Lobato - Creative Industries and Informal Economies Lessons From Nollywood
Lobato - Creative Industries and Informal Economies Lessons From Nollywood
Lobato - Creative Industries and Informal Economies Lessons From Nollywood
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CULTURAL studies
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Volume 13(4): 337–354
DOI: 10.1177/1367877910369971
● Ramon Lobato
Swinburne University of Technology, Australia
The creative industries (CIs) project has for most its short history been exclu-
sively concerned with urban, service-industry economies in the first world.
However, recent research in cultural studies, media studies and economics,
along with policy from UNESCO and UNCTAD, is seeking to extend CIs
thinking into new areas. Two examples of this shift towards transnational CIs
research are Michael Keane’s major study of cultural production in the
People’s Republic of China, Created in China (2007), and the edited collec-
tion Creative Industries and Developing Countries (Barrowclough and Kozul-
Wright, 2008), both important works which have opened up the debate by
337
of creative industries theory, and media theory more broadly. Nigerian video
has ushered in a new and innovative film culture, based around cheap and
accessible non-theatrical distribution rather than theatrical release; it has, in
effect, solved many of the distribution problems that plague filmmakers
across the globe. This article explores the potential transferability of this
release template to other film industries.
To date, the literature on Nigerian video has been produced largely by
anthropologists and scholars of African cinema and literature. Onookome
Okome (2001, 2007a, 2007b, 2007c), Chukwuma Okoye (2007), Moradewun
Adejunmobi (2002, 2007), Chika Anyanwu (1996), Akin Adesokan (2004) and
John McCall (2004b, 2007), among others, have all offered compelling
accounts of Nigerian video and its aesthetic, social and political contexts.
Recent special issues of the journals Film International and Postcolonial Text
also reflect the growing interest in the topic. The work of Jonathan Haynes
(1995, 2000) and the pioneering studies of Brian Larkin (1997, 1998, 2002,
2004, 2008), which helped to introduce Nigerian video to a broader readership
within the Western academy, have been particularly influential.2 However, crit-
ical dialogue between this body of video film research and ‘mainstream’ cinema
and media studies scholarship remains relatively rare. Most Nigerian video film
scholarship has been generated outside the auspices of film and media studies,
in a way that is not the case for research into many other national cinemas. This
ghettoization is a function of the obscurity of African cinema within Western
media scholarship, and the fast-and-cheap nature of the video film medium
itself, which means that it is not taken seriously as ‘cinema’ by cinema scholars.
This is unfortunate, for Nollywood is, in a sense, bigger than Nigeria. By
this I mean that it is a film industry of global significance, both in terms of its
output (thousands of films are produced and released annually) and the size of
its audience (which reaches well into the hundreds of millions). Creative indus-
tries researchers potentially have a great deal to learn from Nollywood, as it
opens up a space through which we can begin to theorize many different kinds
of media, not just African cinema, in a new way. Studying the organization of
the industry and the kinds of experiences it offers its audiences may in fact be
a useful way to rematerialize media studies in the overdeveloped world.
In the words of Emmanuel Sama, African films have, until very recently, been
‘foreigners in their own countries’ (1993: 54). By the mid 1990s, African films
accounted for less than 0.1 percent of titles screened on the continent
(Kabore, 1995). In Nigeria a few features by prominent directors such as Ola
Balogun have had some success, but cinema screens have long been domi-
nated by imported American, Indian and Hong Kong movies. Since the
1970s, 35mm production has been largely defunct, and 16mm features
number only a handful per year (Haynes, 1995: 97). Furthermore, the
kind of African cinema favoured by film festival programmers in the West has
virtually no audience in Africa itself – works by directors like Souleymanne
Cissé or Ousmane Sembène are rarely screened outside foreign embassies in
Nigeria, and are referred to by the new generation of video directors as
‘embassy films’.
