There’s a proverbial Yoruba saying that captures the essence of Khalid Balogun’s Ripped produced by BeatNFeet. Bí a bá sọ̀kò sọ́jà, ará ilé ẹni ní ń bá. It’s loosely translated as when you hurl a stone into the market, it could meet someone you share a familial bond with. The metaphorical stone could harm your wife, husband, son, daughter, brother, sister, uncle, aunty, grandmother, grandfather, and loved one. To avoid the fatality caused by a carelessly thrown stone, caution is preached. That proverb teaches us what the Christian doctrine teaches about loving your neighbours as yourself and ensuring that you don’t wield harmful stones and thoughts their way. To expand the meaning of this adage into governmental and economical corridors, it meant that the politician and venture capitalist shouldn’t make policies nor business choices that could potentially harm strangers and invariably their loved ones. Due diligence, the axiom suggests, towards people, is profitable in avoiding fatality.
This deceptively bright proverb, from another perspective, is deeply flawed as it anchors systemic flaws on individual choices. It places the burden of sanity, good deeds, social harmony, economic peace, and a harmless political structure and system on a sole individual rather than the violent political structure they operate under. It doesn’t account for why this person wants to throw a stone, why will they only exercise caution when they think of the possibility of hurting the loved one? When the proverb suggests that caution should be exercised to avoid “friendly fire” against a loved one, it reveals a deeply privatised, tribalistic ethic rather than a universal class consciousness. Ultimately, the proverb acts as a form of systemic gaslighting: it ignores the root causes of socio-economic frustration and absolves the ruling class, choosing instead to lecture the individual on personal restraint while leaving the violent political system and structure entirely unquestioned. This interpretive dilemma and error is part of the big thematic problem logged into Ripped.
A simple and straightforward story, it follows the story of Ray(...), a young undergraduate hoping against hope to build a career in the art space. Post-graduation, he’s bubbly with excitement, hope, and vigour for the future. This vigour motivates the emails he sent, the random spur of creativity he feels, and even dictates his feel-good mood. But, as each sent emails return with rejection and goes unanswered, the enduring confidence he inhabits, starts chipping off. Sadly, we see him emaciated from his bubbly self into a scared and scarred shadow. In usual Nigerian speak, Nigeria has, in the comfort of his house, happened to him and not his loving and supportive girlfriend, Chidera(....) nor his present uncle(....) can save him from it. The film captures the unshakable frustration that wears off young Nigerians after relentlessly searching for opportunities. The film and Ray’s reality forces one to think of the staggering youth unemployment rate in Nigeria that sits at approximately 5.3% to 6.5% according to official figures, though broader reports and advocacy groups estimate that up to 53% (nearly 80 million young people) are either unemployed or trapped in informal, unstable jobs. The film doesn’t shy from the grime reality. It captures it in firm dialogue and artistic style.
Politically, Ripped, though heavy on its dance scenes and choreography, is about the commercialisation of public spaces by the thugs and Nigerian government. The rapid commercialisation and monetisation of informal public spaces in Lagos driven by unregulated Agberoes, corporate development pressures, and strict government documentation initiatives like SCRAMP, presents Nigerian artists and filmmakers with a beguiling reality. After scaling through artistic and financial hurdles, they have to think of the logistical nightmare called Agberoes who have commercialised public spaces. The heavy commercialisation of public spaces, across the country, but more frighteningly in Lagos, have forced filmmakers and artists into a state of constant displacement. Unregulated thighs, high and illegal permit fees, and aggressive policing of public spaces by state-approved Agberoes disrupt creative activity and in most occasions unleash menace on artists. When unregulated thugs and government policies deny access to public spaces it shrinks the growth of third spaces and creative expression. Ultimately, when creatives are negotiating between safety and creative expression, the art suffers. And, in tragic cases as seen in the film and Ray’s story, the artist bears the burnt. Emotionally, the film is well defined. For viewers who operate within the Nigerian creative economy, there’s a level of kinship felt for the characters. But, this emotional success gets hindered by amateur artistic choices.
How does one explain the artistic horror that dominates Ripped? The usual and supposedly understandable excuse of funding. As an artist, it’s impossible not to be bullied by the funding crisis when making your work unless you have a Dangote-like bank statement. Thus, from inception of filmmaking till the end of the world, through Jesus’ second coming or the Big Bang, funding concern won’t disappear. The moving and creating artists will always have to be overwhelmed by the scarcity of funds and funders. This funding crisis is a reality an artist, in most cases, can’t control. But, there’s something important, seemingly elementary, but dangerously pivotal that an artist should be in control of: their skill and taste. It’s sacrilegious to be called an artist without an elementary and, in rare cases, virtuoso understanding and control of their art. A writer isn’t different from a casual diarist if they don’t understand the rudiments of sentences and grammar. A dancer isn’t different from a non-dancer if he or she doesn’t understand rhythm and movement. A filmmaker isn’t different from every random storyteller if they don’t understand plot and story. Ditto an artist too.
An artist can’t avoid this responsibility. They must be willing to hone their skills and develop their taste. Refusal to do this results in shabbily worded sentences, unrhythmic movements, and hole-ridden plots. Thus, what separates a quack nurse from a certified one is the mastery of their trade. And, painfully, that mastery is what’s grossly missing in Ripped. It’s only the absence of skill and taste that can explain the bland editing, the dull acting, tedious dialogues, and the boom mics and cameras competing with the actors onscreen. The writing gestures towards humanising the characters. Ray is representative of every young Nigerian dreaming their way into financial stability and freedom. Chidera isn’t just the faithful and supportive girlfriend but the image of love and belief. The uncle is the image of the ever-present and never-overwhelmed supporter. But, beyond this, we scantily know the characters. Agreed, there’s solid material here. The political and economic dynamic is apparent enough for keen and casual viewers because it’s our quotidian reality. Ray and Chidera are me and you. They’re young, hungry, creative, ambitious, and ready. But, the commercialisation of public spaces has caged their dreams. Again, there’s material and information here. These information don’t transform into drama nor story. They need to be wielded into one. But, the writing is incapable of wielding that power. Who are the characters beyond the obligatory idea they’re meant to represent? Who are they? Where are Ray’s parents? Why is the uncle the only family figure in his life? Who is Chidera? Is she a dancer? Why is she dancing when a tragedy claimed Ray? What do these characters want beyond what the plot requires them to want? These are plot-central questions that the film doesn’t provide answers for. The result: a hole-infested and emotionally-dull story.
There’s something artistically dangerous about message-obsessed films like Ripped. To its detriment, it turns everyone and moment into a gospel to be preached. Characters become ideas, not humans. Scenes and setting become political agenda. Dialogues become rhetorics not character interaction. This isn’t a call for filmmaking to be distant from political subjects. That will be a grossly irresponsible suggestion. Art and cinema should consciously reckon with national, cultural, economical, and political issues. However, what this politically-conscious critic is asking is that the message shouldn’t drown out the artistic merit and element of cinema.