In a time when the indigenous epic genre has begun to feel repetitive and forgettable, Labake Olododo keeps you engaged and entertained, at least for the bulk of its almost two-hour runtime.
By Vivian Nneka Nwajiaku
Iyabo Ojo’s big screen producer debut, Labake Olododo: The Warrior Lord (2025), directed by Biodun Stephen (Breaded Life (2021); Sistá (2022); Momiwa (2024)) is a fictional epic tale of a female warlord in an ancient Yoruba village called Lukosi. Ojo stars as the eponymous warrior: staunch, powerful, spiritually fortified, and well-respected by the royals and villagers.
Labake’s army is a mix of women and men, even if her highest ranking warriors are men. On one side, Alaba Onaolapo (aka Alaba Ultimate) plays her deputy, Adigun, a long-bearded, hot-headed tyrant whom the village tolerates because of his warlord. On the other is Olarotimi Fakunle’s Beyioku, Labake’s calm and calculated but delightful right-hand man.
Labake’s only family is her wise grandmother, Iya Agba (Abeni Agbon), who really does prefer that it’s just the two of them. And at first, Labake seems to share the same sentiments, so steeped and unmoving in her destiny as a warrior that she cannot even fathom wanting anything else, let alone romance.
Labake is a warlord with no interest in trifles, neither does she tolerate any form of distractions. And Ojo approaches the role with a rigidity that does not wane, even when Labake’s vulnerabilities slip in.
This is a woman who scoffs at what she considers to be foolishness when she hears that one of her female soldiers is distracted during training because she is in love. Labake watches her soldier in awe, confused and fascinated at the same time, amazed and amused at the idea that a good fighter can allow herself to lose focus because of some man. Until it happens to her, and Labake realises that romance is a different kind of war.
We have seen a woman like Labake before, in Izu Ojukwu’s much older epic, Amina, based on the legend of Queen Amina of Zazzau. In Ojukwu’s film, Amina, a powerful warrior queen was derailed by her almost-obsessive love for a man, with the film turning oral tradition on its head in service of a patriarchal narrative.
So, when Labake Olododo starts to float the idea that Labake has a soft spot for Adigun, a rumour is thrown in that the two might be having an affair, and then Tayo Faniran’s Jaiyeoba enters the picture, it feels like déjà vu. And in some ways, it is.
When people talk about the audacity of men, Jaiyeoba’s audacity must be what they mean, not because of any special charisma that the character has (indeed, he’s barely charismatic) but because of his forwardness.
Labake is the kind of figure whom commoners do not approach unless approached first, but Jaiyeoba, newly arrived at the village as an English teacher for the local missionary school, goes for a handshake on their first meeting and quickly follows it up with a love letter. Labake is illiterate, as with most people of that time, so she makes him read the letter to her. We watch her struggle as he reads, maintaining her rigidity, somewhat forcefully, but completely disarmed.
Suffice to say that his methods work on her, and not too long after, we get a redo of that scene in Amina where the warrior princess quarrels with her father because he disapproves of her lover. In Labake Olododo, it is Labake and her grandmother. And for the first and only time in this film, traditional gender norms come up, with Labake, quite literally out of nowhere, realising that her mates are wives and mothers.
A different Biodun Stephen film would probe and explore that statement, but this is not the point of Labake Olododo. If anything, its inclusion is an unnecessary distraction in a film that already established itself as a portrayal of a remarkable woman who just is. This is not a film that wants or needs to justify or explain the existence of its “strong female lead”. And that, in itself, is a good quality.
What Labake Olododo is, is an interesting gender-flipped, Africanised adaptation of the biblical story of Samson and Delilah, exploring familiar themes of love, loyalty, and betrayal. Labake’s kinky braids might not be as long as Samson’s hair, but the cowries affixed to them certainly have something to do with her power, and her relationship with Jaiyeoba ends up being the springboard for her potential downfall.
You may be surprised at how this review began with Labake’s status as a warlord but devolved into a study of her love life. Well, that mirrors the path that the film itself takes. Of course, there are other things happening in this film, and it only narrowly escapes being convoluted.
To begin with, Adigun is terrorising the villagers so much so that a gratuitous rape makes its way into the film. At some point, his reign of terror becomes a problem to the crown, forcing the Kabiyesi’s wives (played by Fathia Williams Balogun and Eniola Ajao) to intervene and the Kabiyesi himself (Femi Adebayo) to take action. And on the side, Beyioku is subtly pining for Adigun’s job.
At the same time, Olugbon, a neighbouring village, is at the mercy of ruthless armed thieves who steal, kill and destroy. With the Oba (Yinka Quadri) unable to put an end to their menace–very much like in Niyi Akinmolayan’s King of Thieves (2022)–he and his wife (played by Bimbo Akintola) arrange for their son, Adeeso (Olumide Oworu), to leave the village while the Oba seeks a solution.
But when a great tragedy strikes in the Olugbon palace, Adesewa (Scarlet Gomez), the princess, vows to take revenge, which will one way or the other involve Labake, Lukosi’s warlord who refused to render assistance.
Yet, as soon as Jaiyeoba arrives at Lukosi and shakes Labake’s hand, everything else takes a backseat. Not only does the warlord become uninterested in battles and war, the film itself forgets about them for too long until an exposition dump ties up most of the subplots in the third act, a limiting approach that is surprising for a film so clearly inspired by an epic war film like Hollywood’s The Woman King (2022).
The influence is clear from early in the film. As in The Woman King, a battle scene establishes Labake and her army as a formidable force, and they return afterwards to the warm and celebratory welcome of a kingdom that relies on their strength.
Even the military training scenes–from the impressive set design to the actual training–and the fanfare around Labake’s investiture as the “Akogun of Lukosi” call to mind similar scenes in The Woman King.
Then there is Labake Olododo’s need to emphasise that the film, like The Woman King, is set sometime during the transatlantic trade. There is a small missionary school led by a poorly cast white headmaster with terrible acting. Royals understand and speak English, although with accents that are too contemporary for the time. And even a school teacher happens to have a mirror.
Plus, there is a mention of slaves being stolen from Olugbon village, though the slave trade itself, and the possibility of Labake’s army having a role in it, is conveniently ignored just as it was in Kunle Afolayan’s Aníkúlápó (2022) (which is probably for the best because Nollywood is yet to convince audiences that it can handle the sensitivity of such a topic in this volatile global-village era).
Heavily influenced or not, Labake Olododo does feel original and well-thought out, despite its lapses. In a time when the indigenous epic genre has begun to feel repetitive and forgettable, Labake Olododo keeps you engaged and entertained, at least for the bulk of its almost two-hour runtime.
Rating: 3/5
(Labake Olododo is showing in Nigerian cinemas.)
Vivian Nneka Nwajiaku is a writer, film critic, TV lover, and occasional storyteller writing from Lagos. She has a master’s degree in law but spends most of her time reading about and discussing films and TV shows. She’s particularly concerned about what art has to say about society’s relationship with women. Connect with her on Twitter @Nneka_Viv