This state of affairs has its roots in a set of historical and economic factors
which rendered celluloid cinema a redundant medium across most of Africa
and cleared the way for low-cost video production to emerge. The backdrop
to this is the colonial communications policies which regulated the experience
of cinema for Nigerians until the 1960s. In West Africa, film has functioned
throughout the 20th century as a vehicle for propaganda, a signifier of
Western modernity, and a status symbol for elites, but rarely as a means of
communication or a driver of social change for and between Africans. Cinema-
going has largely disappeared as a social practice in Nigeria, due to the closure
of theatres and the deteriorating security situation in urban areas.
This all changed in the 1990s, when video production emerged as a home-
grown alternative to celluloid cinema. In the wake of Kenneth Nnebue’s
breakthrough low-budget video film Living in Bondage (1992), an engaging
moral tale of greed and retribution set in the fast lane of middle-class Lagos,
locally made tapes soon began to appear in street markets across Nigeria. Shot
quickly and cheaply on VHS, with minimal scripting and post-production,
video films resembled home movies and eschewed established norms of
cinematography in favour of a cheap, televisual aesthetic.3
A crucial factor in the success of the video film industry, which by 1997
was producing nearly a film a day (Haynes, 2000: xv), was its unique method
of distribution. Video films were not made to be shown on the big screen.
They were sold and rented cheaply on VHS tapes, bypassing cinemas in
favour of the informal markets which supply most Nigerians with their needs.
These circuits, though labyrinthine, were organized and efficient. Part of the
reason for this is the fact that they evolved from pre-existing pirate networks
otherwise occupied with the illegal distribution of Hollywood and Bollywood
bootlegs. In his ground-breaking research on the Hausa video industry in
northern Nigeria, Brian Larkin explains how this system has evolved over
time to accommodate legitimate trade in video films and to return revenues
to producers:
The everyday practice of piracy in [the Northern regional capital of] Kano
was based around the mass distribution of the two most popular drama
forms, Indian and Hollywood films, and the reproduction of televised
Hausa dramas and Islamic religious cassettes. Nearly all of those who might
be described as pirates were at the same time involved in the duplication
and sale of legitimate media, and the organization that emerged made Kano
the regional distribution center for electronic media in northern Nigeria and
the wider Hausaphone area (which covers parts of Chad, Cameroon, Benin,
Ghana, and the Sudan). The system is this: the main dealers are based at
centers in Kano, like Kofar Wambai market. They then sell to distributors
in other northern cities, and these in turn supply smaller urban and rural
dealers who provide goods for itinerant peddlers. The system is based on a
complex balance of credit and trust; and although it depends, in part, on
piracy, it has evolved into a highly organized, extensive distribution system
for audio- and videocassettes. (2004: 295)
Today, Nigeria’s ‘radically horizontal’ (McCall, 2007) film industry – or rather,
the patchwork of different video industries (Yoruba, Hausa, Igbo, plus smaller
regional industries) that together make up the video economy – is the most
energetic in the world. Street markets across the entire African continent over-
flow with tapes and discs, which are restocked on a weekly basis (Okome,
2007a: 6). Nollywood has its own star system – video actors like Genevieve
Nnaji, Omotola Jalade Ekeinde and Ramsey Nouah are wildly popular in
Nigeria and are now veritable superstars throughout the African diaspora as
well, attracting large crowds of fans on trips abroad (Adejunmobi, 2007).
Nollywood has also generated its own infrastructure of reviewers and com-
mentators, numerous magazines and websites (e.g. naijarules.com, nolly-
wood.net), and emerging international distribution networks. It represents a
major innovation in African media, one which has created – for the first time
in history – a popular, accessible and economically sustainable film culture,
produced by and for Africans. Although the video film has many critics, who
slam its commercialism, its salaciousness and poor production values, it is now
the mainstream of screen entertainment in Nigeria.
