I have always been a huge fan of movies. As a child living as a refugee in Guinea, I remember sneaking into our neighbours’ parlour just to catch a glimpse of whatever film was showing. I would quietly squeeze myself into a corner, careful not to block the way or offend the host family. My own family couldn’t afford the luxury of a television, our house was among the few without electricity.
The cinema became my hideout whenever I felt down. I would spend hours watching movies to escape the loneliness at home. Sometimes, I volunteered to clean the cinema hall before shows began, just to earn a free entry ticket. On other days, the operator would deny me access until the movie was almost over,but I waited anyway. My love for movies never waned, even after we returned home following Sierra Leone’s eleven-year civil war.
When I entered junior secondary school, my reason for watching films began to change. I realised that our displacement to Guinea had affected my English fluency, and I was performing poorly in class. Determined to improve, I turned to movie subtitles, especially from Bollywood films. I started reading them carefully, matching the words to the actors’ expressions and dialogue. Gradually, my comprehension improved. Within a few years, I became fluent enough to enjoy literature. I began buying second-hand books from street vendors, even though they were not part of our school curriculum. That habit shaped my intellectual growth more than I realised at the time.
Years later, I began to ask myself a deeper question: What if movies are more than just entertainment? What if they are designed to inspire philosophical ideologies in their viewers?
That question became even more relevant as I began watching Nollywood, Bollywood, and Hollywood films side by side. I came to see that each industry mirrors the cultural beliefs of its people. Beyond mere storytelling, they are also engineering a collective mindset.
For instance, Bollywood films of the 1990s often revolved around one-man heroism, a single individual rising against corruption or injustice. The underlying message was clear: change begins with one person, and others will join once you take the first step. Love stories were added for emotional appeal, but the central theme was courage, justice, and moral willpower.
Hollywood, on the other hand, pushed the boundaries of imagination. Sci-fi films like Star Trek, Star Wars, I, Robot, and Terminator explored universal dominance, artificial intelligence, and the power of human invention. They subtly promoted a belief in science as salvation. Even spy and agent movies were not mere entertainment, they reflected Western strategic thinking, influencing how societies perceived security, technology, and intelligence.
Meanwhile, Nollywood took a different path. Its dominant themes revolved around witchcraft, money rituals, and Christianity. The traditional herbalist became the villain--portrayed as an evil bush doctor who terrorised communities. The pastor or reverend father emerged as the heroic saviour who cast out demons and exposed the rich as ritualists. The narrative of blood money became central, reinforcing suspicion toward material success. Another recurring message was that wealthy older men preyed on young women, and that young women were home-breakers or ashawos--a moral warning framed in spiritual warfare.
Even Ghanaian YouTuber Wodemaya once confirmed this cultural stereotype in one of his vlogs from the Caribbean, where some women accused African ladies of “snatching husbands.” When asked where they got that notion, they said, “From Nollywood movies.”
Fast-forward to today, and each of these cinematic traditions has reaped what it sowed in the minds of its audience.
When I see young inventors and students in Asia creating robots or achieving scientific breakthroughs, I am not surprised. When I read about the emergence of ChatGPT and other AI tools challenging Google’s dominance, I see a direct reflection of the Hollywood imagination, a world that believes in human intellect and technology as the key to power and survival.
In contrast, across much of West Africa, religion dominates our cultural and intellectual spaces. In every town, you will find a church or a mosque. Communities pool resources to build these structures, yet struggle to construct workshops, laboratories, or small factories that could create jobs or solve local industrial needs. The psychological legacy of Nollywood’s religious storytelling lives on--we have been conditioned to see spirituality as the ultimate answer to every problem, while sidelining science and reason.
Even today, people often question the wealth of hardworking individuals, especially women. They accuse traders who wake up at 4 a.m. to cook and sell food of witchcraft simply because they manage to build a house or live decently. The same neighbours who do little to improve their own situation are quick to label success as supernatural. This is not merely ignorance--it is the product of decades of cultural conditioning through the stories we have consumed.
*Science, Intellect, and Willpower: Lessons from Batman and Iron Man*
Now, lest I forget what I truly wish to drive home in this piece, allow me to draw your attention to a critical observation I made from two blockbuster films, each from a different cinematic universe: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice (2016) by DC/Warner Bros., and Avengers: Endgame (2019) by Marvel Studios.
As I mentioned earlier, I treat movie-watching as a personal research project--an opportunity to decode meaning beyond entertainment. I chose these two films because, in my opinion, they reveal the ultimate ideological mission of Hollywood and Western storytelling: the glorification of human willpower, intellect, and science as the supreme forces of salvation.
Years ago, I read a thought-provoking essay attributed to a Nigerian professor titled *“You Cannot Reap a People of What They Don’t Have.”* That piece transformed how I watched movies. It taught me to look beyond the dialogue and camera angles, to study the philosophical engineering behind cinematography and how films can shape generations of thinkers.
Since then, I have spent years reflecting on the message of that essay and even attempted to write sequels to honour its brilliance--though none matched its profoundness. Yet, I find echoes of its wisdom in these two movies.
Now, I invite you to consider these two sincere questions:
Of all the gods, aliens, and powerful mythical beings in the Avengers, why was it Iron Man, a mere human dependent on science, who had to make the ultimate sacrifice to end the war and save humanity?
And why did Batman, an ordinary man with no superpowers, manage to defeat Superman, the mightiest being in the DC Universe, before later joining forces to save the world from Doomsday?
Doesn’t that already suggest that intellect and scientific ingenuity can rival, or even surpass, divine or mythical power?
The answer is a resounding yes! The entire cinematic design leads deliberately to that conclusion. The directors would never allow accidental science projects like Hulk or Captain America to defeat Thanos. Nor would they let mythical beings like Thor, Captain Marvel, or Doctor Strange save humanity. If they did, it would imply submission to gods, not science. Hollywood would rather engineer its audience,especially its young minds, to believe that salvation lies in human intellect, creativity, and innovation, not divine intervention.
The same can be said about Batman. Among all DC characters, he is the only superhero without supernatural powers. He is a scientific genius armed with willpower, logic, and courage. The pact may not have defeated Doomsday without Superman, but that doesn’t make Superman, the “god”—the most powerful. Batman had already proven through strategy and intellect that even divinity could be outsmarted by human reason.
The lessons we can draw from these two films as Africans are profound. We must begin to see Nollywood not just as entertainment but as a tool for social re-engineering. We must tell stories that inspire innovation, scientific curiosity, and collective progress, not just moral caution or spiritual fear.
A bright example of how cinema can reshape narratives is the Nollywood film Lionheart by Genevieve Nnaji, starring Pete Edochie and Nkem Owoh. Unlike many typical Nollywood stories, Lionheart portrays the strength, intellect, and resilience of a businesswoman who saves her father’s company. In many African films, women are often depicted as weak, emotional, or dependent. Lionheart challenges that stereotype, it celebrates women’s capability and leadership. It also redefines the role of the uncle figure (played by Nkem Owoh), not as a greedy saboteur but as a supportive family member.
Cinema is not just art-- it is architecture for the mind. Every frame builds or dismantles a worldview. While the West uses film to glorify intellect and science, much of African cinema still romanticises spirituality and suffering. Yet, the true power of cinema lies in its ability to imagine solutions before they exist.
If we, as Africans, begin to tell stories that celebrate thinkers, builders, and Innovator, the Batmans and Iron Men within us, then perhaps we will start raising a generation that does not wait for miracles, but creates them.
©Amadu Wurie Jalloh
19/10/25
Photo credit: anonymous
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