To Kill a Monkey: Excess, and why Storytelling isn't Theatrics.

This review contains spoilers for the Netflix series To Kill A Monkey.

First note; a warning: it is not recommended that you fit in the term ‘To Kill a Monkey’ into the start of Kendrick Lamar’s Wesley’s Theory, lest an earworm develops. Perhaps that speaks to how catchy a title that Netflix series is (alongside an equally likeable acronym, though that owes as much to Harper Lee as anything else). But all that’s by the by.

Kemi Adetiba’s latest step onto the scene with Netflix is via the limited series, which stars William Benson, alongside Bucci Franklin, Stella Damasus, and Bimbo Akintola. To Kill a Monkey also features appearances from Lilian Afegbai, Chidi Mokeme, Ireti Doyle, Teniola Aladese, and Sunshine Rosman, among others. The story initially is simple, if far from easy: Software developer Efemini Edewor (William Benson) has aspirations of applying his revolutionary app into the world of financial security, but to say he’s down on his luck would be an understatement. Such is the desperate state of Efe that it births the remark from his work supervisor that his god doesn’t like him. That is, until he meets an old acquaintance in Obozuhiomwen ‘Oboz’ (Bucci Franklin), who presents a quite Faustian bargain; financially stability and buoyancy at the cost of his soul and stomach.

A lot of To Kill a Monkey is propelled by the presence of and interactions between Efe and Oboz, and their juxtaposition as two halves of a dirty whole; a bit like the Tom Hardy duopoly characters in 2015’s Legend, but more compelling. What makes it work for our leading pair here is how the series positions them in contrast to each other. One brazen; the other, concise. The brash and abrasive loudmouth beside the rather taciturn and self-righteous nice guy.

To Kill a Monkey does quite well to depict the juxtaposition; in the characters’ diction, get-up, and overall demeanour. It shows in the way they talk to each other, and even in their chauvinistic and disrespectful behaviour towards women. Oboz is the one who makes borderline murderous remarks towards women who don’t buy into his acts of being rich and don’t fawn in servitude, and is unapologetic about his wealth and how it came about, while Efe is the ‘good guy’ who seemingly has charm and supposedly cares about his marriage despite being nigh-on abusive towards his wife, and is really only acquiring this dirty money to take care of his family. This clearly outlined distinction also offers a window into how their hubristic downfall would come; one who believes his brashness and brutality will continue to keep people (allies, loyalists, and enemies alike) in line, and one who is sure his smarts and gentlemanly behaviour will absolve him when the ceiling comes crashing down. And the acting from Benson and Franklin do bring this to life. The performances from the pair depict love, disdain, squabble, reconciliation, regret, betrayal, and much more.

However, if the performances from the lead characters - and much of the cast - stand up to the spotlight, it almost always happens in spite of the writing in To Kill a Monkey, not because of it. If Bucci Franklin lights up the screen anytime he appears, it’s not exactly complemented by the sort of writing that makes Efe repetitive on too many an occasion and dampens his dimension as a character. If William Benson also dominates when he appears, especially alongside Franklin, that does a lot of the heavy lifting given how much the series on its own strips him of compelling qualities basically after the second episode. Efe is supposedly the brains of the elevation of the pair’s endeavour, and for a series that hinges a lot of conflict, both external and internal, on that, it gives nothing in that regard.

For a series that did a lot of showing to depict Efe’s situation and desperation in its early episodes (frankly, far too much showing), it suddenly asks us to get by with just being told... or rather, being barely told anything beyond that Efe is supposedly the brains of the operation. This is especially problematic given that Oboz’s wealthy status already exists before Efe comes into the picture... or it would be if we got any real depth into Oboz’s wealthy status before Efe came into the picture. It was the classic Nollywood mishap of good-actor-bad-character.

If the writing in To Kill a Monkey can be excused for its lead pair despite its many shortcomings (it can’t), it’s borderline criminal regarding the rest of the characters. Perhaps the biggest case in point is Nosa (Stella Damasus), who goes from dotting parent (which in itself was without depth) to distant alcoholic without any substance as to why that was the case, robbing her of any real interest and flattening her as a character. Chidi Mokeme as Teacher doesn’t fare any better either; his background and initial motivation is explained in a 15-second monologue, and most of the rest of the series is him reenacting the frightening-witty boss villain with shtick. Then there’s Sunshine Rosman as Amanda Sparkles, who first bursts onto the scene in the series as a formidable and compelling figure, but whose arc reads more like character assassination than development, leaves the audience with many questions, and also calls into the question of the Nollywood trope of repeatedly using pregnancy as a means to push a plot - or at least a character's trajectory - forward.

There’s some more flesh given to Bimbo Akintola as Inspector Ogunlesi, but that’s also as flawed as it is limited. Plus, her presence seems very much like a representation of Adetiba’s ideological position regarding different societal issues (wealth and morality, crime, and policing). The depiction of Inspector Ogunlesi’s mental health struggles bears parallel with that of Efe’s initial financial strife; a lot of excess - at some point it seemed less like showing the struggle of it, and looked like it was being crafted by someone who only understands and empathises with hardships when it's displayed and performed to its most brutal and extreme.

From a visual stance, To Kill a Monkey hits some of the right notes. It’s not just that we see Efe’s desperation early in the series via his strife and even guilt (top marks for the hospital scene), or that there are constant visual depictions of the tussle between Efe and Oboz. It’s also how this series visually displays and communicates grief ( for instance, Lilian Afegbai in the series finale) or vulnerability; via character outfits, facial get-up or just hairstyle.

Not to mention that there are scenes that still speak to Adetiba as someone versed in production. Some character intros are worth watching again, and scenes of tension do brilliantly to communicate that without fail, even if the tension isn’t always deducible.

But this series’ struggle with excess can't be escaped, and is also highlighted in the repeated use of tones and scores in scenes, which undercut both the scenes and the scores. So many sequences are accompanied by theme sounds, which are obviously placed for the purpose of elevating the scene, but at best, they end up showing an unwillingness to let scenes carry their weight on their own, and  at worst, they simply ask those scores to create empathy for characters and tension for scenes, attempting to do the job a proper backstory and development should have. In many ways, that speaks to a director whose strengths still mainly lie in the production and theatrical bit, and not quite the literary side of filmmaking.

To Kill a Monkey tries to be hard-hitting while toning down some of dramatic bits that are associated with Adetiba’s most famous film work - King of Boys (the sequel series, at least). But while it starts out with a bang and a true sense of piquing intrigue, it strips itself of those qualities as it progresses, and for a series that largely lingers, particularly in much of its mid-point, it provides an ending that’s utterly predictable, quite contrived, and incredibly impatient.

For a series that gave itself so much to material work with on the off - literarily, societally - far too much was wrong.

On About Nothing Rating; 4.5/10

*Note: Film ratings are those of the authors of the articles and not necessarily. the entire On About Nothing platform in itself.