The scale of the video economy cannot be overstated. Although it is un-
evenly regulated and unquantifiable, Nollywood is arguably the largest film
industry in the world today. Estimates of its current annual output are around
2000 – much higher than the US (520) and India (1325).5 The question here
is how to determine what counts as output, and definitional problems
inevitably arise. As Nigerian video films are not theatrically released, they are
not included in most international tallies of film production, such as those
compiled by UNESCO and the trade paper Screen Digest. However, given
that video is the dominant distribution medium in Nigeria, video films are for
all intents and purposes ‘real’ movies – they are what millions of Nigerians
watch, think about and talk about. Therefore, if we adjust our criteria to
reflect the number of films commercially circulated through the dominant
release platform, then Nigeria shoots to number one. (Admittedly, there are
hundreds more amateur and independent films produced annually in the US
on budgets comparable to the Nollywood films which are released straight to
video or fail to get a distribution deal, but the majority of these have negligi-
ble audiences. By contrast, almost all the Nigerian films are commercially dis-
tributed, and typical sales for the average Nigerian film are around 20,000
[Haynes, 2005].) So, while Nollywood is not the world’s largest film industry
in terms of revenues or audience, it’s likely that it produces more films that
significant numbers of people actually watch than anywhere else in the world.
As a result, the maximum value possible is extracted from each outlay, mak-
ing participation in video culture less prohibitive than the purchase price itself
would suggest.
Thousands of informal video parlours offer those without a VCR/VCD
player an opportunity to watch video films. A video parlour is simply a room
with a TV screen, some benches and an electric generator, maybe decorated
with some movie posters, where videos are shown to crowds of locals every
couple of hours. Entry to these venues costs around 20 to 30 naira, less than
US $0.25 (Ajibade, 2007). These spaces are as much about group discussion
as film viewing; animated debates over the virtues and vices of particular
characters or the quality of the film are common. However, this space is not
without its exclusions: video parlours tend to be male-dominated venues,
where, typically, women are not present (Okome, 2007b).
Finally, the video exhibition network also includes a variety of public
sites of film consumption, which are frequented by what Okome (2007b)
refers to as ‘street corner audiences’. Videos are screened day and night at
market stalls, hairdressers, shops, bars, and many other small businesses,
and Nigerian fans are known for their willingness to ‘stand or sit nearly
anywhere and anyhow to see the video film’ (Ajibade, 2007: 11). This kind
of spectatorship is a very important part of the West African mediascape,
and in some senses it performs roles in public culture previously assigned
to state broadcasting. As Larkin (2008) has argued, video is a ‘privatized’
medium – the product of a commercial industry which has no interest in
the universalist public sphere of African independence movements – but
within the context of a dysfunctional state apparatus and a TV system vul-
nerable to political interference, video now performs important public-
sphere functions.
Recent years have also witnessed a curious movement within video distri-
bution back towards theatrical and televisual exhibition. Having established
itself entirely outside these circuits, video now seems to have re-appropriated
them on its own terms. This trajectory can be traced back to February 1997,
when Zeb Ejiro’s video film Domitilla, a popular drama about prostitution,
was released in several Lagos cinemas in conjunction with African Independent
Television (Adesanya, 2000). Today, video films are also broadcast on satel-
lite TV networks such as Multichoice Nigeria and the South Africa-based
MNet, which features two 24-hour Nigerian movie channels – Africa Magic
and Africa Magic Plus (see Esan, 2008).
Having provided some background to Nigerian video film, I now want to
turn to some of the lessons that it may offer scholars of other film industries.
As I suggested earlier, Nollywood’s status as a successful and sustainable film
industry which has blossomed in an otherwise dire economic context without
any official support provides some food for thought for creative industries
research. The following section discusses some of the key structural features
of Nollywood with reference to their equivalents in First World media
economies.
