One of the core tenets of democratic governance that makes it the fancy of egalitarian societies is the existence of institutions that check themselves to ensure the common people are never shortchanged.
This is the general premise of Ṣaworoidẹ, except in the place of a president, there’s a king; in the place of a legislative body and the constitution, Tunde Kelani creates a common man and his drum that could tear the palace apart with sweet melody.
This is the bedrock of Ṣaworoidẹ: the constant struggle between the rulers and the ruled.
The fictional town of Jogbo is Kelani’s blank canvas upon which he paints a society of immoral leaders who hold important positions only to enrich themselves. These leaders lie, cheat and kill to hold onto the material things that matter more to them than the people they lead and the development of their society.
As the king of Jogbo, the scheming Lapite, played with contemptuous meanness by Kola Oyewo, is the fictional manifestation of many real-life leaders with whom Nigerian viewers can make multiple past and present connections.
Lapite cheats and bullies his way to the throne, even pulling a gun on royal officials to avoid submitting himself to a contractual ritual he believes would get in the way of his looting plans. The spine of his rise is built on political assassinations and the corruption of institutions built to prevent people of his ill intent from leading any progressive civilisation.
Lapite’s misrule, the cronies involved in aiding him, the effects of their greed, the reactions of those most affected, and the ensuing chaos of it all play out just as they do in the real world.
Ṣaworoidẹ also explores the perils of capitalism, and how its predatory streak is enabled by the political class. When a powerful group of businessmen profiting off Jogbo’s natural resources are unwilling to play by the rules that protect the people’s interests, the natural resolution is to collude with political interests to cheat the common good. The consequences are expectedly dire and contribute to the central conflict of Ṣaworoidẹ — systems built to protect the common good conspiring to do exactly the opposite.
In being sensitive to Nigeria’s political history, the failure of this pseudo-democratic institution leads to a forceful takeover led by Lagata (Kunle Bamtefa), a military officer bothered by the misrule of Lapite and his chiefs.
In his spirited takeover manifesto, Lagata laments the underdevelopment of Jogbo and the man-made hardship visited on its people. There’s a new freshness about Jogbo and hope that things may be about to take a turn for good with a strongman figure to whip everyone and everything into shape.
But no sooner after his ascension does he also fall for the trappings of selfish leadership, controlled chiefly by motivations to enrich his pockets to the detriment of the people. This dramatic change is made possible by some rushed, inadequate character development on the film’s part because it happens in a flash, but it’s already well-established that absolute power corrupts absolutely.
The hardship of the people of Jogbo worsens and the repression of freedoms becomes harsher with new systems of oppression.
The disappointment of the failure of Lagata’s promise of change leaves the people of Jogbo, just like Nigerians in the real world, with an important question: Is the seat of leadership cursed to afflict all occupiers to become soulless monsters?
Ṣaworoidẹ isn’t much invested in an explicit answer — perhaps the closest it does is to suggest that people who aspire for the seat with the wrong mindset will always be terrible for the collective.
The film is also intentional about placing young people as the community’s conscience, most affected by the ruling class’s actions, and most pivotal to challenging its cruelty and charting a more noble path forward.
Kelani’s world of Ṣaworoidẹ is cynical about the ruling class, stern in its rebuke of predatory capitalism, and especially scornful of the damage the sinister love affair between both parties causes for the ruled — it hits too close to home that it’s no accident.
The film is provocative because it weaponises all the elements of real political intrigue to build a world that’s not only a replica of the past and present but also a cautionary tale for the future.
Ṣaworoidẹ ends with a message for the young and old to unite in building a better society for all — and it’s a message as meaningful for the real world in 1999, when the film was released, as strongly as it remains 25 years later.
