Until recently, Ghanaian films were mere extensions of Akan Drama or when it was good enough, Thursday Theatre. A group of cash-trapped film lovers converge for a chat. An idea pops up, not exactly the big idea, but it is better than a baby’s lullaby. An oral script is developed right there and a rough characterization is done. Next, somebody will take care of the props, or think of how the characters will make do with what they are likely to assemble. The lady amongst them volunteers to produce some costume. Her only job would be convincing the characters to bring some of their own clothes for their roles. The venue could be anybody’s living room, because half of the film will be acted there. The only thing that will change will be the taxi that conveyed the sick protagonist to the hospital, where he met his abandoned son who has now become a doctor. A make up artist paints their faces as a cameraman stands by. Somebody who calls himself the director, and is also the producer, shouts to a group of people standing at ease: Action. At a point, he shouts cut, cut, I say cut. Two characters swap roles. Soon another Ghanaian film hits our screens. The title could be anything from Nyame Bekyere to Fatal Decision. The end of the film is predictable from the beginning. The producer’s returns are also predictable. He doesn’t complain very much, because he knows what he has done.
Of course, it wasn’t always that simple, but you always had real trouble suspending your disbelief (believability) when you watched a Ghanaian movie. There was no suspense, even where there was a semblance of suspense, it was not suspenseful. The ironies were not ironical, because the expected, rather than the unexpected, is what would happen. Synchronization was poor: either the gun shot was fired before the sound or the sound heralded the shot. There was no catharsis, and then the old problem of packaging.
Well, it seems this amateurish phase is giving way to a new professional era. I visited a Ghanaian lady in East London a fortnight ago. It was a banku and tilapia appointment that had been deferred from last year. I saw an amazing collection of Ghanaian films in her little room. Judging by the volume of the collection, I was tempted to think that she was a film producer or she sells them. Her explanation made the big tilapia beside my banku very sad: she is a spinster at 38, and there are times the single life does get really boring, so the films are her ultimate source of companionship. She was kind to slot in Beyonce, a new Ghanaian movie, as we collapsed on her bed to see parts 1 and 2 of the arresting love story of the president’s daughter. The film has two more parts to it: a ‘quadrilogy,’ if the film dictionaries would pardon me.
If the director of the film had wanted to model his characters on the personalities of some accomplished Nigerian actors and actresses, then he doesn’t appear to have done a very bad job. Mr. Van Vicker, the chap who plays Raj in the film, has something of Ramzi Noah about him. Of course, Ramzi, that mixed-race Nigerian star, is a bit of an Eddie Murphy, minus the jokes. He brings any character he plays to life, and he could play two contrasting characters simultaneously. Van is not exactly a thoroughbred, but he has some very fine skills that at once make him a promising star. When he cries, he is pitifully exciting, and his tears are quite inviting. You have no difficulty believing that he loves Sierra more than Beyonce, because he comes alive at the mention of her name. The excitement he exudes when he is with Sierra corresponds very well with his body language. When he pretended to have agreed to settle with Beyonce, he did well to portray that his thoughts were not in agreement with the language of the romance, and you wish you could help Beyonce convince him to see the good side of her love. That is when you the audience member become a vicarious participant. At that point, you would say the film has succeeded. Of course, there are still some rough edges that you would want Van to straighten. For instance, when he meets Sierra at the cemetery after the shooting at his wedding, he is not particularly convincing in his attempts to woo her back. Even so, you know that is the limit he could go after seeing her die three times and buried, because of her enduring love for him. His costume was poor throughout.
Nadia Buari, the beauty who plays Beyonce, the president’s over-pampered money- splashing daughter, does quite well with the role. She wants a man, and she pursues that prospect with the cunning determination of a religious leader who is desperately trying to hide his affair with a member of his congregation. When she attempts to kill herself with a kitchen knife, the quick intervention from Van transports you the viewer to the Romeo and Juliet classic Shakespearean love affair. She could have done it, you would say. When she says ‘Raj, I love you,’ it flows from within her spirit, and you know she does. She is the daughter of the president, and she carries herself as one. She is very beautiful and has a terrific screen presence. In fact, most of the time, she is as sweet as a lollipop, and that beauty adds to the overall beauty of the deadly romance. At a point, you wish you could ask if Nigerian star Omotola could have portrayed the character better. Well, Nadia leaves no stone unturned, or no turn unstoned, as KSM would like to put it.