Distribution has long been the major obstacle for filmmakers around the
world. Getting a film made is hard enough, but getting it seen by more than
a handful of people is usually impossible without the support of an estab-
lished distributor. Bottlenecks in distribution are a feature of almost all film
industries, resulting in a situation where a large number of films compete for
a limited number of slots in the cinema and spaces on the retail shelf. (For
empirical data on distribution bottlenecks in film economies, see Epstein,
2005; Scott, 2005; Vogel, 2004; Wasko, 2003).
Nollywood is different. Its industrial organization has been shaped by small-
scale entrepreneurial distributors formerly occupied with bootlegs and elec-
tronics equipment. Audiovisual content has always been more of an add-on to
an existing trade in electronics hardware and black-market media. There has
been comparatively little concentration or consolidation of ownership in these
networks, which are intricate yet highly efficient in their distributive power. The
industry is structured in such a way that large numbers of films can circulate
without the same capacity constraints that plague theatrical releasing. Premised
on distributive accessibility, on abundance rather than scarcity, Nigerian video
circulation has more in common with YouTube than Hollywood. It has created,
for the first time in Africa, a large-scale film distribution system uniquely suited
to the specific needs and preferences of its audiences.
To put this achievement in perspective, let’s compare some structural fea-
tures of Nollywood to those of the Australian film industry. Australia is a
nation with a per capita GDP 16 times that of Nigeria; its film industry
receives close to A$100 million in government subsidies each year; and it usu-
ally puts between 20 and 30 feature films into commercial distribution annu-
ally, accounting for around 4 percent of the national box office (Screen
Australia, 2009). Comparable statistics are not available for Nigeria, but no
one disputes the level of local demand for Nigerian videos – they are more
popular than Hollywood movies, are produced in massive quantities, and are
sold in every corner of the country. Nollywood is by any definition a film cul-
ture with which almost all Nigerians, especially young people, are closely
engaged; it is a popular film culture. Of course, there are many complicating
factors here, and much Australian audiovisual content finds its way to audi-
ences via other channels (especially free-to-air TV).8 But if we limit the dis-
cussion to feature-length films, and to distributive rather than textual issues,
then the contrast is stark: Nollywood produces a huge number of films for a
huge audience; the Australian film industry, despite extensive subsidies and
support, produces a small number of films that largely go unseen.
The informal trading networks established by the bootleggers, and stud-
ied so carefully by Larkin (2004, 2008), have also come to constitute a
regional market on their own terms (McCall, 2007). Videos are now traded
across the African continent, from Ghana to South Africa, and increasingly
throughout the Caribbean as well (Cartelli, 2007). Their subterranean
routes and the dispersed nature of these networks means that, for the most
part, they circulate freely and at relatively low cost, which was the objec-
tive of a previous, unsuccessful policy initiative to create a regional com-
mon market for film in the 1970s (the Inter-African Consortium of Cinema
Distribution). In effect, subterranean distribution has dissolved many of the
circulatory blockages that plague filmmakers and audiences in other parts
of the world. The lesson here is that, in some circumstances, informal and
semi-formal regional markets based around cheap technology and distribu-
tive accessibility can work where state intervention has failed. The grey
and black markets that facilitate the majority world’s everyday media con-
sumption – especially in Africa, Asia and Eastern Europe – cannot guaran-
tee the return of revenues to producers, but they are unmatched in their
distributive efficiency.
Closely connected to this last point is the question of intellectual property (IP)
regulation and its role in fostering creative industries.
As Bettig (1996: 103–6) notes, there has been a persistent strand of eco-
nomic theory that claims greater economic efficiency can be achieved in a lib-
eralized copyright environment, where the reduced returns to rights holders
would be offset by the productivity gains arising from lower prices and wider
availability of cultural goods. This argument is gaining popularity in the inter-
net age, and in the wake of influential publications by the likes of Lawrence
Lessig (2004) and Chris Anderson (2009). Even The Economist, which is
hardly a bastion of radical sentiment, is now arguing that copyright terms
should be stripped back to 14 or 28 years (editorial, 2 July 2005). Most of
this discussion has taken place in think-tanks, design studios and universities
in Europe, the UK and Australia, where the flouting of IP laws offers a kind
of thrill specific to regulated and consolidated media environments.
