7th December, 2012
There is a subsisting debate that I find necessary to join in. Should a man who has barely clocked 40 be writing his autobiography?
While I would naturally be inclined to respond in the negative, if that man is Charles Novia, the case may be different. This conclusion is reached after reading Nollywood Till November, Novia’s autobiography, which incidentally is the first book on Nigeria’s film industry by an insider.
I began reading what the author describes as “a detailed narrative of my road to fame and glory” with the skepticism mentioned above resulting from age and time of fulfilment. The fact that the author has a supreme sense of his self and destiny helped very little.
“I was incensed,” he says, on the first page, where he also reels off his series of accomplishments as proof of his ‘fame and glory.’ He shares the story of how Solomon Nwoko a director, underrated his talent and his experience when he set
about his first movie, Deep Secrets. “He had a mindset and it was left for me to either do away with his services or prove him wrong. I chose the latter,” the author wrote of Nwoko.
By the time the author gets to that stage in his career where A-list actor Richard Mofe-Damijo tells him, “Your name is the hottest topic right now. You have done well. I am proud to know you,” he had for sure proven every detractor wrong.
But this is not just a story of personal achievement; it is also a story of a collective glory. Novia, through this finely narrated work, tells me a story I thought I knew. But I was mistaken
He chronicles authoritatively how Nollywood has risen and falls every now and again like sea wave. He captures his own maturation from being the king of love stories from Bridesmaid to Cinderella, Lover’s Day to For Your Love; how the industry began to conquer the rest of the world, and even delicious little gems like how he came to find out that star-actor Jim Iyke’s accent,was all part of make-believe as the movie industry really is.
Straddling the space between critical and acclaim and popular fare, Novia became so successful that he had four hit movies back to back at some point, as he recalls a marketer telling him.
Like many other industry watchers, I fell under the Charles Novia Think Spell. I particularly remember When Love Dies, the movie he made in 2003 which sold over two hundred thousand copies taking Novia to “another stratosphere in Nollywood”; I will Die For You, a political tale that was one of RMD’s finest showcases if there ever was one; and of course, the ambitious Missing Angel – complete with a first-of-its kind premiere and billboards across Lagos – which reportedly sold over one million copies and, according to him, has a shelf life that endures. To many people, he says belying an air of arrogance, “it is one of my Nollywood classics.”
His venture with November Records is another aspect of a hilarious tale. He might not have worked that magic with other artistes on the label like Yemi Esho, Zubby Enebeli and Danny Dolor – but what he did with Majek Fashek, a project he took on after he attended a concert and found that Majek would “suddenly stop and then go towards the right hand side of the stage and begin to rail against nobody in
particular”, is legendary.
But, as I said, the primary power of the book might come from the way he weaves his personal stories with the movie profession’s; the fire that razed his office for one, or the larger narrative; for instance, of the relationship between Surulere, Idumota and Upper Iweka Road. And in telling that narrative, he answers so many questions, including the one eloquently captured on page 83: what went wrong with the flamboyant Nollywood of the Amatas and the Ejiros? As he tells stories of marketers as “demigods who created new monsters”, Novia surmises that the ridiculous ban on some actors in 2004 “was a no-win situation for all the parties involved.”
There is a frustrating tendency to use the biggest words he could find, thus laying bare a key vice in the book. Two examples: “I moved the plot from the romantic surrealism I toyed with… to deep spiritualism tinged with a poignant emotional drama”, and then, “… one senses a growing despondency which may simmer into an explosive fracas”.
In addition, many parts of the story seem like the storyteller bowed to the temptation of exaggeration. But, because that cannot be verified, at least not by this reviewer, and also because no one amongst us can cast that first stone, one can only point to the fact that, suspected inflation of records aside, the heart of this story, its essence, is no lie. Novia has accomplished a book project.
But from the purity of his soul as an artiste comes the more affecting thanks – that for the talent he has worked with, and his joy is beautiful to … read. “Desmond (Elliot) did exactly what I wanted from him, if not more!” he crowed of the movie, Missing Angel. “Before long, he ‘became’ the character. I was thrilled.”
But if he can be grateful, then, by God, he can also get angry – and even more. His willingness to draw blood reminds me of another impressive Nollywood movie, Scores to Settle.
However, this comes from another powerful narrative tool, so adroitly used – honesty. What he thinks of Stella Damasus and her rivalry with Genevieve Nnaji, he tells; his experience with Sypder, the creative, business storyteller that was his first marketer: he says just how he feels about the “notorious” actress Omotola Jalade-Ekeinde and her legendary “wahala” he shares.
But there is no place where this honesty is more useful than when he shares the stories of two ambitious, but impressive, even historic projects that would have transformed the Nigerian film space – the Film Market and Project Nollywood.
Sadly, the book tapers off towards the end, doing a great disservice to what one can call Nollywood’s medieval period. After the “epic” tale that was Project Nollywood, it’s as if the book suddenly lost interest in itself – tired, wistful, and almost sad.
The last chapter is as engaging as others. He shares his experiences of life in Benin City where his talent was first discovered and nurtured, of the profound effect programmes like Hotel De Jordan and Pot of Life had on him, his odyssey through stage and the NTA, Michael Jackson’s influence on him and the enduring affection for the late music icon. He feels same for Teddy Riley whom he calls his “creative mentor”. It is an interesting, humorous, engaging end to this 140-page work.
However, for a man who migrated from Benin to Lagos when he was only 19, armed only with his luggage, mere dreams weren’t good enough. I expected this to end on a high note – with an eye towards the future, and more trails to blaze, more mountains to conquer; the world at his feet.
Did Novia deliberately end this book on this note of nostalgia? I cannot say. But it is very instructive, and perhaps worrisome, that the book ends abruptly after the costly adventure with thrifty bankers at EcoBank. Incidentally, this is around the same time that Nollywood seemed to have become the subject of ‘Is Nollywood dead’ essays in the newspapers.
Is this therefore, an ominous sign? Is Novia tired? Is his heart broken? Is he disappointed in the industry in whose drama he played an integral role? Is he worried for the new generation of film-makers? Does he see dangers ahead?
I am asking this question of Novia. But it is not just him I ask, because this story is not his alone. I am asking many of you who have the interest of Nollywood at heart.
—Chude Jideonwo