When I saw that Behind the Scenes would be available on Netflix from April 3, I was genuinely excited to watch it. Originally released on 12 December 2025, the film has reportedly earned over ₦1 billion at the box office, making it the highest-grossing Nollywood title of 2025 so far.
The beginning of the movie grounds it in social reality where spraying money in parties is now considered Naira abuse, or more appropriately, the mutilation of national currency, by the Nigerian government. Members of the FCTF (Financial Crime Task Force, otherwise known as EFCC, the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission) storm the party where Alero (Iyabo Ojo), the birthday girl, and Adetutu (Funke Akindele) are spraying money and are subsequently arrested. The chaos of that moment, the abrupt disruption of celebration, the almost forceful arrests, the public spectacle, briefly suggests that the film is willing to interrogate a culturally ingrained practice now criminalised by the State. Aderonke “Ronky-Fella” Faniran (Scarlet Gomez), Adetutu’s sister, eventually comes to their rescue.
But even from this point, the film begins to show one of its biggest problems. It introduces a strong, socially relevant conflict and then does almost nothing meaningful with it. The whole FCTF angle feels more like a plot device to kick things off than something the film is actually interested in exploring. After the initial arrest and release, there is no sustained tension, no legal or emotional consequence, no deeper engagement with what that act represents. It just fades into the background like it never really mattered. And this is where the film starts to sit comfortably within a familiar Nollywood storytelling pattern: introduce a socially relevant issue, use it as bait, and then abandon it for interpersonal drama that feels safer and more marketable.
There and then, it becomes clear that Ronky-Fella is the family’s bail-out ATM not only for Adetutu, her elder sister, but also for Adewale, her younger brother. This is reinforced through multiple scenes where financial distress becomes a recurring trigger for interaction: urgent calls, sudden appearances, emotionally charged requests that always circle back to money. Ronky-Fella is also responsible for the ‘education’ of her sister’s twins, a means by which Adetutu manages to get money from Aderonke ‘Crude Oil’, as she calls her. The repetition of this pattern, request, hesitation, and eventual compliance, becomes the defining rhythm of their relationship. The problem with Ronky-Fella is her messianic complex, or what I call the belief that she can save everyone, including her two friends Mariam (Uche Montana) and Wendy (Ini Dima Okojie).
However, the film stretches this idea to the point that it becomes repetitive and even exhausting. Ronky-Fella is written as this all-giving figure, but the movie does not give enough depth to why she is this way. There is no real backstory, no defining moment, nothing that properly explains this overwhelming need to carry everyone on her shoulders. Even in moments where she shows signs of emotional strain, the film quickly returns her to the same cycle of giving without reflection or resistance. It just expects you to accept it. At some point, her character stops feeling human and becomes a tool used to move everybody else’s problems forward.
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And this is not an isolated issue. It reflects a wider pattern in recent Nollywood family dramas, particularly those driven by big-name producers like Funke Akindele. The “burdened provider” trope has become almost formulaic (as in Uche Montana’s recent movie Monica, though a true-life story), where one character is stretched thin for the sake of others, surrounded by exaggerated dependents whose main role is to create chaos. The emotional beats are familiar, almost predictable, and instead of deepening the character, the film leans on repetition to force empathy.
Adetutu, on the other hand, is loud, manipulative, and unapologetically dependent, but even that is not explored beyond the surface. In several confrontational scenes, she leans heavily on emotional blackmail, invoking family obligation, exaggerating her struggles, and weaponising closeness, yet the film never pauses to interrogate where this behaviour comes from. The outbursts are frequent, the entitlement is clear, but they exist in a vacuum. Is it greed? Is it learned behaviour? Is it desperation masked as arrogance? The film never really tells us. So, instead of a layered character, we are left with a one-note portrayal that quickly becomes predictable. And again, this falls in line with a common Nollywood archetype: the dramatic, overbearing relative whose excesses drive the plot but are never interrogated.
The same problem extends to Adewale. His dependence is clear, almost exaggerated at times, but again, there is no depth to it. He appears mostly at moments of need, reinforcing the idea that Ronky-Fella is surrounded by people who take advantage of her, but beyond that, he is barely developed. And when he suddenly begins to care for his sister’s kids, the moment carries a certain poignancy, but the film offers no insight into how he arrives at that change.
Even the supporting characters suffer from weak characterisation. Mariam and Wendy, for instance, are present but not fully realised. Their interactions with Ronky-Fella are largely defined by what they receive from her, and the film offers very little insight into their lives outside of that dynamic. Their presence feels less like independent narrative threads and more like extensions of Ronky-Fella’s generosity. This, again, is something we have seen repeatedly in recent Nollywood ensemble casts where characters orbit a central figure without truly existing beyond that orbit.
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For the most part of the movie, it dwells on this family drama, the insincerity, the chaos, the extortion, and everything in between. But that is also where another flaw lies. The film does not seem to know when to move on. It keeps circling the same emotional beats without building them into something deeper. Arguments erupt, voices rise, emotions peak, but instead of progression, the film resets and repeats the same structure in slightly altered forms. Scenes drag longer than necessary, conflicts echo each other, and the pacing begins to suffer because of it. The film confuses noise for intensity, and as a result, the emotional weight it is trying to build never quite lands.
There is a certain rhythm to contemporary Nollywood family dramas: heightened arguments, drawn-out confrontations, emotional blackmail, and a reliance on dialogue-heavy scenes to carry tension. Funke Akindele’s productions, in particular, often thrive on this energy, but here it feels excessive. The film leans too heavily on dramatics without matching it with narrative progression. So, instead of escalation, we get stagnation disguised as intensity.
There is also an issue with the plotis structure. The transitions between major events feel abrupt, almost disjointed. One moment leads to the next without enough narrative build-up, making some developments feel unearned. The story leans heavily on convenience. Things happen because they need to happen, not because they naturally flow from the characters’ actions. This becomes especially noticeable in how quickly certain conflicts are introduced and resolved, without sufficient narrative grounding to make them feel earned.
The most emotional investment of the movie is in its attempt to show what our lives can be behind the scenes when Ronky-Fella feigned her death and watched what was left of her. The idea itself is striking: a character stepping outside her own life to observe how she is valued in her absence. In those moments, the film briefly gestures towards something more introspective, as different characters react in ways that hint at their dependence, their insincerity, or their regret. But even that moment feels somewhat underdeveloped. The reactions are not given enough time to fully unfold, the emotional beats feel rushed, and the film does not sit long enough with the implications of what is being revealed. It was meant to be poignant, but the execution lacks the emotional weight it should carry. It almost feels like the film stumbled upon its strongest idea too late and did not spend enough time nurturing it.
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Even on a technical level, the film struggles to maintain consistency at times. Some scenes feel well put together, while others come off as rushed or uneven. The tonal shifts can be jarring. One moment, the film tries to be deeply emotional; the next, it leans into almost exaggerated drama, and it does not always blend these tones effectively. That imbalance continues to affect a number of recent Nollywood releases, where the line between drama and melodrama is often blurred without control.
In the end, Behind the Scenes has a solid premise and touches on very relevant themes, but it struggles with depth, consistency, and character development. It gives you glimpses of something powerful, but never fully commits to it. And by trying to fit into a familiar Nollywood family-drama mould, it loses the opportunity to truly stand out.
Behind the Scenes is streaming on Netflix.
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