Nigerian video provides a concrete example which we can use to road-test
some of these theoretical propositions. The industry evolved under weak to
non-existent IP regulation, and this is built into the industry at a structural
level. Nollywood owes its existence to pirate infrastructure (Larkin, 2004,
2008) – to the bootleg circuits which, over time, grew into legitimate distrib-
ution channels returning revenues to producers; to the competitive culture of
informal streetside commerce which keeps prices down; to the borrowed sto-
rylines and soundtracks within the films themselves.9 However, attitudes to
piracy are now beginning to change as the industry, led by the Nigerian
Copyright Commission, moves to shore up copyright protection for produc-
ers and recast the widespread piracy upon which Nollywood’s success has
been founded as a socially unacceptable practice (see Nwauche, 2003). Piracy
is increasingly figured as a problem to be overcome, and representatives of the
producers’ associations monitor street markets to identify violations.
As with most forms of piracy, the issue here is not social deviance but
distributive accessibility. As the Nigerian producer Charles Igwe suggests, the
task for Nollywood as an industry is to keep its distribution extensive and
affordable so that there is no incentive to buy pirate copies:
Piracy has an interesting connotation in Nigeria because people tend to think
it’s criminals who do this and people would rather buy the counterfeit, cheap
copy and all that. The counterfeit copy in Nigeria costs just as much as the
genuine copy. So it’s not about the money. Whether you’re buying the coun-
terfeit or you’re buying the genuine one, it’s gonna cost you the same.… So
if we make the effort to put the genuine copy at the time of release in front
of the public, and they have all got genuine copies, I wonder who the hell
will buy the pirate copies? (Good Copy Bad Copy, 2007)
This is, in fact, the core issue in First-World digital economies – the affordable
and accessible provision of media goods – and it is on this count that tradi-
tional media industries are struggling in the face of the no-cost pirate alterna-
tive. The entirely predictable ‘debate’ about piracy in the West has only
recently begun to consider alternative business models built around digital dis-
tribution. In First-World digital economies, the proponents of such models are
often niche artists appealing to long-tail audiences. But in the Nigerian video
industry, this structure of distribution is mainstream, not marginal – it is the
norm rather than the exception.
Some fascinating structural parallels emerge here. In the first world, liberal
voices in IP/digital economy debates, having emerged from a context of tech-
nological, economic and media regulation, are now looking to deregulation as
an answer – whether to boost efficiency and entrepreneurialism (the economic-
liberal position) or to shore up freedom of speech (the libertarian position). The
Nigerian video industry is in many ways the epitome of a prosperous weak-
copyright economy, yet it is moving in the other direction by attempting to
strengthen copyright legislation and enforcement. On the other hand, it may
also be worth asking whether there are structural parallels here between
Nollywood and early Hollywood, with its anarchic, competitive, piratical cul-
ture, which over time came to be more regulated and consolidated after the for-
mation of the oligopolistic Motion Picture Patents Company in 1908. Either
way, the case of Nollywood can at least help us to rethink certain common-
sense assumptions about what constitutes a ‘developed’ media industry.
in Nigeria are familiar with the pleasures of the Hollywood blockbuster, the
gold standard of global film culture.10
Nigerian video films lag a very long way behind in their production values.
They are plagued by poor sound and rudimentary camera-work. The pacing
is slow, the performances exaggerated and the editing crude. Why, then, are
Nigerians so happy to settle for this ‘degraded’ film culture (Larkin, 2004)?
