The day I decided to watch Everybody Loves Jenifa, I thought I was early—sharp guy like me. But apparently, Lagosians had other plans. The box office was already looking like a BRT queue during rush hour. “Come back tomorrow, we’re sold out,” the attendant said with a smirk that screamed, You dey whine me? At that moment, two truths slapped me across the face: Funke Akindele has Nigerian cinema on lockdown, and I might just be the only person in Lagos who hadn’t joined the Jenifa cult. As I dragged my tired self home, one question lingered: “Why does everybody love Jenifa? And will I?”
Let’s rewind to 2009—a simpler time when fuel was cheap, and Jenifa wasn’t just a movie; it was practically a religion. Her face was on posters at every video club, and her voice echoed in living rooms across Nigeria. My grandma, after laughing her heart out, would pause the tape just to preach about “bad company.” Jenifa wasn’t just entertainment; she was home training wrapped in comedy. Fast-forward 16 years, and Funke Akindele is still cashing in on her creation like a long-lost MMM pioneer. With Everybody Loves Jenifa pulling in ₦45 million on opening day (and that’s without Genesis Cinemas, o), you can’t argue with her star power. But here’s the real question: Is the movie actually good, or is it just noise wrapped in nostalgia?
The film kicks off in AMEN Estate—Jenifa’s crib for the soft life. Her business is booming, and her NGO is making waves. But trouble shows up in the form of Mr. Lobster (Stan Nze), a domestic violence perpetrator disguised as a philanthropist. Before you know it, Jenifa’s life spirals into a chaotic whirlwind that takes her from Lagos to Ghana, mixing domestic violence exposés with cartel drama and her iconic gbagaun one-liners.
Now, let’s call a spade a spade—this movie doesn’t pretend to be deep. It’s big, loud, and packed fuller than a plate of party jollof. The cast list alone is like a Nollywood Avengers lineup: Hilda Baci, Lagbaja, and almost everyone who’s anybody in Nollywood make cameos. While the star power will have fans screaming, the plot struggles to keep up. Imagine cooking with 15 different spices—sounds exciting, but the result might confuse your taste buds.
The biggest offender? The pacing. Some scenes drag on like Lagos traffic, repeating the same info over and over like a bad lecturer. And those subplots? Hmmm. Did we really need Destiny Etiko’s situationship with Mr. Lobster or Lateef Adedimeji’s waka pass moment as Jaburata? Honestly, the second half feels like the movie switched scripts halfway through, but at least Jackie Appiah shines as a drug lord. And then there’s Falz—our ever-reliable Shege. His romance with Jenifa is a refreshing oasis in this desert of plot chaos. Their chemistry reminds us why we fell for Jenifa’s charm all those years ago. Add Layi Wasabi as Rex, Shege’s sidekick, and you have some genuinely hilarious moments.
But e get one small wahala. Jenifa herself doesn’t quite hit the way she used to. Back in 2008, she was the underdog—awkward, relatable, and loveable. Here, she feels more like a parody of herself, surrounded by equally exaggerated characters. Adaku’s obsession with food, Madam Bassey’s limp and lisp—these gimmicks feel forced and unnecessary.
That said, the film has its moments of brilliance. The running gag of people correcting Jenifa’s grammar—even in life-threatening situations—is top-tier absurd humor. Imagine someone pointing a gun at you, and your response is, “Oga, it’s were not was.” It’s ridiculous, it’s bold, and it works.
So, why does everybody love Jenifa? Maybe because she mirrors our chaos as Nigerians—the hustle, the resilience, the gbas gbos of daily life. Or maybe Funke Akindele has simply built a brand too iconic to fail. Either way, Everybody Loves Jenifa knows its audience, and it delivers the kind of wild, laugh-out-loud spectacle that keeps fans coming back.
Is it Funke Akindele’s best work? Nope. But it’s far from her worst. It’s a nostalgia-heavy, slightly chaotic movie that will leave die-hard fans grinning and first-timers raising an eyebrow. And as I sat there in the packed cinema, surrounded by cheers and laughter, I finally got it. Loving Jenifa isn’t about logic or storytelling finesse; it’s about the vibes. The unexplainable, unreplicable, chaotic energy that only Jenifa brings to the table.
Rating: 2.5/5
Credit Daniel NSA
