.png)
By Precious Akilapa
Last month, I saw two movies—Ijakumo and Night Religion—by popular actress and budding producer, Toyin Abraham. I had seen Ijakumo once before, but someone recommended that I rewatch it alongside a new movie, Night Religion, and then come back to tell them what I thought about both movies. Having agreed to take the time to analyse both movies, it only feels right to provide a comparative review.
Between the two films, Ijakumo stands out as the stronger watch, in my opinion; it feels more deliberate and thoughtfully executed than Night Religion, despite having its own share of flaws. Despite both films being riddled with plot holes and unanswered questions (such as the backstory of how and when Ruth turned, how David, her brother, did too, and the real connection between Jessy and Ruth), they each still manage to engage with an important aspect of Nigerian culture that remains relevant today—performative Christianity. But then, what's up with Toyin and religion, if I may ask?
.png)
What is Ijakumo if not the story of how lucrative performative Christianity can be? Jide, a random “nobody” who had failed at everything else he tried, decided to become a “Man of God” as his last-ditch attempt to make a name for himself. And why exactly did he choose the path of a “Man of God”? Because he realized what many others have: the church is a lucrative venture. Men of God make a lot of money, and money was all Jide wanted. So why shouldn’t he perform the role of a “Man of God” if it would get him what he wanted? It’s not like God really had anything to say about it.
Where Ijakumo’s critique of performative Christianity was all about how people use religion as a means to amass wealth beyond what they could have ever achieved otherwise, Night Religion showcases a more mundane, yet no less insidious aspect of performative Christianity. In Night Religion, the criticism is directed at the everyday normalization of religious hypocrisy. Here, the most obvious embodiment of this hypocrisy is Ruth, the pride of the family, who turns out to be the worst form of sinner possible: one who would do anything to keep wearing the mask of a saint.
But Ruth isn’t the only hypocrite in the seemingly devout Falana household. After all, what are her parents if not hypocrites? Isn’t it hypocritical to uphold strict moral standards for one child while quietly excusing, ignoring, or even enabling the very same behaviour in the other? This double standard, I believe, is what really leads to the tragedy that befalls the Falana home at the end of the movie. If Mr. and Mrs. Falana had treated Ruth with the same suspicion as they had their male son, Jide, they’d never have missed all the signs that things weren’t how they seemed. And if they had given Jide as much grace as they did Ruth, they’d have taken all his concerns more seriously and maybe have prevented the disaster that befell the family.
A similar dynamic is at play in Ijakumo. There, although Jide is the chief performer, several other characters play crucial roles in sustaining the illusion. There are the members of the Syndicate—Jide’s true source of wealth—who use his entire persona as a façade to legitimize their operations and funnel illicit gains through the unquestioned authority of religion. They, too, are guilty of the same sin. But even they are ''ju''. There’s the prophet on the rock, the nameless preacher who, unknowingly, inspired Jide to turn God’s work into a tool for personal gain. There’s even Asabi, the protagonist of the story, who was willing to seek the help of the gods of the land to bless the hands of her lover while he performed for what was ideologically an opposing God.
Watching both movies side by side makes for an interesting double feature, flaws notwithstanding. When taken together, these two films paint a picture that exposes how deeply embedded performative Christianity has become, both as an instrument of ambition and as a quiet, everyday practice. If Ijakumo shows how religion can be deliberately exploited for wealth and influence, Night Religion reveals how the same performance can take root within the home, shaping how people judge, excuse, and ultimately fail one another. All of this, I believe, points to one troubling reality that needs more honest scrutiny in the Christian community: the fact that the line between genuine faith and calculated performance can be a very blurry one indeed, and that sometimes, people are more incentivized to appear righteous than to actually live righteously. Yes, the Bible says, “by their fruits you shall know them,” but sometimes the fruits on display do not tell the full truth about the tree they come from.