There is much that could be said on this topic. As Larkin (2004) and
Adejunmobi (2007) note, the long-standing practices of pirate tape circula-
tion have shaped the textual expectations of Nigerian audiences. While the
gap between Hollywood and Nollywood is clearly evident in the multiplex
environment, when ‘the viewer encounters the American film in pirated VHS,
DVD or VCD mode on home television, the difference in technical quality
between an American and a Nigerian video film may not be quite so flagrant’
(Adejunmobi, 2007: 5). The high degree of locality in the films is also an
important factor in their success. The diegetic world of the video films is not
necessarily the world inhabited by most video fans, but the films do engage
closely with many aspects of contemporary life in Nigeria, especially in the
cities. The films are vessels of Nigerian modernity, embodying a kind of glam-
our articulated in a distinctly African mode.
But there is also a lesson here about the nature of media markets. Almost
by accident, and certainly in the absence of a coordinated industry policy,
Nigerian entrepreneur-producer-directors identified and targeted what
became a specific but lucrative niche distinct from ‘cinema’ as it had been
defined up until then. Let’s return to Charles Igwe for further explanation:
We can’t go to the LA film schools, but we can tell our stories with our own
pictures. They look atrocious, the acting is horrible and all that, but it’s
piecing together the stories.… The American market has definitely set
the pace for most people. They are probably the most advanced in the world.
That’s accepted. But my people say: ‘You can’t be taller than me and shorter
than me at the same time. You’ve got to decide what you want to do.’ So
we give them the best in the world – yes, you take that, you take the high
end of the market, you take the biggest things in the market. But there’s a
lot of room to play somewhere else, and we occupy that space, quite gladly.
(Good Copy Bad Copy, 2007)
Common strategies for ailing national cinemas include attempts to replicate
Hollywood (big-budget blockbusters), disavow Hollywood via art cinema
(French auteur cinema, the Australian ‘AFC genre’), or indigenize Hollywood
(commercial Hindi cinema).11 As Igwe notes, Nollywood’s strategy was
to offer something different, in both its textual form and mode of circulation;
a ‘minor’ form of commercial film culture (Adejunmobi, 2007). In this sense,
we might like to see Nollywood as the structural equivalent of a
B-film production sector, rather than a national cinema, and we must also rec-
ognize that this strategy was the key to its success. None of the conventional
film industry policy directions were employed here, and they would not have
Conclusion
Notes
1588 films in 2007, the most recent year for which figures are available
(http://www.nfvcb.gov.ng/statistics/years.html), but given that many more
films circulate without official approval, many researchers estimate the out-
put to be around 2000. The figures for the US and India are for 2008 and
have been taken from recently released Screen Digest data (cited in Screen
Australia, 2009). For more production output data, see European Audiovisual
Observatory (2009) and MPAA (2008). Note that the figure for India
includes all Indian cinemas, not just Hindi films.
6 English-language titles tend to be released by Igbo producers. Igbo mar-
keters also control the distribution sector. See Adejunmobi (2002) for a
fascinating analysis of the commercial and sociocultural functions of
English within the video market.
7 VCD refers to the Video Compact Disc, a pre-DVD disc technology of the
early 1990s, which became common in parts of Asia and Africa. For more
on VCD cultures, see Hu (2005).
8 Of course, market size is an issue – Nigeria has a population of 154 million –
but this means little without effective distribution and production infrastruc-
tures. Indonesia, for example, has a much larger population but a stagnant film
industry. Note also that these comments have little to do with the conservative
critique of Australian filmmaking as esoteric, elitist, pretentious and so on –
the issue I am addressing here is distribution, not content.
9 For further discussion of the politics of IP in Africa, see Rønning et al. (2006).
10 For more on Hollywood and Bollywood’s presence in Nigeria, see Larkin
(1997, 2004), Diawara (1987), Guback (1985), Maïga (1993). A recent
paper by Barnard and Tuomi (2008) disagrees on this point, but it is poorly
informed about the history of film exhibition and distribution in Nigeria.
11 Thank you to the anonymous reviewer who pointed out that these strate-
gic frameworks have been analysed by the Harvard business professor
Michael Porter (1980).
12 A majority of today’s video film directors have no formal training, which
explains the amateur camera-work and editing found in many of the films.
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