film wants to address all traditions and impressions of a culture within the workings of its narrative, causing a clash between proselytism and story.
When the film stays on its story, there are some flashing moments of interest. We meet Amara in the first scene where her mother cleans off her make up and adjusts her wedding gown, shaming her lost virginity. It sets up an underexplored facet to Amara’s confusion, but Apostle Dr. Eucharia Anunobi lays on the spiritual act too thickly till it tethers on caricature. We then move on to her relationship with Dirim and how its failure hinged on their youth and naivety. A pivotal argument happens between them that should illuminate their core tension but you come out slightly confused and distracted by the end of the argument which, to be fair, draws your attention to how the film wants to resolve her dilemma.
The film tries to elevate itself with lines of dialogue glaringly written to be quotable that end up being confusing or even hilarious—Dirim says in one scene as he feeds Amara, that Okpa is the bus that needs no passengers while he exalts its culinary excellence.
Jack’enneth’s helming of both writing and direction shows where he shines: his women are interesting, and where he falters: the rest of the film. Aba Blues packs too much without the adequate finesse to execute so many moving parts and we reach an unsatisfying ending, not because Amara might have made the wrong decision but because the film leading up to it never felt full enough.
Aba Blues is a co-production of FilmOne and Inkblot, premiered in cinemas on March 20.
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Side Musings
- I wish someone else came in and gave Amara a third slap after the argument with her best friend and her confrontation with her mother so we could get a trifecta of slaps.
- The drive-in cinema scene truly showed how ideation and execution differ. It felt so empty and dedicated solely to the aesthetics of the film.
- Amara and her yellow dresses, please let’s call Rema for her.
