Babátúndé Lawal details unsettling vision of Nigeria’s future in ‘Honeycomb’

I was unsure what to anticipate when I accessed Babátúndé Lawal’s screening link for Honeycomb.

The poster hinted at social commentary, but its unsettling vibe suggested something darker. Premiering at the Afropolis Festival, ‘Honeycomb’ (a co-production between Lawal’s Arte House Studios and Meroestream) doesn’t just tell a story about survival—it’s an intense look at Nigeria in 2036, grappling with justice, power, and decay.

Written by Tobi Marho and Lawal, the film is bleak yet brilliantly layered, a bold warning of what survival could look like in a world stripped of morality.

The plot begins with two politicians—once powerful, now on the run from an anti-government militia called the Anti-Government Coalition (AGC).

Desperately seeking refuge, they end up in the home of “The Doctor” (Chukwu Martin), a seemingly kind host whose every action hints at something sinister beneath the surface.

Lawal and Marho’s writing uses a mix of grim humour and razor-sharp tension to peel back the Doctor’s intentions, building an atmosphere that’s both intimate and foreboding.

Central to the film is its cutting irony. These politicians, who once wielded power with indifference, are now forced to rely on a family they might have easily ignored.

The dinner scene captures this beautifully: the Doctor’s wife (Isoken Aruede) serves the politicians a generous meal, but when they offer to pay, she waves it off with, “money has no value here anymore.”

It’s a line that cuts to the heart of the story—a bleak reminder that in a fractured society, survival is the only currency.

The casting brings out these layered dynamics. Martin’s Doctor is unnervingly charismatic, switching between fatherly warmth and cold calculation.

His performance grounds the story, making each of his gestures feel loaded with meaning. Aruede’s performance as the Doctor’s wife is equally captivating; she brings a quiet intensity to the role, embodying a character who shifts seamlessly between warmth and unnerving indifference.

Her lines carry an edge, reminding the audience that beneath her hospitality lies a woman hardened by survival. Molayo Ogidan as the Doctor’s daughter delivers a standout performance—her innocence feels unsettling as she reveals glimpses of a darker side.

The moment she calls Emeka (Ben McAnthony) by his name, despite his never introducing himself, she stirs a sense of dread that speaks volumes about the family’s intentions.

Emeka’s own journey, from arrogant politician to horrified prey, is both tragic and oddly satisfying, though both he and his fellow politician could have used a bit more depth to fully realise the impact of their plight.

Lawal and Marho’s script pulls us deep into this world, balancing dark irony with social critique. They make the politicians’ predicament feel not just like punishment but a twisted form of justice—one that these men unknowingly helped set into motion.

The Doctor’s family could easily be cast as villains, but they’re more complex than that, representing a kind of reckoning for a Nigeria shaped by inequality and corruption. It’s this moral ambiguity that makes ‘Honeycomb’ both disturbing and thought-provoking.

The cinematography deserves praise for its restrained style. Shot compositions are crisp, relying on controlled framing that builds a claustrophobic feel inside the Doctor’s home, contrasting with the empty vastness outside.

Lawal and cinematographers Oluwayinka Akintunde and Damilola Abiodun-Olabiyi keep the visuals simple but impactful, giving the film an intimate, almost voyeuristic feel that pulls the audience right into the unease.

Babátúndé Lawal details unsettling vision of Nigeria’s future in Honeycomb

Yet, ‘Honeycomb’ isn’t flawless. The film’s opening act, while immersive, sometimes drags as Lawal lingers on shots of desolate streets and wreckage. These scenes establish the atmosphere, but the pacing might test viewers looking for a quicker entry into the story.

Additionally, the Doctor’s family, as fascinating as they are, could use a bit more backstory. Lawal and Marho hint at a philosophy driving their choices, but it’s left somewhat ambiguous. A more nuanced glimpse into what motivates this family could have elevated their role from symbolic to fully realised.

Despite these minor drawbacks, ‘Honeycomb’ succeeds as an unnerving reflection on survival and power. The film’s visual style further amplifies its impact.

Lawal and co-producer Desmond Ekunwe make the horror feel close and familiar, grounding it in recognisable settings—a prosperous suburb turned ruin, a family home hiding dark secrets. The contrast between normalcy and brutality gives the story an eerie intimacy, making it feel like a plausible vision of the future.

Ultimately, ‘Honeycomb’ isn’t just a horror film; it’s a social critique, using speculative fiction to hold a mirror to today’s Nigeria. Thanks to Marho and Lawal’s bold writing, Honeycomb delivers a powerful take on survival where justice is as twisted as it is justified.

It’s a haunting meditation on the cost of survival, challenging audiences to confront what happens when power and morality break down. In its bleak beauty, ‘Honeycomb’ is a vision of Nigeria that’s hard to forget—and impossible to ignore.

Note: ‘Honeycomb’ recently premiered at the 2024 Afropolis Festival of Arts. It’s not available on any platforms yet.

Subscribe To ANE Talk Trends On Youtube

Subscribe To All Naija Entertainment On Youtube