September 8, 2021

by Mr. X Born in the 90’s, I have witnessed a few Nigerian electoral tensions; the political parley of the cunning, the noble and the half-witted all gunning for power. Not to mention the carnivalesque rallies, the lofty promises, the media buzz, the sweeping thrills of an election year, and the shrills of political parties tearing at one another for the grand prize. King of Boys: the Return of the King, for all its political appellations, fails to deliver on this front. The penultimate episode – Trouble sleep kicks off with a disdainful greeting from Eniola Salami to the inglorious ‘table’. She does this through a phone call delivered by her chief henchman, Ade Tiger. As is normal, the members of the table spearheaded by Odudubariba, mock her bloated pride and register their disappointments at Eniola for not showing up for the meeting. In what starts to have the feel of similar scenarios from past episodes, Odudubariba makes a daring request to be named head of the table. At first it appears as though he’s found his luster as one deserving of the crown but we quickly see through him. It’s a façade. Like a child picking his words, his composure shrinks into his purple suit as he makes his proposition. He’s as timid as they come, desperately seeking validation from a woman who refuses to be flattered by his flimsy show of force. It becomes clear that Eniola’s absence is as imposing as her presence. She proves this by offering a proposition of her own — Odudubariba becomes head of the table if she’s assured victory at the gubernatorial polls and the President, a second term in office. A fair deal it seems to the members of the table but confusing it is to me. Given the measure of authority she boasts and her steep rise in the political ranks, does Eniola Salami really need the ruling of the table to become Governor? Safe to assume it’s all a ploy by Eniola to keep the table groping at false hopes. And if that’s not the case, the relevance of the scene is poked with logical questions. With two weeks to the elections, we are teased with a gubernatorial debate. A glorious opportunity for Eniola to prove her caliber to her oppositions and strengthen her claim to the seat. Well, sadly, the debate never makes it to the screen. Rather, it’s condensed to a face-off between Eniola Salami and Jumoke Randle, again! Set at the backstage of the debate hall. This time, the women go toe to toe in the same ol’ same ol’ battle of words spiced with adages that douse rather than enrich the dialogue. The only thing different here is the shocking revelation Eniola makes about the debauched past of Jumoke Randle. Jumoke stands pinned to the ground, utterly embarrassed, as Eniola spills the grim details to the ears of her aide. For the first time, Eniola puts herself at par with Jumoke only on the basis of their humble beginnings. But she’s quick to dignify herself as one who knows who she is, as opposed to Jumoke, who claims to be who she’s not. Again, Eniola comes out of another face-off victorious. And again, one of the many unexploited moments of real political intrigue in the KOB series— here, the thrill of a political debate— is sacrificed for grandiosity. In the subsequent scenes, a bloody shootout between Makanaki’s goons and Eniola’s guards, followed by a car explosion, reports Eniola to be feared dead. The story arc of Dapo, the disgruntled reporter, reaches a cathartic curve in this episode. Having been subjected to a sketchy plot in the series so far, we finally learn the cause of the strain in the relationship with his estranged wife. And yes, it involves a dead child. What begins as a banter grows into a crescendo. Both armed with a point to prove. The camera work cloaks us in with tight closeups, keen on the couple both venting their pent-up resentments. But the performances from the scene protagonists, soon betray our interest. It loses rhythm as quickly as it settles into one. Bouncing out of tune and struggling to sustain the emotional charge it promised. Could be that the actors, Efa Iwara and Tope Olowoniyan, as is true of a host of other actors in the series, choose to overindulge the scale of the project, and in effect, lose the honesty in their deliveries? In the heat of the quarrel, Dapo is distracted by the news of Eniola’s feared death, to the distaste of his wife who reiterates his priority for work over family. Noteworthy here is that Efa Iwara’s character is peculiar to the present ethos of disgruntled Nigerian youths. Young men and women torn between love for their country and perpetual doubt of their future. And the only way out is a forceful escape in search of ease a.k.a. Japa. The dissatisfying portrayal of Efa’s character, as one without ease not from his country nor from his personal life, only affirms the scare that patriotism is of little significance and holds no merit for the Nigerian youth. Apparently, Eniola Salami is not dead. She and her guards survived the car explosion. The suspected bomber is brought before Eniola. He confesses to have been hired by one of Eniola’s trusted guards with strong evidences to prove it. Eniola, fueled by her younger self for vengeance, struggles with the demands. As needlessly frequent as these visits have been, this time it manages to hold our interest. Eniola is subdued, helpless and ultimately loses the fight. Drenched in fury, she succumbs to her blood-thirsty younger self and stabs the traitor in the heart.  A new Eniola emerges, one coalesced with her darker self, completely disproving the hints of repentance she showed in previous episodes. The final beats of the episodes feature two inciting scenes for the drama that is to come in the final episode: Eniola’s meeting with Aare with the