Fritz Baffour does well as president; he looks quite important for the role, just as it should be. That is a credit for characterization. Raj’s friend appears to be reading his script; he is not natural enough. He is only a bit; he could be taken out from the story al together, and the plot will still hold. The props were a big plus. A president daughter is usually chauffeur-driven in a luxury car, and that is what you see in the film. At a point it was overkill though. The houses are imposing, replete with the superfluous furnishing you would expect to see in a rich home. Some good investment might have gone into the making of the film, and it came out quite good, at least by our standards.
Even so, you wouldn’t say the film is a benchmark of any kind for other Ghanaian movies. You would tire in repetition if you have to list the acting and editing flaws. It could be as bad as any other Ghanaian film you have seen. And that is because we haven’t taken the film and the theatre industry seriously in that West African country. Ante Araba Stamp stampeded to a miserable death recently, after devoting herself to a career that spanned some forty years. Her total assets as a prolific actress were not worth the price of a stamp, let alone an envelope. Wasn’t she fantastic in I Told You So? Yet her end was as bad as the fate of Chief letter writer Osuoabroboo in that Ghanaian classic.
And she is not alone. Before she died, Alexandra Akoto Duah had become a friend to me. I would later work with her son Kwadwo Akonnor Duah at STB McCann, Lartebiokorshie. Ante Alex, as we called her, accomplished major feats as an African actress. If you saw her in Kwaw Ansah’s Heritage Africa, her soothing baritone voice was as arresting as the message of the film itself. We first met at the Ministry of Communications when I was working as a national service person. She had been begging the authorities at the ministry for the sponsorship of a small office set up, a film think-thank of a sort. She had seen it done in other countries. That was her dream, and she took that dream to the grave after it became clear she was chasing the wind. Sometimes, she had nobody to talk to at the ministry, and everybody had heard her plea anyway.
So, it doesn’t surprise me that Nigerian films are doing better than Ghanaian films internationally. Even though we appear to be making some good strides presently, only Ghanaians will notice it, because apart from us, very few nationals of other African countries are interested in Ghanaian movies. Well, I hear Nigerians love Ghanaian films quite well. But on the whole, Nigerian films are popular in many African countries, and their Nollywood stars are well known across the continent, except North Africa, I would imagine. The marketing of Ghanaian films abroad has succeeded only to the extent that Ghanaian shops here manage to get the latest movies when they are released in Ghana. We haven’t done well to successfully sell our stories to other cultures. And now, the devil being so evil, you can get hot Ghanaian pornographic films in our shops and on the internet. I will be talking about this dirty porn breakthrough later. It stinks like putrid.
There is also the all-important issue of public attitude to the arts and entertainment industry. Our actors and actresses do not sign autographs, because it is not part of us. That is well understood. So, if you meet a popular actor like McJordan Amartey or Agya Koo, and you want to show how much you love them, how do you do it? If you thrust a book or a piece of paper into the hands of Agya Koo, and you ask him for his autograph, he is likely to put the book under his armpit and thank you for the gift. I am not sure he would care very much about autographs. Those who would know about autographs, such as Maame Dokono and Taxi Driver’s T.T. (Psalm Adjetefio), haven’t courted the public love very well. T.T. is fantastic any day, but I don’t think Maame Dokono is lovely everyday. I saw her turn down an invitation to pose with some kids for a photograph at a congregation at KNUST in 1998. The kids, who happened to be the siblings of a friend, were very disappointed. One of them didn’t want to see her on TV thereafter.
How seriously have we maintained our film and theatre training institutions? Even now, some folks still refer to Drama and Theatre studies at Legon’s School of Performing Arts as Dondology. Sometimes, those who should know better, such as university students, display a similar attitude. I have received training in journalism, English and Law, but I rely more on my Drama and Theatre minor at the first degree level for everything I do now. Yet, I was made to feel that the discipline wasn’t very useful, because I was not a good actor. Over here in the West, drama schools are in high demand, and actors and actresses are big celebrities who command big money whenever they feature in a film or play. And they are not particularly talented than ours; it is the massive public and institutional support that have made the entertainment industry in the west that successful. Imagine what David Dontor would be if he spends five years in America’s Hollywood. He would make a fine Samuel Jackson or at least do better than what Bruce Willis is doing. Let’s make Ghanawood as competitive as Nollywood or Bollywood.
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