by Osamudiamen Joseph This episode opens on a conversation between Dapo Banjo and Mr. Nurudeen Gobir. The journalist had reached out to the newly appointed head of the NCCC in a bid to get some information from him about Eniola Salami and all her shady dealings. He meets a dead end as Mr. Gobir refuses to offer any help or take administrative action based on unverifiable intel. Mr. Banjo also engages in some moral blackmail which Mr. Gobir immediately shuts down: “No one has sacrificed more for this country than I have. It almost took my children…my job. It took my wife!”  Superlatives aside, he’s right. From the last movie, we understand that this is a man whose moral compass always points North. Even at the climax, when he opts for a moral decision instead of a legal one, it only goes to show that Gobir isn’t some automaton who will blindly follow the orders of the state. Eniola is guilty as sin and he is aware of that, but where is the justice and humanity in pronouncing judgement on her outside of a court of law? The above scene is really interesting because Gobir has been in Banjo’s shoes, he understands the frustration that comes with being let down by one’s superiors in the pursuit of truth. However, on this occasion, he cannot help the journalist. The reason again is because the entire investigation is underhanded and is probably being funded by Eniola’s enemies. Paul Sambo delivers a scene-stealing performance as expected. His portrayal of Gobir is so grounded that Efa Iwara’s Dapo Banjo pales in comparison. This seems to be a recurring problem in The Return of the King: a lot of characters are paper-thin. The building blocks of good characterization are all there, but somehow, they don’t come together well, unlike in the first movie where seemingly minor characters like Kemi and Kitan had motivations for every action they took. That movie was also very much Gobir’s story as much as it was Eniola’s. Dapo Banjo has some backstory. His blind devotion to his job has made his marriage suffer. Also, like his boss mentions in one scene, his father used to be a journalist too. These elements still don’t make his character interesting enough. For one, this sequel, “The Return of the King”, does not fall within the genre of mystery. The audience is already aware of all the information Dapo Banjo is willing to sacrifice his life for; he’s the one playing catch up. There is a moment at the end of this episode where he makes a decision to take his son home instead of following the Intel from his anonymous source about the meeting of the Table. This decision is framed as a moment of character growth, as something really difficult he had to do, but there is no arc here, only a ghost of one. Banjo’s character flatlines from start to finish. Watching him the entire time, I kept on thinking, ‘there is no reason for this character’s existence’. He takes up a lot of screen time, but all his actions are essentially null and void, full of sound and fury, and signifying nothing. In this episode, it becomes really clear that this sequel should have just been a movie, or at least a 30-minute long, five-episode miniseries. This would have really improved the pacing as unnecessary scenes would have ended up on the floor of the cutting room. Odogwu Malay, after suffering multiple losses at the hands of a phantom Makanaki, finally gets through to the King and she is pissed. Why? Heaven knows. She says it is because she cannot bear to sit down with traitors but that comes off as insincere. She has dealt with traitors before. Why won’t she do anything about them now? If her reason had been that she didn’t want to be seen with thugs and murderers because of her gubernatorial aspirations, that might have carried some weight. Some. This is essentially the plot of the first movie all over again. She neglected the table due to her ministerial ambition and all hell broke loose because of it. Odogwu has had enough of her inaction and he decides to take matters into his own hands: ‘If she’s neglecting us now, what happens when she’s governor?” His concerns are legitimate, but the movie pitches its tent with Eniola instead. He calls a meeting with the elders of the Table and announces a truce; he is defecting from Eniola’s camp effective immediately. At the end of the episode, Eniola finally addresses the members of the Table, through a phone call. I guess pride is one hell of a drug. Thrown into the mixture of plot beats for this episode is a seven minute-long (yes, seven whole minutes) scene with Makanaki and his witch doctor that looks strangely like something out of old Yoruba Nollywood, only with an Instagram filter over it and a bigger budget for props. A scene that should have dropped with a bang felt completely empty. In the first movie, when Makanaki, kneeling before the deities in the shrine, said, “Give me the crown,” again and again, I felt chills run down my spine. That scene was also crosscut with one where Eniola, decked in a white robe, was surrounded by prayer warriors, raining curses on Makanaki, at the beach no less. Those moments carried a lot of weight between them. The battle line was being drawn simultaneously by two rivals and only one could come out on top. The audience was teetering on the edge of their seats at that point. That was pure dramatic conflict on display. One person wants something, the other will stop at nothing to make sure they don’t get it. But in Return of the King, everything is muddled. Apparently, Ade Tiger is being blackmailed. Or something. He meets with this lady in a graveyard (“this is what happens to anyone who comes remotely close to the